Does this necktie make me look Russian?

A minor but completely unexpected challenge we faced as scouts in Georgia was that people kept asking us if we were Russian. It didn't take us too long to work out that this was due to our Bordeaux neckties.

It must be noted that the Georgians are not all that happy with the Russians, particularly because they invaded and killed a number of Georgians in 2008. I met two people who had witnessed these horrors and they should not be underestimated.

Being compared to Russians was therefore not optimal. Two of our number even decided to remove their neckties completely in the end to eliminate all doubt of their nationality. Though we never experienced any aggressive behaviour, I think this may have been a good move. The rest of us stayed true to our uniform and kept the necktie on for the duration of the trip.

It wasn't until the very last day that we realised exactly why we were believed to be Russians: talking to my friend and her father I was told that when he had gone to school they had been made to wear similar neckties by the Russians.

From one airport of chaos to the next

Waking up late on my morning of departure from Stavanger, left me running for the gate at the airport. Unfortunately reaching the plane before it left was a short-lived relief: with less than 24 hours between returning home and leaving for Georgia, I was in a constant hurry. With the help of Mum all my clothes were cleaned and dried in time for the next round of packing.

By midday I was back on the road. After five hours of train travel I was back in Copenhagen Airport again. Because of the surprising number of scouts at the airport it was hard to work out who my fellow travellers were going to be. Many scouts were coming home from the camp I had just left and others were leaving for exotic destinations like myself.

The six of us were an unlikely bunch: a young ex-soldier and a university student were to guide myself, a supermarket employee and an odd couple of friends (consisting of an, at times, cynical 35 year old and an aging man in his late 50’s early 60’s).

Brief introductions aside we began our trip to Georgia. Once seated on the plane we waited 30 minutes before it took off, making us late for our connection in Warsaw. This however turned out not to be a problem as the Poles were also running late.

We arrived in the Georgian capital Tbilisi at 4 in the morning, dead-tired and ready to drop. Watching the baggage carrousel spiral into eternity without the appearance of my rucksack was therefore not what I was hoping for.

Admitting defeat I headed for the helpdesk where a large, grumpy woman with very little English jotted down my details. This was to be the beginning of a long and painful ordeal to get my luggage before we moved on. Once rested we met up with some Georgian scouts who helped me call the airport to find out more about my luggage. There was no news. The next morning the Georgian scouts rang the airport again giving them the address of a friend I have who lives in Tbilisi. I was told that my rucksack, at this time still in Copenhagen, would arrive that evening, by which time we would have moved on. The leader of the trip therefore took me clothes shopping.

Just as we got hold of the last item on our list we got a phone call saying that my rucksack had arrived at the hostel. So all’s well, that ends well. 

Camp activities (or inactivities)

The differences between this camp and the ones in Denmark were bigger and more visible than I had ever imagined. A complete disregard for rules that are taken for granted in Denmark, set the scene for an interesting camp. But it didn't stop there, the activities and the way they were planned was also quite a surprise.

When at a large camp such as Stavanger each troop of scouts gets a small camp of their own. This area is theirs to do with (almost) as they please. It is customary to build a type of entrance and a kitchen/eating area, which usually consists of one or more tables. All this is built out of long poles with their bark still on and rope.
In Denmark there are lots of rules and regs concerning these constructions: they must not be taller than x metres and if they are taller than a certain height, hardhats must be worn during the build. The poles we use have a maximum diameter and we usually take good care of them.
In Norway this is not the case at all: lots of troops built huge, elaborate structures, that reached for the sky and the whole time there was not a hardhat in sight. Regarding the poles, there seemed to be no limit to their diameter and weight. And the Norwegians took little or no care when handling them: more than once I saw scouts hacking away with axes at perfectly good poles; some were even used as firewood!
I assume the reason for this is that Norway has so much wood that it makes no difference if a pole is lost, but to me it was a sign of disrespect towards the poles themselves, but also the materials given to us by the camp; and ultimately, nature.

