Des "Vikings"(?)

J'ai trouvé parmi mes vieilles photos celle-ci. Si je ne me trompe pas, nous l'avons acheté au Danemark. C'est supposé représenter des Vikings, enfin c'est comme ça que l'on croyait, le guerrier à cheval ne pouvant pas être un Viking, parce qu'un Viking, c'est un marin, pas un groupe ethnique ou culturel, donc ce n'est pas un synonyme de Scandinave. Dans tous les cas, j'ai toujours aimé ces images, parce qu'elles ont un certain air d'authenticité, peu importe le nom que l'on donne aux deux guerrier.

Saint George (or saint Michael?) and the Dragon

My dad recently sent me this picture. He took it at the Roskilde Cathedral in Denmark, which we visited thirty years ago or so. This is a 800 year old clock, still working. Or at least it was working when we visited it. I barely remembered seeing this ancient clock. You can see on it a depiction of Saint George or Saint Michael killing the Dragon. We are not sure: researches we made gave us contradictory information. My money is on saint George as I think you can see a princess somewhere and he's on horseback. If I am right, then we saw in Denmark a dramatic representation on a clock of the single most famous exploit of the patron saint of Englishmen. I thought about sharing the picture for Saint George's Day, but I could not wait. I want to know if it is Saint George or Saint Michael, for one and thought I would ask it here. I also thought that either way, a 800 year old clock with a dramatic depiction of a fight against a dragon is just too cool not to share as soon as possible. So here it is.

Les lions de Legoland

Comme nous sommes un peu confinés ici, j'ai demandé à mon père de m'envoyer des photos. Il m'en a envoyé une entre autres de lions faits en Legos. La photo a été prise lors de notre voyage au Danemark il y a trente ans environ, ce qui ne rajeunit personne. Nous avions passé une journée à Legoland et l'endroit nous avait beaucoup impressionné. C'est moins impressionnant de nos jours, d'autant plus qu'il y en a plus qu'un.

Les visites à Legoland

Comme je l'ai mentionné hier, petit loup est allé avec sa mère, l'amie de sa mère et la fille de l'amie de sa mère à Legoland. Une destination très populaire pour les enfants ici. Ce ne sera donc sans doute pas sa dernière visite. Malheureusement, je n'y étais pas. Je suis allé dans l'autre Legoland, au Danemark, quand j'avais douze ans. C'était dans mon souvenir un endroit assez modeste, avec pleins de trucs faits en Lego, mais rien qui ressemble au Londres miniature que vous voyez sur cette photo. Tout semblait plus... primitif, en tout cas dans mon souvenir. Primitif et cheapo aussi. Ccela dit j'avais beaucoup aimé, même quasi adolescent blasé. Je ne sais pas pourquoi. Il faudrait que je regarde les vieilles photos de notre visite.

Un Viking velu

J'ai pris cette photo lors de notre dernier séjour à la maison familiale. C'est l'un des bibelots qu'on a achetés au Danemark lorsque la famille y est allée, en 1989, une parmi trois figurines de Viking. Elle appartient à l'un de mes frères. Moi j'ai celle-là. Je ne sais pas trop pourquoi je l'ai photographiée, mais j'imagine qu'elle illustre une fascination ancienne pour tout ce qui concerne la mythologie et la culture scandinave. C'est un cliché de Viking: d'abord il a des cornes sur son casque. Les vrais n'en avaient pas. Je ne pense pas non plus qu'ils portaient des manteaux de poils qui se confondaient avec ma barbe (ou alors que leur barbe soit aussi longue). Il a l'air plus sympathique que méchant, ce Viking velu.

Number 13

We are the 13th of October, so for tonight's countdown to Halloween's post, I have decided to share with you a ghost story by M.R James, aptly named Number 13. It is set in a hotel/inn in Viborg, Denmark, where like in many hotels, the room number 13 does not exist. Or does it? Because slowly, the narrator slowly discovers that there is a sinister presence in the hotel, barely perceptible at first, and a room that should not exist appears in the middle of the night. Like all of M.R. James story, the seemingly mundane situation of the beginning gradually disintegrate until the gruesome climax. Because when the ghost reveals itself (sort of), he is often gruesome in the stories of M.R. James.

As for his own Oh Whistle, and I'll Come to You My Lad, another favourite of mine (read more about it here), it is a horror story set in a hotel, a fairly common trope in ghost stories. You can read about another such ghost story in a hotel setting on this post from last year. More than triskaidekaphobia (the fear of number 13), it is claustrophobia that is featured here. The bedroom of the protagonist literally shrinks as evil manifests itself. But I don't want to give too much away. You can read it on this website. If you are feeling lazy, you can also watch on YouTube the BBC adaptation from 2006, which I enjoyed too. But I would recommend that you read first the original, which is far superior, especially the climax. And please comment and tell me what you think.

Scandinavian memories

This picture was taken in my last trip to Québec. I took it, wondering where and how I would use it here on this blog. The pic is a bit blurry. I bought this Viking (or rather my parents bought it for me) in Denmark, back in 1989. It was the first of my second trip in a Scandinavian country. I am writing about this as my brother is now in Norway. It reminds me of my time in Scandinavian countries. I remember more my second visit, in Sweden. For a year, we have had a Swedish foreign exchange student who came to live with us. We got along well and call her our sister. A year later, in August 1994, we visited her and her family.

I remember a lot of things, fragments that make a blurry yet colourful picture. The almost prohibitive laws regarding alcohol consumption: a waiter refused to serve me a beer even though I was with my parents. The pathetic attempts I made at speaking English  whenever I could (I got a beer for free because of this, they couldn't make me understand that I had to pay). The family cottage near the Baltic sea, where it was cool even though it was summertime. The dip in the Baltic sea, which was so very cold. My Swedish sister took a picture of my distorted face as I had gone down to the waistline in the water. Sadly I never received a copy of it. The reindeer stew. The fermented fish, which I couldn't dare to eat (I should have tried), the smell making me feel ill. The fjords, more magnificent than my own. The medieval festival in Visby. The midnight sun, still up in August.The midnight sun especially, actually. If I have to sum it up to one thing, it is maybe the midnight sun.