'You've earned one-third of your Norwegian Iron Ring!' - Kjell

First, a little housekeeping. Tusen takk to both my father and Kjersti for pointing out a couple of mistakes in Monday's version of this page. I've made a few corrections, lest I give my readers the wrong impression of the fantastic weekend we had! Just so you know: in order to give these pages a 'diary' feel, I promise not to update a page more than two days after I've written it.

And now: Scandinavian Nights. After my experiences last weekend, I'm in a position to give you a sense of what hitting the town is like in the Paris of the North.

Part One: The Vorspiel

Vorspiel, translated literally, means 'foreplay.' My friends all grin when they tell me that the pun is intentional. Instead of attending what I'd refer to as a 'warm-up party,' the people who are heading out in Tromsø pile into someone's house for some good, wholesome foreplay.

On Friday night, I was invited to a vorspiel at my AutoSim buddy Kjell's place in town. Armed with a supply of Nordlands Øl, I popped in around 9:45PM to find the festivities already in full swing. Kjell, his girlfriend and her brother were equipped with a full compliment of beer, wine and spirits, and in between mixing these poisons I was introduced to a new tradition.

In September of 1944, the German ship Tirpitz was rendered unseaworthy near Alta, a town north of Tromsø. The Germans, who had seized and were then occupying Tromsø, brought the Tirpitz south to this fair city for repairs. On the 28th of October, the British Royal Air Force made a failed attempt to sink the Tirpitz by bombing it in Tromsø's harbour. The ship was simply too well-built, and the defenses around the ship were too formidable. But on the 12th of November, the RAF employed a second, massive air attack, targetting not the ship but rather the water beside the Tirpitz. Eyewitnesses claim the ship rocked violently back and forth before inverting itself and sinking into the fjord. In the years following this victory, a Norwegian might walk into a bar, order a drink, stand up, raise his glass and hollar, 'Tirpitz!' At that point, everyone in the bar would stand, respond 'Tirpiiiitz!' and invert their glasses. Kjell was particularly adept at invoking this tradition, and I did my utmost to confirm the stories I'd been telling them about the constitutions of Canadian engineers. It was just after midnight when Tirpitz was invoked for the third time and we made plans to hit the town. Kjell, grinning from ear to ear, informed me that I had just earned one-third of my Norwegian Iron Ring. I'm not sure if Legend of the Greasepole gives quite the right impression of why Canadian engineers sport Iron Rings, but the fact that Kjell remembered the Iron Ring Forge from our game made me a very proud ring-tapping Sci '99.

On Saturday night, the Vorspiel took place at our place on Tunveien. Espen made a herculean effort to clean up both the kitchen and the rest of the house, and we invited the whole gang over. Hilde, Kjersti and Tone joined Espen and us three trainees, and we partied until we'd returned the kitchen to its original state. Notably missing were Liz-Iren and Frodo, who have left us for a vacation in sunny Portugal. (They've not just left us, but they've also left us their two pet desert rats. Just ask Espen - there's nothing like waking up to the sound of a burrowing desert rat!)

The foreplay... uh, vorspiel on Saturday went from eight until almost midnight, and it wasn't until then that I realized that chips and pretzels had become my dinner. Unfortunately, Hilde and Kjersti won't be in Tromsø for long, as both of them are leaving shortly for a couple of weeks. They have both been quiet, guiding forces for IAESTE Tromsø, and this was one of our first opportunities since the Waffle Party to get to know them. As midnight approached, it was clearly time for the attendees of the vorspiel to bust out on the town.

Part Two: Gettin' It On in the Sentrum

There's only one thing to do after the vorspiel, and that's to dance out of the house, pile into a bus if necessary, and hit the Sentrum. Tromsø features more nightclubs and bars per capita than any other city in the world, and yet there's no shortage of action-packed places to end up.

On Friday night, the gang from Kjell's house sang our way downtown towards the Peacock, a piano bar with 80's ambience. I said a quick goodbye and ducked into the neighbouring Meiriet (may-uh-REE-ah), where the prices on drinks fluctuate like it's a stock market. I was supposed to meet Mona and Ingvild there half an hour earlier, as Mona was heading to Denmark the next morning to a conference where she'll present her Master's poster. Thankfully, I wasn't too late, and the two of them had just arrived from their own vorspiel. Now there's Norwegian spirit: your plane is leaving in a few hours, you're half-packed, and you're out on the town with friends for one last time! Mona suggested we head for a place called the Strøket, a funky disco just up the street. The music was an interesting mix of the familiar and the novel. The unusual stuff I would describe to my North American friends simply as sounding more like 'European' dance music, which trades a bit of the heavy bass for a bit more melody. The perma-smiles on all three of our faces said it all, and I can safely say that we had quite the memorable evening.