Though there were two major activities planned, the rest of the week was very much up to the individual scout. In the evenings, and sometimes during the day, there were drop-in activities. These weren't always that easy to find, though, and seemed directed mostly at younger children.
This is quite normal, but usually there is a little more than these activities. At the two former camps I have attended there have been so-called "mega-activities" which could entertain thousands of scouts at a time. There was always something to do. At Stavanger there was a much more relaxed air: the importance lay in being there and not what you were doing.

Circling Stavanger

Ever since my first largescale national scout camp in 2010, I have wanted to experience one abroad. And now I have: though quite small in terms of numbers of scouts, the Stavanger camp was still big enough to make my feet hurt.

Arriving in Stavanger on Saturday evening we drove strait to the camp hoping to be able to get our tents up in a hurry and maybe even catch the end of the opening show. We quickly had to abandon that plan and adopts plans B, C and D. The staff at the camp entrance would not let us in during the show and sent us to another entrance to the camp. Once there we were sent back to the first entrance again. This repeated itself three times before we were finally let in.
However, this did not make circumstances easier: arriving at our designated camp area we were struck dumb. For the six of us they had mapped out an area that was no larger than 3,5x3.5 metres. To the untrained eye this may not seem to bad, but to us they could just as well have given us nothing. We would not even have been able to pitch our tent to sleep in let alone the one to cook in. We therefore traipsed back to HQ.
Many hours later we had our sleeping tent pitched on the very outskirts of the camp. However we did not complain as we had been given more than enough room this time and were in a quiet spot without too much noise. The camp could now commence!

Endless travel and Georgian Lira

All the pieces of the Norwegian puzzle are finally falling into place: we are signed up for the camp, the ferry from Hirtshals to Stavanger has been booked and I have even got myself a flight back too.
However, the end of the problems I have encountered with this trip only marks the start of the challenges involved with going to Georgia. 

The reason I am flying back from Norway is that I am supposed to leave for Georgia the same day I would get back if I took the ferry with the rest of my troop. Taking the plane buys me an extra 12 hours or so. I get back from Norway at around noon on the 13th of July and will set off for Copenhagen airport at noon the next day. This will put both me and our washing machine to the test!

Challenge number two consists of getting hold of some Georgian Lira. This is apparently very difficult. My bank offers me free currency exchange and so I they seemed the best way to go. However, my bank does not exchange Georgian Lira and nor do other exchange companies that I will be in close proximity to before leaving. While fruitlessly trying to order Lira I also decided to order some Icelandic Krona. Hopefully there will be no problems here; though I will have to get Mum to pick them up because I will be in Norway. This should be interesting...

My first tick on the list

On Monday the 1st of July I went on my first trip abroad. To Germany!

Everything in Denmark is pretty pricey and so there is a strong Danish tradition of popping over the border to Germany. Once there, the Danes go mad and buy stackloads of booze, chocolate and liquorice, filling their cars and trailers to the absolute limit before venturing back to their expensive homeland.

And so, because the Danish government tries desperately to get foreigners integrated into Danish society, we followed the sorry migration south. Just across the border there are special "Dane shops" that make lots of money selling ordinary supermarket products to beer-craving Danes and their sugar-hungering children. It's a sad place to be and yet I find myself there, behaving just like the rest of the people who have piled over the border for a lower price on food and drink that can only be bad for us. The realisation is rather depressing.

However, somewhere along the horizon the sun does rise: if you venture further into the foreign lands you find Flensburg. Though not the most impressive city, it does have its highlights. A large highstreet offers a wealth of shops, including a shopping center, and walking along the backstreets you will sometimes come across the most charming alleyways. Little courtyards, with little shops, lie within the little alleyways. The surrounding houses beautifully old and in stark contrast to many of Flensburgs other buildings.

It is therefore with very mixed feelings that I return home. No matter how sad our reasons were for going I still enjoyed it.