Showing posts with label Josh Pyke. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Josh Pyke. Show all posts

2024/03/21

The Lighthouse Song (Oslo, Norway part 1)

The morning arrived with the expected grey clouds and snow. Lots of snow. It snowed all day in fact. Our guide in Bergen made fun of the meteorologists but it appears they have refined and perfected their craft in Oslo.

Despite now being firm believers in the adage “there is no such as bad weather, just inappropriate clothes”, dear reader, the snow and minus temperatures influenced our choice of activities for the day.

The National Museum
Thankfully the National Museum was a mere 5 minute walk from the hotel. Following breakfast and a couple of double espressos and possibly the best croissant I’ve had outside of France, we went back to our room to put on our thermals and snow jackets. The wind had picked up significantly and snow flurries were being whipped in every direction.

The temperature had dropped to -7° and, appropriately dressed, we stepped out into the snow. I’m not going to pretend I wasn’t excited. Not even the blustery conditions dampened my enthusiasm. However, the unexpected areas of ice tempered my mood. While we had the right clothes and waterproof footwear, we didn’t get ice shoes with the metal sprigs. Therefore, we needed to tread carefully.

A sculpture in the courtyard.

We successfully negotiated the icy steps down towards the museum entrance and joined the queue inside to buy our tickets. The museum was a popular destination today. It is Saturday although I imagine the weather also boosted patronage.

The audio guide needed to be connected to your iPhone. This presented a number of issues. Firstly, they provided a headset not earbuds, so we couldn’t share and we only had my phone. Secondly, the battery on my phone is starting show its age and they do run down more quickly in the cold weather. The advice was just listen to your phone on a low volume - it won't bother others.

Down to the cloak room we went to remove our jackets, scarves and gloves. I was expecting someone behind a desk to take our gear and provide us with a tag or receipt. None of that, for obvious reasons dear reader. You would spend more time checking your gear in and out than you would visiting the exhibits. What we found was a vast space with numbered coat rack after numbered coat rack and lockers for backpacks and bags. We hung our jackets on Number 5 and hoped they would be there on our return.

Interesting design.

Finding the correct ‘tour’ amongst all the options proved to be more difficult than it should have been and I gave up until I accidently stumbled across a method of inputting a number that was tagged with a headset. We turned the volume down on the phone and listened to number of the explanations. Despite the earlier advice, we were concerned about disturbing other patrons by listening without a headset. Given the excessively loud conversations occurring around us, I doubt anyone would have noticed.

The ground floor of the museum is all about design elements and placing things in the context of time, over the centuries. Children were catered for very well (unfortunately) with their own guides, activities and areas to sketch varying exhibits. To create the timeline, they used copies of artefacts from other museums. Bad copies. You could see the joins. There was the Venus de Milo and the Winged Victory as well as an oversized Mona Lisa. I understand the concept but it was just wrong.

I can see the joins.

The second floor was art. They had all usual the suspects, Cezanne, van Gogh, Gaugin, Degar, Rodin, Monet, Manet, Picasso and of course, Münch and other Norwegian artists and sculptors. There was one iteration of ‘The Scream’ on display. Much like Starry Night by van Gogh, there are numerous versions.


The Scream
Apparently while examining The Scream, I inadvertently became part of a selfie. I didn’t realise. The person in question was facing away from the painting. Jayne alerted me to the fact. I cared not. This culture of needing to have your face in every photo is bizarre. The painting in question is what is important, not that you can ‘self-document these locations’. And that, dear reader, is the link to today’s title. It is a lyric from Josh Pyke’s The Lighthouse Song from his 2008 album Chimney’s Afire.

In real life.

There were, all up, 87 rooms to visit and we covered them all in a 4 and a half hour stint. That is dedication. In reality, we probably could have been there longer but we were mindful of the exhibition closing time and so we actually sped up our rate of perusal for about the last 20 rooms.

Another of his self portraits.

We returned to the cloak room to find our coats exactly where we had left them. After close to five hours on our feet, we walked through the much deeper snow back to the hotel. Just before we reached the door an avalanche of snow feel from the parapet above me. We had strayed too close to the shopfront in order to avoid the iced pavement and paid the price. We brushed off the snow and stored our coats and freshened up for dinner.

The youth.



