Polar opposites

B's entry:

So there Poodle was. Looking blankly at 5 ticket machines, scratching his head and looking extremely confounded. It's important not to make your man feel like the supreme idiot he is, so instead of kicking him in the shin and shoving him at the right machine, I cleared my throat, and gently nudged him in the right direction. He promptly dropped all 5 pieces of our luggage around his legs, thus ensuring that no one could possibly use any of the other machines at all - not unless they glared at me, muttering darkly about toss-f*ck South Africans who shouldn't be allowed to travel, thus shaming me into crawling around gathering up the scattered luggage, apologizing profusely.

Five minutes later, and Poodle was still scratching his head. Apparently real men don't press the button that says "English". Apparently real men don't translate things into their own languages in order to understand what the fark is going on. They just stab wildly at things that don't make any sense at all, and hope for the best.
Then, when tickets issue forth from the machine, they grab their crotches in a manly way, sniff in confidence and plan to blame their stupid wives if they get caught on the train with the wrong ticket.


Poodle's entry:

Arrival in Tromso.

Note to self - have travel sick-pills when flying in to extreme locations. Its gets really, really bouncy. The plane was half full, but we stupidly booked seats just in front of the emergency seats and thus couldn't recline our seats. We also bought seats directly behind a family of Gingers (dad, mom and sprog all carrot-tops; it was like being seated near the Weasleys from Harry Potter). We think the baby saw its reflection in the window and realized it was a Ginger, because it cried inconsolably for the rest of the flight. And who can blame it? Apologies to Shayne and Burt.


Our landing was breath-taking. The mountains and the country side were covered in snow. Really beautiful and awe inspiring.
If there are more than one of you, a taxi into Tromso is about the same price as taking the bus, so for the second time in one day, we rode in highly priced and luxurious Mercedes taxi that most people can only dream of owning.

We arrived at our new home, a small apartment with a fully equipped kitchen. Woo hoo! Self catering!

Then we got domestic. I went shopping and B did the washing and ironing. Not really, she's a domestic goddess; just not in the home or kitchen or anywhere remotely domestic. Okay, she's just a goddess ;-) The bottle store is an eye opener- box wine costs the same as top SA cultivars (R472 for 3 litres of "doos wyn"). Top cultivars cost the same as a healthy kidney. Such a pity no-one in Tromso seems to need a healthy kidney - could have financed some of our trip.

After a meal of sausages and rolls and box wine, we went for our first trot in the Arctic Circle. It seems the snow gods are still laughing at the Poodles. It is snowing in Jamaica today, but no snow in the Arctic. Eish.

Now you fuckers write something. I am tired. And B is on strike because Charmaine said I'm a better blogger than she is. Fiercely competitive is my wife....


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