A country where it is good for alcoholics and millionaires.
Some time ago, the leadership of the organization where I worked asked those who had the opportunity to host Norwegian graduate students for a couple of weeks, future diplomats who specialized in Norwegian-Russian relations.
I agreed and received as a guest a big-eyed blonde named Mona. I then rented an apartment in the Moscow district of Medvedkovo. This is not a very prosperous area. Because my car broke down, then I drove Mona home on the subway. This gave her the opportunity to appreciate all the charms of the Moscow hour and the passage to the house through an outright bum and gopovnik. When we climbed the stairs to me on the fifth floor, she could still see two sleeping homeless people on the stairs. So I was not surprised when I heard that at night she moved the furniture to the door of her room. For her brain, everything she saw that evening was too much.
A few months later we received a letter from the Norwegian Ministry of Foreign Affairs, with gratitude and an invitation to come on a return visit to Oslo. So, quite unexpectedly, I managed to visit Norway, and not quite as a tourist, but as a guest of a Norwegian family.
The company got good. All young or old international lawyers. All MGIMO students or MGU students or, at worst, Morisoterezniki. But there were two characters among us who stood out. The first is a guy who came to Moscow from somewhere in the north of the Tyumen region. He did it himself. He got himself a job. He himself had a good career. And he was as poor as a church mouse. He sent almost all his salary home to his mother and two sisters. He really had a darned suit and torn shoes.
The second is a dude like from a joke about a Jew who, if he were a king, would live better than the king, because he also sewed a little. He, occupying a good position, constantly did some small and not very clear businesses. Oddly enough, very successful. But about these two a little later.
In Norway, we all settled in the families of our guests. I moved into the apartment of a single mother named Eli. She lived in a four-room apartment with her two daughters Mona and Lisa.
A little about the life of a poor Norwegian family. Eli's apartment was in a council house in a quiet part of Oslo. In these houses, either poor social workers or civil servants lived. Eli had a two-star general of the Norwegian army in his neighbors and that was normal. Well, Norwegians are fine. The apartment was 150 - 180 meters. Huge balcony. Place for a car in the covered parking and a compartment in the common basement. In the evenings, Eli and I talked a lot and she complained about her beggarly life. The bad news was that her car is already 8 years old (Volkswagen Polo), her dishwasher has already been discontinued, it is so old, and the TV is not digital. I kept silent in a rag. And Eli had a little dacha on the bank of the fjord. And she worked as a bartender in a hotel.
The Norwegians received us at the highest level. We visited the parliament, the leading Norwegian bank, the university where future diplomats are trained. There, a special incident happened to me. I went, so I'm going to the toilet. And on the doors are written such words - “Gutter and Jenter”. Well, thinking that Jenter is like a gentleman, I went there. The absence of urinals did not bother me and I locked myself in the booth. In short, Jenter is a girl. A minute later, the entire female part of our group rolled into the toilet and, well, they began to chirp. In those few minutes I learned more about women than in my entire life. And about myself, by the way, too.
We were also brought to the head office of the largest Norwegian oil company and, first of all, we were taken to the canteen, which imitated a food station on an oil rig. Guys!! ! There was communism. Shrimp salads, tender fish fillets, sausages, beer, good wines, whiskey, bananas and kiwis. We settled down there in earnest. An hour and a half later, the girl - the employee of the press service began to get nervous and squeak something. We didn't react. Then she panicked and made a grave mistake. She said that she was very glad that we appreciated the cuisine of Statoil, but we have a program. And if we want, we can take everything that we haven’t finished eating with us. In short, only juices and mineral water remained on the shelves of the buffet. Yes, even that is not enough. After that, she scaredly asked us what we want more. Visit the chemical laboratories of Statoil or go watch a film about the company, where nice souvenirs will also be waiting for us. The answer is clear. By the way, the donated flashlight still works.
Everything would have been fine, but the weather failed. We left Moscow in a good spring, but in Oslo it was cold and very snowy. Our raincoats and boots looked pathetic.
Norway is a wildly expensive country and only a very rich person can afford to buy anything there. But I have a sense of smell. I found a store called "UFF" there. In a free translation - this is "Garbage". There were sold items that were removed from sale in other stores. I bought myself beautiful yellow, high boots with a scratch for $5 and a chic sheepskin coat with a torn cutout at the back for $12. (The wife later sewed a triangular patch on this place. )
The cold didn't scare me anymore. Eli, seeing me in things from the UVF, was terribly delighted. He said that he really wants to give me something, but there is no money. And her colleague the bartender was just asking if she had a friend who needed a new ski suit that did not fit. For free. And a few more things. I, as a hospitable person, said, let the bartender drag everything that he doesn’t need, and I’m ready, as a favor, to take away from Elya’s colleagues all the things that didn’t fit. And why good something to disappear? Eli called all her friends and the next day I had to drive up to her hotel and pick up the gifts.
For reasons absolutely unrelated to my person, I was received by the Extraordinary and Plenipotentiary Ambassador of Russia in Norway. We went with him to the embassy. I talked to young attaché s and advisers and thanked myself for the thousandth time for not going to work on this path. Then we went to the villa to the ambassador and had lunch. They drank, of course. And they drank some more. We hugged. Sang songs. Had a good time. And when it was time for me to leave, the ambassador said that he would not allow such a cool man like me to ride the subway and called his driver. I honestly balked. But unsuccessfully. The ambassador said that since the cape is now brothers, then his car is my car. And then a big black Mercedes with the number D 001 drove up. The flag, however, was covered. The driver, wearing gloves and wearing an expensive suit, was given the task of taking me wherever I wanted. And we went to Eli's hotel.
