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.

 

The Boy in the Bubble (Canberra)

And back to civilization dear reader. Braving the duelling GPS systems, we made it down country roads, through Taralga, into Goulburn and on to the nation's capital, Canberra. And a beautiful day it was for a drive. No stopping today, the need for a shower was far too great. Although, to be fair, it bothered Jayne more than me. As a bushwalker I've gone for days without a shower. However, it is one of the world's greatest feelings, showering after an inability to do so. I'd rate it with clean sheets.

Random flower to offset the lack of shower

Car parked, bags unpacked, it was time to go shopping. One side effect of Covid, my patient reader, has been my inability to travel anywhere without forgetting to pack something important. For someone who often travelled overseas for work, this is disconcerting. This time? My dress shirts are still on my bed at home, waiting to be folded and packed. It has been suggested that I do this in order to expand my wardrobe. I am horrified by the thought. Although my new shirt is gorgeous.

Leaving DJs, it was time to find a decent bottle shop and purchase that necessity of life, champagne. Much like our attempt to leave Oberon, the different GPS apps we were using, were dragging us in different directions. After walking in circles for a while, I scrubbed the address and put it into Google maps without direction. Despite what we were being told, we had been walking in the wrong direction.

Problem solved, we arrived at the Canberra Wine + Spirit Merchants, just in time for an ad hoc wine tasting of Enotria Wines. Very nice. Purchased a couple and a bottle of bubbles. Our hotel room has a small west-facing balcony and is quite the place for an afternoon aperitif. While we were chatting to our host at the bottle shop, we asked for recommendations for pizza and received two.

Amici's Wine Bar and Deli is less than 5 minutes walk from the hotel and was open on the way so we booked for dinner. It is an interesting place. Some would say pretentious. Others would say the staff were indifferent. I would say both. It was certainly buzzing at 6pm when we returned and neither of these factors were immediately evident. But it didn't take long. We were nodded in the direction of our table and there we sat for a while, until someone noticed we had neither menu nor drink. Menu discussed, we ordered: olives and sourdough and two pizzas. I requested the wine list: "Sorry we don't have one, our turn over is too great. We go through the stock every two weeks," I was informed. Seriously? If your wine stock doesn't last a fortnight, you have issues with whoever is ordering the wine. "Just go inside and choose a bottle from the wall" he says. Really? It was not easy to make out the labels because the wine wall was backlit. But I made a selection. A cheeky little number from Burgundy and not at all bad.

Then the food arrived. OMG! It was a plate of olives masquerading as dinner. It was massive. And quite tasty as was the olive oil and balsamic. The oil was so sweet. But just too big as a starter. We tried to eat all the olives, unsuccessfully, and had them boxed to go home. The pizzas arrived before the starter debris had been cleared and the waiter had to call another of the staff over to remove the used plates. The pizzas were a good size for one person or to share if you'd started without the olives and sourdough. If only the staff had been interested enough to tell us. Anyway. We soldiered on. The pizza was good, but I've had better and we decided it best to have the leftovers boxed for home. The waiter grunted, disappeared, and returned with a box that he almost frisbeed into Jayne's lap. Such style, such service, such a dick.

Thankfully it was a short walk to the hotel because I felt like Mr Creosote (Google it kids). I could explode at any minute. Safely home, we fell into bed to dream of tomorrow's adventure: The National Museum.

Muttaburrasaurus hangs out in the atrium

Still feeling the after effects of dinner we decided to walk to the  Museum and have a light breakfast there before our 10am tour. It is an interesting place and one designed to be noticed. If you've been to Canberra and driven across Lake Burley Griffin, you will have no doubt noticed the structure growing out from a weird building on the Western side of the lake (heading north). It looks like an unfinished roller coaster you'd see in Japan (nightmares stay away). It's all bright and twisty. It screams, look at me, look at me! Which is how we discovered the museum existed. Driving across the bridge I looked out and said, "What the hell is that?" Dr Google answered and it was placed on our (long) list of things to do one day. Like when you can't travel overseas. So, here we are.

The museum café is a destination in itself. Enjoying the best coffee I've had since I left home, we watched dog-walkers, joggers, cyclists, museum patrons, friends catching up and the dragon boat team arrive for coffee, breakfast and cake. The staff were lovely and the food was great. It is a great place to kick back and enjoy the view across the lake.

