Steinar invites us to his family house in the middle of the week for a barbecue. Most of us still don't know each other very well, but we don't say no to the ridiculous view of the lake or the garden party or a sun that almost doesn't set or a Norwegian alcohol that most of us will never try again. It's made from potato, but definitely not vodka. I mention to one of the guys that I collect stories on the road and he asks to sit down
later. People start putting together playlists. Some of them can really, really move.
Some of us haven't relaxed in front of the other yet - even the words we use can be interpreted politically. But it's hard to be defensive when people are doing line dances, salsa or a cheesy sprinkler.