I never made it to the Peacock that night, but on Saturday it's where we went first. We piled into the back of the bus at Tunvein, and once again we proceeded to sing en route to town. Efforvescent Kjersti was having a great time, even if her attempts to rally strangers to sing the Norwegian National Anthem were unsuccessful. On the other hand, Shannon and I had no problem making Oh Canada resonate through the bus. Hilde suddenly belted out, 'We are, we are, we are, we are, IAESTE Engineers...' I spun around so fast that the torque it produced almost sent the bus reeling off the road. The IAESTE crowd all have their own version of everyone's favourite Canadian engineering chant! I'll provide the lyrics to our version at the end of this article.

We ended up jammed into the Peacock like sheep. The pianoman that evening was an English guy who really had the place going. The previous evening, Espen and Shannon had an opportunity to talk with him and request a few songs. We were there for a solid hour before the lack of room to dance got the better of us, and we decided to explore the waterfront. Now, keeping in mind that even at 2:30 in the morning Tromsø is a pretty sunny place to be, I can see why Hilde's eyes bugged out when Shannon and I decided it was a brilliant idea to climb up onto one of the huge vessels dry-docked for repairs in the harbor. The view from the bow was fantastic.

Part Three: Nachspiel

Some time between three and four in the morning, most places in Tromsø start to wind down. But with the sun still up, the night still feels young! What should one do about all the stuff left back at the vorspiel that there simply wasn't time to drink? There can only be one solution: afterplay! Again, it doesn't carry the traditional North American connotation, and the play on words is purely intentional.

Nachspiel: it's not just tradition. It's the Right Thing to do.

My Friday night's Nachspiel was pretty tame. I considered meeting back up with Kjell and his sweetheart, but because that she's visiting from the northern county Finnmark for the weekend, I thought they might not appreciate my company just then. I said my farewells to Ingvild and Mona and cabbed it home alone. Alas, assuming she caught her flight a few hours later, Mona is now off learning and presenting things about lipids I can't begin to fathom.

In an effort to make an early start cleaning up our kitchen, Shannon, Espen, Kjersti and I decided to return to Tunveien on Saturday night for a real Nachspiel! By five in the morning, the bottles remained, but their contents did not. All of us went to bed very happy kids. And that's all I have to say about that!

Part Four: Post-Nachspiel

Saturday afternoon was pretty tame, and featured a trip to the festival in the market I experienced the previous week. While you'd figure Sunday would have been even tamer, we were all up and at the beach by just after noon. We sunbathed for a while, and Edmondas amazed us all again by going for a swim. Once again I was a grasshopper and chose to avoid acute shrinkage. Edmondas and I enjoyed a walk into town afterwards to a spot he had in mind for a photo. I'll post the shots we took soon.

My friends, you now have a glimpse of a prototypical student weekend in Tromsø. One of the American tourist guides refers to the residents of this city as having 'terminal brainfreeze,' which I think is remarkably unfair. The tromsøværingene know how to have fun, and they know how to do it in style! Alas, I fear I don't have the energy (or the kroner) to party like that again next weekend. But it won't be long until Hilde, Kjersti, Mona, Liz-Iren, Frodo and the others return, and we all raise up our glasses and cry -

Tirpiiiiiiiitz!

The Well Known Chorus:

We are, we are, we are, we are, we are the Engineers,
We can, we can, we can, we can demolish forty beers.
Drink rum, drink rum, drink rum, drink rum along with us,
For we don't give a damn for any old man who don't give a damn for us.

A Few Queen's Verses:

A Commie and an Engineer were stranded on a boat,
But one man was too heavy and the poor thing wouldn't float.
The Engineer would flip a coin to settle the dispute,
So he/she flipped it in water and the Commie gave pursuit.

Venus is a statue made entirely of stone,
There is not a fig leaf on her, she's as naked as a bone.
At noticing her arms were broke an Engineer discoursed,
"Why, the damned thing's broken concrete and it should be reinforced!"

A drunken Engineer once staggered in through Roddick gate,
He/She was carrying a load that you'd expect to ship by freight.
The only things that held him/her up and kept him/her on his/her course,
Were the boundary condition and the hydrostatic force.

Now you should know by now we can demolish forty beers,
Unlike the stupid ArtScis we will wind up with careers.
An Engineer that's fresh from Queen's earns roughly 40 G's,
While an ArtSci with a Ph.D. can't get work at McD's.

A Verse Dear to My Heart:

They say you save the best for last, and we're the best you see,
The best damn Engineering class of the Century.
The ArtScis and the Commies, they were born without a spine,
So we freakin' built it for 'em, 'cuz we're SCI '99!!

Mini-Glossary (or, a Queen's Lingo Primer):

Commie - Commerce (economics) student at Queen's
ArtSci - Arts and Science student at Queen's
40 G's - $40,000CDN, or 200,000NOK. (Mind you, the song was written long ago and this number is now quite a conservative estimate!)
Sci '99 - Engineering Class of 1999, or Science '99.