Our tour commenced with Sarah at 10am and we were the only people on it. Happy days. It focussed on the building itself which proved to be far more interesting than I thought. I'll try not to nerd up with too much information.

We commenced outside in an area that has been recently designed as a welcome to country.

A local totem

This was followed by a quick review of how Canberra came to be the national capital as well as the design of the city by Marion Mahoney and Walter Burley Griffin. Who? you say. Burley Griffin and his wife were both instrumental in the design of the capital. They were both accomplished architects who had worked for Frank Lloyd Wright in the United States. Marion gets very little recognition for her contribution, presumably because she was female. Not much has changed in Canberra in the last decade, has it?

The Burley Griffins won the design contest and then, much like Jørn Utzon of Sydney Opera House fame, they had their design altered by the government of the day, because the politicians and bureaucrats were so much better at architecture and design than the professionals to whom they had awarded the projects.  The Burley Griffins copped a lot of undeserved flack and eventually, in disgust, they decamped to Sydney where they focussed on designing the suburb they had decided to live in - Castle Crag. The fundamental premise of their focus was to work with nature and the environment rather than trying to flatten it to build houses. The design genius and innovation of Marion Mahoney has been the subject of a recent exhibition at the Sydney Museum which we had visited earlier this year.

Anyway, back to the National Museum ... the architects, whoever, wanted the building to be noticed. Ticked that box. They were also known for 'appropriating' other concepts to incorporate in their work. To that end, there is a nod to the Sydney Opera House, to the MCG (whatever - I think the Greeks had cornered the arena market well before the MCG) and famous artworks: Blue Poles and works by Tom Roberts and Streeton. They were even sued unsuccessfully by a Jewish architect who believed they had stolen a design he had created for a Holocaust Memorial in Europe. 

Australia though John Howard's eyes.

My favourite aspect? I thought you'd never ask, my impatient reader; the outside of the building is covered in rectangles that change colour with the surrounding light. The best aspect though? On each rectangle is braille and they were actually made to be read together. So, if you pop down to the museum, you'll see some of the tiles have bright shiny buttons destroying the braille statements. Sort of like a petulant child scribbling over something he/she didn't like. And that is exactly what happened here. The mundane "She'll be right, mate" was given the tick of approval, but comments about "sorry" and "genocide" were not approved and were subsequently covered over with these discs by the government of the day. Oh, seriously my forgetful reader you need to be told which government? Ok, then, the one that can be held responsible for some of the least pleasant aspects of Australian society today. The Howard government. The one that gave you "I deserve" and "I'm entitled" and demonised refugees and asylum seekers (you don't agree? couldn't care less, this is my blog not yours).

Can you read that? Not anymore. Thanks Johnny.

Despite it's relatively new status, the museum is being renovated which meant some areas were closed, making navigation a challenge. The basic displays at the moment feature early Australia, post 1788, a first nations' display and the current drawcard: Cook and the Endeavour, which juxtaposes the white European perspective of settlement (Cook fired first, that's invasion) with the indigenous perspective. It was interesting to see the original inhabitants finally acknowledged properly.

Sometimes the past is still too close.

I know I said I wouldn't nerd up, but seriously, this place is fascinating, but you must do the tour that covers the building itself. There is so much more, like it being aligned with Uluru. OK, OK, I'll stop.

Dinner that night was at SoLita, the other Italian restaurant recommended to us. I'll cut to the chase. Superb. Packed and busy, glad we booked, it was too cold to eat outside. Interesting wine list and a varied menu. Despite the crowd, the staff were delightful and the food was excellent. It was the best pizza I've had for a long time.

And thank you dear reader for staying with me. The driving has meant blurring the edges around the posts, but I'm sure you've coped. I think I'm back on schedule, although a day in front of you, or maybe two.

Today's title? Ah, yes. A tad depressing is Paul Simon's 2011 The Boy in the Bubble. Maybe you should give it a listen again, it's hyperlinked to youtube. I chose the title for the Canberra bubble, frequently referred to by our temporary PM. And the sometimes depressing nature of society as a result of the population voting for themselves and not for the greater good.

Anyway, sweet dreams.