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In Which I Witter On About Not Very Much, As Is My Wont
August 11, 2006 by Mike
Alta
Friday 11 & Saturday 12 August -
With a staggeringly huge population of 18,000, Alta is bigger than all the other places I've stayed -- Berlevåg, Kirkenes, Inari, Jokkmokk, Vemdalen, Vaggeryd -- combined. (As long as you forget about Murmansk and its 450,000 residents.)
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Another town, another Englishman: sitting in a cafe in the centre of Alta, the family at the next table start talking with a Midlands accent. That wasn't going to surprise me, not after meeting Gary in Berlevåg and Chris in Hammerfest (not to mention the Brummies staying in our hotel in Goa who got upset because they couldn't have eggs, bacon, chips, beans and a mug of tea for breakfast.) So Hello and, just as quickly, Tarra-a-bit to Andy, 18 years in Alta, married with three lovely kids, a gas fitter and part-time sheep slaughterer... for money, I hasten to add, not for kicks.
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To the Tirpitz Museum. A huge Nazi battlecruiser, symbol of the coming naval power of the Third Reich when Hitler launched it in 1938, the Tirpitz actually had a lousy war. Didn't do very much other than attract increasingly bizarre attacks by the Allies... Norwegian saboteurs, specially-designed bombs, mini submarines.. the last of which finally crippled the Tirpitz as it lay in hiding in Kåfjord, just round the bend from Alta.
I'm cribbing much of this from the assorted English, German and Norwegian placards scattered at random around the museum. No one exhibit had an explanation in all three languages; no one exhibit was next to anything remotely connected with it.. a Norwegian milk churn next to a German sea chart next to the photo of a British admiral. Could do better.
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By contrast the Alta Museum is fabulous. 8,000 year old rock art (they were carved; the carvings are now painted in so that gawping tourists like me can see them.) Incredibly, they were only discovered in 1972. To put things in persopective, the rocks they were carved into are 1,800 million years old. Not even tinned reindeer meatballs last that long.
The rock paintings are a UNESCO World Heritage site, and the museum does them justice.
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More rock
Another thing I promised myself before starting: if I got to a town and there was a great gig coming up, say, or an exhibition, or a football match, I might hang around, even for a week or more, to catch them. No rush. No deadlines.
There's a free festival here in Alta next week - up at the ski jump, if you're heading over. Headliners are a local combo who go by the name of Turdus Musicus. And The Cumshots. I don't think I'll be staying around for that.
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British airports closed and in chaos; arrests across the country; "the biggest threat since 9/11." I'm having the time of my life riding round the coast of Europe on a motorbike.
Israel and Lebanon locked in bitter conflict: civilians still the first to die. Scores dies in Iraq every day. Afghanistan is under martial law. No resolution in prospect in Sudan. Civilians in all these countries are dying. The British papers are full of nothing but the airport chaos (and David Beckham.) And I'm having the time of my life riding round the coast of Europe on a motorbike.
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Met two Australian motorcyclists in a bar. I know this sounds like the start of a terrible joke. But it's true. Swapped war stories and website addresses. It's the modern way.
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I got my rear tyre changed in Alta. After 7,800 miles, more than 3,000 of them in the last couple of weeks with a heavy load over the back wheel.. oh, and a slimline rider too ;-) ... the tread was getting woefully thin. I had started to lose confidence in the tyre which is no fun when you only have two of them to start with - and I wasn't about to start doing front wheel-wheelies all the way to Turkey.
I got a "40% discount from the list price", according to the very nice man at the tyre shop. I can believe it, too... it was only twice what I'd expect to pay for the same tyre in the UK. Watched them change the tyre:
(i) I could never do that myself, sitting on a dusty road in the middle of nowhere with a spanner, a couple of tyre levers, some sticky-backed plastic and an old bottle of washing-up liquid.
(ii) The difference in precision, care, equipment, attention, balancing and checking over this tyre change was so great from the last time I had it done -- the two greasiest mechanics in history changing the tyres on my Honda Falcon in a backyard Asuncion, Paraguay: with a spanner, a couple of tyre levers, some sticky-backed plastic and an old bottle of washing-up liquid.
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Have you noticed? I haven't done much for the last couple of days. It's been great.
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Speed limits in Norway are notoriously slow. They are also very strictly and expensively enforced, I remind myself, as a pensioner on his pushbike overtakes me (sticking to the 50 kmph speed limit) going down the hill towards the sea this afternoon.
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I am in Soccer Mom heaven. There's a children's football tournament this weekend for teams from across Finnmark - Alta-turneringen. I've had a gander.. wondered if I could turn it into an article, perhaps.. but my attention was somewhat diverted by the 300 mothers of the 300 kids. Luckily for all concerned, 300 fathers were there to act as referees. I didn't score.
As for the football:
1. Up to the age of ten, all the games look more like table football as played by drunks.. the players all look identical but for shirts in primary colours; kicks arrive seconds after the ball has gone; the goalkeepers never use their hands. And the players are all about two inches tall.
2. Age-for-age, the girls are a lot harder than the boys, and play better football too.
3. Alta's real football team played on Saturday with lots of the visiting kids (and their moms) cheering them on. They beat Division Two league leaders Raufoss 5-1. Raufoss have several Kosovans in the team, names like Edmir Asani and Baskin Sopi and Male Berisha, who gets their consolation goal. The abuse from the home fans is purely footbal-related, I'm glad to report. Raufoss also have a certain A.Cole in defence... Albert, not Ashley. Albert isn't paid £60 squillion a week to bleat about how unfair life is when he isn't allowed to play for Chelsea just because he has a contract with Arsenal. No, Albert plays for nothing, because he loves the game.. even when his team loses 5-1.
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Each town in Norway has the same smooth, wide pavement running alongside every main road. The only people using them are young mothers with infants and babies: tomorrow's Soccer Moms. I have no explanation for why nobody else is using these pavements. I certainly would, because the speed cameras aren't pointed at them, if only the young mothers would get out of the way.
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My throttle has started to stick -- only a couple of times, but it's something I need to get seen to. I can barely fill the petrol tank on my own, so this needs expert attention. The first Triumph dealer on my route is in Trondheim. I'm looking forward to seeing them.
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Talking of Triumphs, I met Arvid today - riding his Triumph Legend (is that what it's called?) and very pleased to see me -- or rather my bike. Plenty of others have introduced themselves as having had Triumphs in their distant youth, but this was the first of the new, Hinckley bikes I've seen in Scandinavia. By all accounts, that number will increase now as I head south.
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I write too much.
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