Part 5

Part 5 “….AND FROM THIS MOMENT, PLEASE, IN MORE DETAIL.” Today is 23 February 2021. Exactly 10 years since I broke my arm! A “jubilee.” At this time in Norway the winter holidays are on. Those who have cabins in the mountains and forests go with their families to ski and do sport.

I return to my memories, to the departure of Ivan’s daughters to Spain, and I still had to go to the hospital for a check of the plaster, and Ivan had been given an appointment for a consultation — help from a psychologist as a single father-guardian. First we stopped at the psychologist’s. I decided to wait in the cosy foyer while Ivan got the consultation. The consultation dragged on for a whole hour and a half. I was already quite “worn out” with waiting, and the arm in plaster also hurt, “ached.” At last we got to the hospital and there they put on another layer of strong plaster.

Now I understand that Ivan wanted somehow to cheer me up; he invited me to a shopping centre, we sat in a café, drank coffee with pastries, and then he asked whether I wanted to buy some clothes. I don’t know, unfortunately or fortunately, I am not a shopping enthusiast. Well, since he very much wanted to please me with something new (it was not the first during my tourist period), I agreed to walk through the clothing department and chose a little jumper for myself.

I will not hide it: Norwegian prices “stressed” me a great deal at first. I will give this example: a monthly bus pass, with which I travelled from the village to town for language courses, cost 800 kroner (80 euros), and my pension in Ukraine then was 50 euros. (I have allowed myself now to compare the “incomparable” 🤭) ….

Time passes and you understand that in Norway it is better to explain less to Norwegians that in Ukraine they grant women a pension at 55, and men at 60 (that is how it was 10 years ago; now they have raised it), and if you name the sum of 50 euros they politely ask again: “is that — a day?” And as for the age threshold, Norwegians were delighted and at once complained that for them it is 67! In time I understood — the nicest thing is to talk about the weather, about nature, about pets and about travel.

For a time I went to a church choir. Norwegian pensioners gathered there, all local. We met once a week at 19.30 on Thursdays; my husband drove me by car (in the evening I could no longer get to town). In the break we drank coffee with baking, and of course the Norwegians took an interest in me, since I was a “phenomenon” in their society. I had to tell about myself, about the family, and so on and so forth, and once in May, before Victory Day, one very elderly, cultured man started recalling the war of 1941–1945.

I cannot now remember the details, but it turned out that I asked him about the number of Soviet people killed. He thought…. I then asked: “at least name an approximate figure…” He named it. 100 thousand. I politely corrected him: 20 million!!! (then the old statistics were still in use) 20 million equal the population of 4 Norways.