Fresh off the plane, Marius Moen Holtan wonders whether he’s got what it takes.
The Norwegian countryside didn’t prepare me. A year in beach-town Australia didn’t do it either. London, and East London in particular, are a big ask for someone who’s spent so little time here (four weeks precisely since I got off the plane).
Being the new kid in town, I’m still amazed that I can travel from A to Z using one travel-card, swapping trains twice, thrice or more, and still be on time — that’s cool.
On the train-ride into Journalism school I pass a selection of old brick buildings, run down factories, glass-and-steel offices and funky flats that are part wood, part glass and part brick – I love it and I think it’s really cool.
Obviously, the people living here must be really cool. So cool they didn’t have to learn it, they just live their lives that way – that’s cool.
Are they too cool to look kindly on a young Norwegian trying to appear edgy in a leather jacket?
Of course I shouldn’t admit this. Even I know that talking about cool is decidedly uncool; wondering out loud whether I am cool enough – can only mean that I am not.
Until I find out that the people next to me in class, on the DLR, everywhere – they are all looking over their shoulders, asking themselves if they are passing the cool test.
The only difference is: they’re not admitting it.