A real Viking
When I lived in Stavanger and would bike to work, the IRIS secretary used to call me "a real Viking." I worked up a sweat biking to work, so I didn't wear as many layers as she thought I should. Plenty of times, even into the late autumn, I would show up at work in leggings and a T-shirt, flush in the face and breathing hard. I'd come into the front lobby holding my bike helmet, and she'd tell me, "Kirstin, you are a real Viking!" I'd smile, push the sweaty hair out of my face, and make my way downstairs to the locker room.
Classmates gather for dinner at the Viking round table at Kroa |
We ordered drinks and appetizers, and friends, one of the appetizers on the menu was smoked minky whale. Whale. Yes, of course I ordered the whale, and then proceeded to pass my plate around the table so anyone who wanted could take a taste. The meat was very dark red, almost black, and the taste was something halfway between fish and roasted lamb. It paired very well with the tart berries and pickled red onion they gave me on the side.
We spent the rest of the night eating, drinking, chatting, and relaxing. It was the first time we've been able to spend time together without the pressure of time-sensitive lab work or a looming deadline, and it was the perfect way to celebrate the end of our course.
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