It may be as cold as the Astros' offense, but Norway is an absolutely beautiful country.

The mountains, the fjords, the waterfalls, the incredible diversity in landscape ... if there's anyone on earth besides George Bush and Joe American who is less concerned about the long-term effects of global warming, it's the head of Norway's tourism industry, which is primed for a BIG windfall about fifty years down the road. In terms of panoramic grandeur, I'd go so far as to place this oil-rich nation of just over four million -- not 50 million, as Josefine guessed when I asked a group of Danes over coffee in Copenhagen -- in a dead heat with Switzerland, which I'm not sure could ever be beat outright.

(Could it work out any better for me? There are families in both countries -- who happen to be very good friends with one another, yet are independently friends of ours through Houstonian roots -- that are willing to take me in for days on end without complaining [too much] that I snore.)

But for all its natural beauty, Norway is probably the last place on earth you'd want to live if your name was Nemo.


It's too bad for Mitchell & Ness that there are only about five black people in all of Scandinavia (Somalis do not count, because Muslim culture is just a tad different than hip-hop-ya-don't-stop). If there were just a handful more, and a throwback industry was able to gain traction among the youths, the 1983 Carlton Fisk jersey would rake in kroners.

The reason for that is simple: "Fisk" means "fish" in Norwegian. And until they discovered the immense offshore oil deposits that have made pensions here the envy of each and every GM employee rubbing his lucky Lotto ticket, I'm pretty sure Norwegians bought and sold goods using actual fish as hard currency.


The Chinese have rice. The Germans have liquid bread. The Mexicans have tortillas. The Americans have Big Macs. And according to James, the North Vietnamese have turtles and porcupines. But the Norwegians, they have fisk.

And as a special treat, this is one of the few countries in the world with a bountiful enough supply of whales in its waters that they're allowed to hunt them. The occasional sea mammal snack is a nice diversion from the monotony of fish soup, fish fillets and fish sandwiches.


Looks like liver, tastes like deer.

While in Bergen, James took us to the Hanseatic League museum -- an experience which will surely benefit me if I ever make it onto Jeopardy! and there's a category on the northern European medieval fishing industry. With the Bergen fisk trade effectively controlled by German merchants as far back as 1360, I get the feeling that Norwegian hostility towards Germans can be traced back just a little farther than the whole "getting invaded during WW2" thing.


But you get the sense, from talking to James, that places like this -- the outdoor fish market in Bergen -- may be in decline. Increasingly enforced health standards mean that much of the fresh fish which used to be sold here on a daily basis, from time immemorial, have been replaced by cheesy Norway t-shirts and stuffed animals.

And with the rise of kebab shops on every street corner, not to mention the fact that frozen pizza has just recently become the most-consumed food in Norway, Carlton Fisk may be in the twilight of its career. But just like Pudge, who played for over 20 years, it sure had a long run.