Eli immediately introduced me to the whole team and they brought me a huge bag of clothes. It wasn't just a bag. It was about my size and, as it turned out, there were three ski suits, several pairs of new Levi's, sweaters, shirts, pajamas and much more. The receptionist, a hefty nice uncle, said that, unfortunately, he would not be able to take me home, but he would be in time for the metro. And then I can manage somehow. I modestly refused, but the Norwegian was stubborn and kept asking me - "Why don't you want to? " I had to admit that I was in a car. This surprised him, and not only him, and almost all the hotel staff came out to see me off. Yes. It was fabulous. The embassy driver with a bow opened the trunk of a black Mercedes for me, where I stuffed a bag with donated, almost discarded, things.
In the evening, Eli and I had a conversation, and for a long time I tried to explain to her that I was not an eccentric millionaire, and the Mercedes was not mine, and not even an ambassador, but a state one.
That poor guy, about whom I wrote above, ended up living in the family of a very wealthy person. An old hereditary nobleman, landowner and millionaire. On the day of arrival, the uncle gave the guy the equivalent of a thousand dollars and asked what he would like to buy. He replied that the boots. He really needed boots, as his boots resembled the Kukryniksy caricatures of the American unemployed. Well, they went to the appropriate stores. Not in the sense of shoe, but in the sense of a millionaire. Naturally, the boy did not buy anything. He planned to put on shoes for his mother and sisters for this amount, and in these stores shoes cost just around a thousand. And by that time, he already knew that I had found a magical UVF, where everything is practically free.
But the guy had a hard time. He complained to us that he was suffering incredibly. Let's say the owner of the house caught him washing the cup himself after evening tea. There was a suggestion. . . After that, the boy sat in a corner and began flipping through some kind of catalog of works of art. The owner of the house came up, opened the page, poked first at it, then at the wall and said - here it is. Script. It is clear that after all this it was problematic for him to bring and hide things from the UVF. But he found a way out by declaring that he does not tolerate interference with his privacy and therefore does not accept cleaning his room. It worked and the maid didn't bother him.
But the millionaire remembered that the guy wanted to buy shoes. And on the last day I took him to the center of Oslo and bought him a pair of beautiful old-fashioned TODs at my own expense. For 1100 dollars. The guy, sobbing, said that he would not be able to wear them, but would show them for money.
The second unusual person from our group decided to start a small business in Norway. He took with him a commander's watch, vodka, gingerbread and nesting dolls. In Oslo, he failed to sell anything. He didn't even make it to the police. But we were taken to the capital of the last Winter Olympic Games, Lillehamer, where the situation was simpler. And there he found a fruit box, decomposed, stood on the main street and sold all his nesting dolls to some Americans under the guise of national North Norwegian art. And then, when we were all given free movie tickets, he bought them from us for 3 dollars. Getting up at the cinema, he tried to sell them for half the price. The Norwegians did not understand why half the price and paid the full amount. As a result, he made 800 - 900 dollars for the trip.
In general, I liked Norway. Of course, I didn’t understand everything, but the country is wonderful.
I visited, for example, the wires to the army of the younger brother of one of the Norwegians. It was a holiday. I visited the barracks and the dining room. There the choice is richer than in many All Inclusive hotels. And then he consoled this guy after he was not taken into the army due to his health.
I was a little surprised by the fact that a Muschinka stuck to me on the street and demanded money, arguing that he was an alcoholic. I sent it and said that I am not a fool to drink either. After that, I thought a lot, but everything was resolved later.
Mona and Lisa invited me to a beer bar for a drink at their expense. This is important because a mug of beer cost about $13. I was happy. Imagine two sissy-sible blondes hugging you from both sides, laughing at your jokes, sometimes kissing and, most importantly, paying for the booze themselves. AAAAA!!!!! ! This is Valhalla. And then some sloppy shot comes up, grabs my mug and drinks it in one gulp. Well, I'm Russian. He straightened his shoulders, pulled in his stomach and, grabbing the scoundrel by the collar, dragged him to the exit. Do you think the blondes applauded me7 No matter how. They caught up with me and a strange dialogue took place.
- Niklai!!! ! What are you doing?
- I'm dragging him into the cold, so that he can understand what and how.
- Niklaj!! ! It's an alcoholic!!!!
- Duc understandable. Drunkard and homeless. I’ll take him out into the street, bream the ladies a couple of times and come back . .
-Niklai, this is not humane.
As a result, this gundos was taken away from me, put in my place and gifted with a liter mug of beer. And I was given a lecture that alcoholics are sick people and they should be pitied and bought drunk to reduce their suffering. Yes!!! ! It was unexpected. I really answered that if I get drunk, I will definitely come to Norway.
But thanks to these Norwegian misunderstandings, I got rich pretty well. When some activists pestered me on the street with strange questions, I declared that I was a speed-bearing drug addict. As a result, I received about three hundred disposable syringes and about a hundred magnificent condoms. There is no bad without good. I sold syringes in Moscow. And some of the donated clothes, too. With this money, I flew to Spain in the summer.
Damn. . I completely forgot about Norway as a country because of my impressions.
Well, here's a tourist feature for you. Once a year. Spring. On some holiday like the anniversary of the coronation, a parade of the royal guards and their orchestra passes through the main streets. By tradition, all the youth of Oslo go on their way and try to stop them. The goal is for at least one of the trumpeters to be out of tune. Guys eat lemons, girls show boobs. If you like lemons, brass music or boobs, then this is the place for you. I don't really like music and lemons, but I went and enjoyed it.
Izv. I have a photo but too lazy to look for it. Multi-bookcuff will replace pictures.
