Poo Happens

My headline might have been misleading. Nothing bad is going on in my life, quite the contrary. Instead, the inspiration of this post is literally poo. Petrified poo to be exact.

Giant Sloth Dung

How cool is that?!?! I’m trying to imagine the 20 foot sloth that produced that sample. At first I was a bit grossed out that the guy is holding it. After a second, though, I was wondering what it felt like. I wanted to touch it! Like REALLY wanted to touch it.

The last time I had a desire that strong was when I was Oslo, Norway. There it wasn’t about excrement, but something MUCH larger and less smelly. I went to the Viking Ship Museum I’d been reading about for months before my trip. As the doors opened to the museum, there it was: The Oseberg ship.

Oseberg Longship at Viking Ship Museum

This wooden ship was excavated in 1904 after having been buried for more than 1000 years! It’s wood, it was buried in mud, and it still had this level of detail!

Oseberg Ship Detail

I had to touch it. It wasn’t a want; it was a need. Now, anyone who has read this blog for any length of time knows about me and rules (review: for them!). The boat did have a rope barrier, which I would never dream of crossing. There were, however, places along the ends where the ropes were so close to the ship that one could reach out and touch it.

The guard in this museum had posts up high so he could see all around. I was not the only person in the museum when I was there, yet every time I looked up at the guard post, the guard was looking right at me! It didn’t matter if I stood still or kept moving, I was always under his watchful eye. I was’t going to do it with him watching me. He must have also heard the ship screaming at me to touch it and made it his mission to keep me from doing it.

I started to get desperate to make the guy stop looking at me. There were a couple teenaged boys in the museum at the same time I was there. I seriously contemplated paying them to cause a distraction so I could touch it. That’s when I knew I’d made the leap over to emotionally unstable and needed to leave the museum.

I mentally overcame the disappointment of not touching the ship by telling myself that the last thing I needed was to get arrested on day 2 of my Scandinavian adventure, because with my luck, my light touch of the ship would push it off its supports. Murphy likes me like that!

That did make me feel better.

Am I the only one out there that wants to feel the sloth dung? How many of you would have touched the Viking ship?

4 thoughts on “Poo Happens”

  1. ha-ha Tammy – the poo, not so much. the viking ship? Yes please. I’m a very tactile person – always wanting to touch. Fabrics. Wood. Water. Skin. Cool grass. And Norway? I’d love to go there sometime. My husband and I were just talking about that this morning. Sweden. Norway. I think they’d be fascinating. Lucky you to have been.

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    1. Sweden and Norway are beautiful countries to visit. I highly recommend them both.

      I’m glad we’ve found more proof that we aren’t really the same person (the opera was our other variance). I did have the initial “ewwwww!” moment, but then it looked fascinating, and what would petrified poo feel like anyway? Inquiring minds (or at least this slightly warped one) want to know!!!!

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  2. I don’t blame you for wanting to touch that poo. Hmm, there’s a sentence I never thought I’d ever say. Anyway, I had a similar experience in Paris. I toured the Paris catacombs and got to the part where layers upon layers of bones filled the passageways. There were signs all over saying not to touch any of the bones, but I couldn’t help myself. I reached out and grabbed one briefly just to get a feel of what it was like. I guess it’s one of those things you just can’t help but do. I had another experience with that when I went to a museum and saw a famous painting I like. I wasn’t going to touch it, but I got close enough to where a security guard asked me to move away from it. I learned the same lesson that you did. Don’t touch something if you will get arrested for it.

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