Theatercaféen
We had booked dinner at the café attached to the hotel, Theatercaféen. In part, because it was easy and in part, to spend the $100USD voucher. Café? Not so much. My jeans did not match the many suits and ties I passed as we were shown to our table. It appears to be the spot to dine pre-theatre. That said, we welcomed by the staff and did not feel we were disrespecting their work. Yes, you are right dear reader it’s time to move on.

Our waiter was delightful and helpful and chose my meal because I was undecided. The food was superb as was the service, in contrast to the previous night. Focaccia came with muhammara and a garlic dip. Very nice. We both had the turbot baked with cucumber and risoni in a butter sauce for a main. Perfectly cooked and full of flavour.

It was also a great place for people watching. The two women at the table next to us ordered a bowl of ice with their white wine. Yes, they did it. The unthinkable, They put ice cubes in their wine. I would have made them go and stand outside. That would have chilled the wine for them.

Day 3
Vigeland
The next day was sunshine and blue skies. It was still very cold -9° and Jayne required her snow jacket. I opted for gloves, beanie and Macpac zip up jumper. We decided to make the most of the weather, and St Patrick's Day, and we mapped our course to Vigeland. It is a huge park that contains many sculptures by the artist of the same name, some of which had featured in the National Museum that day before.



The sight is quite spectacular. A tree lined boulevard leads down to a bridge that is lined, on both sides, with sculptures of the human form in a variety of poses. These lead through a rose garden that had been bagged to protect the roses from the snow and ice, up to a giant obelisk of human shapes rising to its zenith.



The park and Vigeland's works continue down the other side of the obelisk.

The roses.

It was quite crowded. again, I'm uncertain if this was due to the beautiful day - it has apparently been a long winter, or the fact that it was Sunday. Locals could be seen out walking their children and their dogs. Or jogging. What is it with jogging? It's dangerous on slippery, icy surfaces. There were also numerous bus tours ensuring my photos are far too populated by people.

The circle of life.



Grünerløkka
With so much of the day in front of us we decided to do a loop walk back to the hotel and headed for Grünerløkka. We didn't really know what was there aside from some quirky shops, markets and bars and a waterfall. It sounded a bit like Surry Hills at home, minus the waterfall. 

Another Great Tit.

The address was typed into the phone and up came the map and estimated time of arrival. Off we set. The walk was not exactly picturesque and was made all the more difficult by the periodically icy footpath. It was not easy going and was clearly going to take longer than expected.

No idea, but it was by the river.

By the time we arrived at our destination, according to Apple Maps, we were standing on a street corner surrounded by housing developments with  no amenities. Nothing quirky or interesting in sight; in fact hardly a living soul, except the occasional jogger. Jayne by her own admission was "over it". It had been a long, sometimes stressful walk to find, well nothing.

We headed down the street in the direction of home and stumbled upon an Irish Pub. They appear to be everywhere in Norway. It was St Patrick's Day, so in we go, Jayne greets the barman with "Happy St Patrick's Day!" "Sorry, what"? was the reply, and then the slow dawning realisation, "Oh, yes," he said. There were balloons and bunting all around the bar. Obviously a man committed to his work. His attitude was not going to spoil our Guinness.

The weir/waterfall.

One pint later, we were on our way again, much refreshed. However, a fast fading phone battery meant there was little time to lose. We could see a little further afield crowds and what could have been a market, but we were done and we needed what was left of the battery to find our way home. On the way, we did find the 'waterfall'. It was a weir. Unimpressed. The walk home continued, being careful to avoid, as much as possible, the icy segments of footpath that appeared randomly and unannounced.

Egon
One curiosity we have found time and again is that the more we walk while on holiday, the less we want to eat. Our breakfasts have been close to usual size but by the time dinner rolls around we aren't that interested.

Tonight we dined at Egon. It is a chain that offers more variety in a menu than should be allowed. They do pizza, pasta, asian and a variety of light meals. As expected, our meal and a bottle of wine came in around the $150 mark. It is expensive to eat here, or drink wine. I'm not sure which.

We walked over 13km throughout the day and certainly earned our rest.

Until next time.




 

2020/08/18

The Lighthouse Song (not in Europe)

Are you surprised dear reader that I have escaped the confines of the city and am once again on vacation? Had the world not gone crazy, I would be tapping the keys from Budapest, awaiting the commencement of our river cruise to Amsterdam. It is a special year. Jayne turns a nice round number ending in zero and we were going to celebrate in style. However, Covid, which appears to be the answer to most questions these days, has intervened and we are restricted to NSW and the ACT. And who holidays in the ACT? No-one.

