Neko Case's Travelogue

He looks down and alternately flexes from one boob to the other very fast. What could make this more ridiculous? Probably the fact that Kurt is wildly imitating him on the other side of me. You can always count on Kurt. Blaine and I watched a really good movie made in India called "The Warrior." Sadly, he and I both turned our heads for just a minute and missed the final scene. I still recommend it though.

We had a three hour layover at Heathrow, we were zombies. We got on our final flight to Oslo, where I was seated next to a nice Norwegian lady in her early 30s and what appeared to be her teenage brother. For most of the flight they laughed like hyenas, but then, suddenly when I came back from the bathroom, she was crying. It was very maudlin. It seems she accidently got drunk. Those Europeans are so emotive! Especially compared to my Canadian bandmates. They express themselves with self-degradation-style humor. You'd never catch them crying over a glass of white wine, though the fantasy does amuse me.

At the Oslo airport we were actually welcomed into the country by the sweet and vivacious customs agent! Now that's a switch! In the United States or Canada (and often the UK) you are treated like you were the inventor of baby ovens or something. As a musician, you are considered a criminal of the foulest kind in the eyes of the "law," which is completely up to the whim of the underpaid, overworked customs agent. One agent at Pembina once told me it was not uncommon to work a 16 hour day. Who's your boss? Kathy Lee Gifford? One time while crossing into Buffalo, NY, we were grilled for an hour and a half because the agent was "uncomfortable" with the fact that as musicians we often got paid in cash. Meanwhile, two rednecks with huge hunting rifles walk into the office. The agent (without even approaching them) says: "You guys got permits for those? Yeah, OK, go ahead." All this without looking at their permits or even their IDs. Nice work boys. This was only five months after September 11th. And to think people blame Canada.

All of us were standing around the baggage carousel, staring into the magic hole where the bags come out for an uncomfortably long time. We realized that it was most likely British Airways had lost our guitars. Of course! We filed a report and went to our comfy hotel. We had been up for about 25 hours and sleeping never felt so good! My bed was like a thousand soft, purring kittens that didn't make me sneeze. I proceeded to sleep for 11 hours, only waking now and again to consciously relish that sublime feeling. Better still, I awoke for the last time to discover that British Airways had delivered our guitars. Yay!

We got to the festival and went on stage at 5 o'clock sharp. It seemed like it was over before it began. Again, it was in direct sunlight, ouch. It was fun though, lots of happy people. The Norwegians give of a very supportive and comforting vibe. They are quite attractive too. We walked around and noticed what a civilized and non-aggressive atmosphere we were in. It seems Norway got that Viking thing out of their system centuries ago. I wish the rest of the world would. I had a kick-ass waffle at a tent set up by a really good band called "Peru You." They played a set while their friends made waffles and sold the band's new CD. What a great idea! In Norway you fold your waffle around a footlong hot dog and put mustard and ketchup on it. I don't, but it made me love the Norwegians even more. The most bizarre thing I saw was Norwegian rap. It was surreal. John and I wondered how it must be, to be somebody like Grandmaster Flash and know that you can go anywhere in the world and hear rap music in the most unlikely languages. I think I might feel a strange mixture of terror and massive, swelling ego boner.