My wife Bonita and I were taking our long-discussed trip to Scandinavia.  We were in Norway, in a fairly small town.  It was summertime, but the weather was fairly cool, and the sky was very overcast and hazy, which was disappointing, because I expected it to be very sunny.  We were taking a completely random and disorganized tour, and kept finding ourselves in shabby industrial sections of towns I had never heard of.  We also had to climb a lot of steep hills in the towns, which was occasionally very difficult and even treacherous.  At times I doubted we could make it, especially coming down, and was reluctant to even try-yet had to get down to get back to the car.  All this time I was carrying my little transistor radio -- hanging on to it with difficulty at times -- and getting some hometown station -- WWXZ or WAXO, I think -- very clearly, to my surprise.  One museum we went into had an American black student working there as a guide.  I asked him how he liked working in Norway, and he didn't seem to be enthused about it.  When we left the country, we were crossing into Turkey, which seemed strange.  There was a long sign overhead at the border, and no highway-just a field.  We were crossing on foot.  The customs officer wanted to see some official sheet of paper which I didn't have.  I told him I had thrown it away and showed him the instructions which suggested to me that it was okay to do so.  I had a great deal of difficulty trying to exchange my money in Turkey-to recognize the different coins, pronounce their names, figure out the rate of exchange, etc.  I finally gave up, reluctantly, trying to pronounce them in Turkish, and started conducting all transactions in English, as I had done in Norway.