So we find ourselves in Mollymook and, so far, the locals have all been lovely. We have experienced none of the reported angst that other Sydney-siders experienced being turned away from restaurants and the like, in other parts of the state. Mollymook was not our first choice of destination, I was aiming for something further north and warmer. And then Queensland closed the border. Research switched back to NSW and I came across Pa's Beach House. Pa was how we referred to dad, so it was the obvious choice. I am sitting at the table in the living room looking down the beach to the Mollymook Golf Club. The sun is shining, there are no clouds, the waves are rolling in, there are a couple of steamer clad surfers eking out the occasional wave and the crash of the surf is soothing somehow. I could watch wave patterns all day. And dolphins - although there are none today, they were plentiful yesterday.

Pa's Beach House


The title today is from Josh Pyke's 2008 album Chimney's Afire. We have a clear view to the lighthouse at Ulladulla and I am anticipating a ride over there one morning before we leave. Just a tad concerned about the hills - I'm not getting any younger.






There probably won't be a lot to report this trip and posts may be sporadic, but I will be exploring the similarities between Mollymook and Budapest. Don't scoff my sceptical reader, you may, nay, you will be
Mollymook River(ish)
surprised. I will sprinkle the similarities throughout the various posts. Similarity #1: Mollymook and Budapest have the same number of syllables. Similarity #2: Mollymook and Budapest both have a river. OK, it's Mollymook Creek but it is still water.

Today is our first full day after an uneventful drive down here. We decided not to hire a car but to shoe-horn everything into the MX5. That was until we had packed and then it was a hasty trip to Avis to secure a Kona. I thought that was slang for someone who did too much marijuana. Apparently it is a compact SUV, just large enough to take our bags and supplies and my bike.

Last evening we opted for a take-away dinner from the Mollymook Beach Hut. It was highly recommended on Trip Advisor. Clearly by people who do not understand fish and chips. The service was fine, the people were lovely and the chips passed muster. However, the fish was dominated by the oil and overcooked. Not going back.


After the usual lazy beginning to the day, I went in search of tea bags and discovered a take-away coffee shop on the way. Caffeine hit in both hands I returned to the Beach House for coffee, toast, crossword and newspaper. Not an unusual way for me to commence the day, except for the stunning view of the beach. Recharged after the night, we set off down the beach to the Mollymook Golf Club to ascertain dress regulations, as we are lunching there today.

It is about a 30 minute walk from our end of the beach to the Golf Club. The tide was going out and there were a few surfers riding the small swell and a similar number of people walking the beach and the odd fisherman who appeared to be feeding fish, not catching them. The sun, salt spray and rhythm of the breakers ... who couldn't be relaxed. Golf Club reached, T-shirts are OK, we turned for home, to burn the intervening time before the walk back to the club for lunch. A young couple passed us jogging down the beach. On their return trip they stopped at a point in the sand dune where upon she piggy-backed him up to the top of the dune. No easy feat. Some sort of fitness fanatic mating ritual? I'm not sure we would have seen that in Budapest.

Looking south to the Golf Club

Mollymook Golf Club has come a long way since we visited sometime in the mid '80s. The views are superb looking  north up the beach to our house. Ceiling to floor glass everywhere to make the most of the vista. They have a reasonable wine list and the menu (which offers take-away) is well crafted pub fare. A significant yard stick of quality, for me, has always been the Fisherman's Basket and I'm more often disappointed than I am pleased with what arrives on the table. Not today. The flathead was perfectly cooked, the coconut crusted prawns were a delight, the Thai-style fish cake was a genuine tasty surprise and the chips had a little spice on them too. The corn crusted calamari was the only miss on the plate. All enjoyed with a very reasonably priced bottle of Pinot Gris.

We whiled the afternoon away by watching two people with some sort of implement taking measurements, every 5 metres or so, from knee depth in the water to the high tide mark. They had worked their way about 150m down the beach by the time we left. Our assumption is that they were measuring sand erosion after the recent storms.

Anyway, it was back to the verandah/balcony to sip champagne and watch the shadows lengthen. Supporting the local (and international) economy is never easy.


Until next time ...