Travellers

Interesting weekend in the hostel. This place was very quiet during the week, which is why I spent most of my time walking around, getting my bearings, taking pictures . . . solo stuff. The hostel saw a definite spike in traffic on Thursday, and by Friday night, the place was packed. Interesting people come here from interesting parts of the world, so virtually every introduction is followed up by the usual "where are you from and what brings you here" line.

There was one Israeli, though I didn't really get his story; a couple of recent high school graduates from Columbia; a few party guys from California; Australian mountain climbers; an artist from Philadelphia who comes down here every time he sells a few paintings; a Swiss guy who is waiting on delivery of his motorbike so that he can drive down to Tierra del Fuego and then up to the equator, and back here; a Welshman who just wants to find a bar at which he can watch the Six Nations rugby tournament before he goes.

Elisabeth, a 28-year-old Norwegian, was definitely the winner amongst them all in terms of life experience, if we define “life experience” as those things that more fortunate or circumspect people are glad didn’t happen to them. Her last memory before being impregnated, she recalled, was taking a vertical swig of 198-proof home brew, pulling it aside to snatch a breath, and seeing . . . somebody. By the time she could register her next memory – waking up alongside a handsome albeit unfamiliar partygoer – the future life experience had already settled in her 15-year-old body. What remained of her old life was lost when Elisabeth’s mother was murdered by a jealous ex-husband.

It was at that point that her story took a Norwegian left turn. The Norwegian government – presiding over four million residents and an advanced welfare state – supported her because she was single mother, and added an incremental allowance in exchange for her staying in school. She raised her daughter and her little sister, earned her undergraduate and post-graduate degrees, and was able to get a well-paying job with an international bank, thus allowing her to pay back all that the country had given to her. Despite the happy ending, I don’t see Elisabeth as a slam-dunk case study for the socialist cause: it’s difficult to know how much of her success was achieved through her own efforts, and how much through the government’s support; and her misfortune was the result of her own decisions as well as those that were out of her control. Still, coming from a country that likes to boast about its social safety net, I was struck by the Norwegian people's dedication to ensuring that none of their citizens slip through the cracks.

Oh, and on a completely unrelated note, my name in Welsh is "Dafydd". Where have you been all my life, third "d"?