14

Bjorn could not help smiling to himself as he got back to his room. He was clearly a little overly self conscious, and should not be too hung up about his age. This whole experience was nothing less than an adventure, and age should have nothing to do with it. It is after all not uncommon to feel a little lost at times, and deep in our hearts, we are all the same age. A little insight into the darker side of life is nothing to be ashamed of.

Bjorn had left the TV on while he was away for his shower, and he was welcomed by the voice of a reporter, standing on a balcony overlooking a large public square, when he returned. Talking in an exited but level headed voice, the reporter was trying to explain in a few simple sentences what was going on down at the square, where riot police were lining up to stop protestors from advancing towards a walled building in the background.

There were slogans being shouted by the protestors and the occasional stone tossed at the police, who responded by advancing a few steps towards the protestors, sending off canisters of tear gas towards the crowd, before retreating to their original position, orderly and disciplined behind their plexiglass shields. The sight was fascinating, and Bjorn could not help admiring the police for their discipline and determination. Being himself in uniform, his sympathy was naturally with the police, but even out of uniform, Bjorn considered violent protests completely misguided and a huge waste, certainly in democratic countries where everyone has a say in how things should be done.

But the seemingly endless nature of the so called crisis was certainly both frustrating and disturbing. People were clearly better off before. And no one seems to have any good answer to where all the money and wealth has gone. How can wealth just disappear without any big crook somewhere cashing in big time? Bjorn figured the protesters were right about there being some unholy alliance between greedy bankers and corrupt politicians. But even then, setting fire to buildings and tossing stones is hardly the answer.

Protecting ordinary people, and making sure that violent thugs do not go around looting and destroying things, is the noble cause of the police man and his colleagues in the armed forces, and Bjorn felt proud to be part of this. Asylum seekers had after all been responsible for several violent incidents lately, and it was high time that the political will to fix this problem had emerged, not only in Norway, but all over the world. The time when asylum seekers were treated with kid gloves were behind us, and the decision to make a single national asylum seeker centre in Lundby was enormously popular with the population at large, even if some misguided left wingers were still arguing that this new policy was somehow inhumane.

But Bjorn was in no mood to sit and watch TV, and turned the set off. Instead, he drew the curtains aside to have a fresh look at the view as it reappeared in the dim light of dawn. Revealed behind the curtains was a motionless landscape drawn in an infinite number of grey tones, with the village of Lundby barely visible to the left, tucked as it were in between two rolling hills. And this great view served as a beautiful and soothing back drop to Bjorn´s little room.

Bjorn sat down at his desk, immediately in front of the window, doing nothing but taking in the view for a long while before turning on his lap top. Then he turned to his Facebook page to get the latest thoughts and updates from friends and acquaintances, finding articles on subjects not normally covered in the mainstream media. And pretty soon he was totally absorbed in literature that most people would consider controversial, even though most of it seemed to be surprisingly well documented, at least as far as Bjorn could judge.