Arrival (Stockholm, Sweden part 1)

The day commenced as usual, dear reader, enjoying the Hotel Continental's most excellent croissant at breakfast and then back to our room for the final pack. My snow jacket was already vacuum packed and since we had generated some washing, that was vacuum packed as well. Aside from the packing cells, this has been a game changer for us.

Sentral Station - Oslo

Once again we decided to brave the weather and the paving and drag our bags to the station via a souvenir store. We needed to drop in the tax refund form for Jayne's Pandora. That was the only aside and we arrived at the station with 15 minutes to spare. A well timed walk. Almost.

Our, not so fast stationary train.

It was at this point, dear reader, that SJ, the Swedish train company, began to resemble Qantas. Not in a good way. Well that's true, there is probably no good way to resemble Qantas these days. Our train was delayed by exactly 1 hour. We found a place inside the terminal where we could safely park our bags and sit in the relative warmth out of harm's way. Jayne sat patiently. I prowled like the tiger outside the station.

Pictures from a train window.

My pacing didn't help. The departure time was unchanged. 20 minutes before the scheduled time, we left the terminal, walked to the platform and to our carriage to line up with everyone else. The doors finally opened 10 minutes prior to the advertised departure. And no, we didn't leave then either. Once on board, bags stowed, an announcement was made about the late arrival last evening and the need for the staff to have sufficient sleep. I believe Qantas refers to this as 'operational issues'. Finally the train left the station 1 hour and 20 minutes late with the promise that those of us who had connections in Stockholm would be looked after. That did not include those of us who were walking to our next destination.

Somewhere in a frozen wonderland.

The only excitement in the journey was when we rounded a corner and a loud bang was heard. As Jayne had the aisle seat, I asked if our suitcase was OK. She peered down the corridor and said, "I can't see it. It must be OK." Later I found this not to be the case (hahaha, the pun master) as our large red suitcase was touring the front of the carriage on its own recognisance. The only solution, given it has no wheel locks,  was to hoist it up into the luggage rack and lay it flat.

A house.

Given we left Oslo late, the original train schedule was out. This meant stopping on sidings to allow other very fast trains right of way in the opposite direction. This put us further behind, despite reaching a top ear-popping speed of 201 kmh. We made Stockholm, eventually, almost 2 and a half hours late. The sun had set. It was cold. We had no real idea about where we were going.

Somewhere. I don't know or care. I want to be off this train.

That leads us, inexorably, to today's title and an apology. Sorry, I mean explanation. Arrival, by ABBA. Yes, I know. It won't happen again dear reader. No more detail. It should be self evident. If you really want to hear the music, it is music, no lyrics. Some clown on Youtube said this is the music you'll hear entering paradise. If that is the case, I'm glad I'm an unbeliever. Knock yourself out. Enjoy is not the word.

Stockholm

Did that deter us? Not a bit. We wheeled our bags to an information person who had as little idea as we did. His directions proved, well, as reliable as an SJ train timetable. Even Declan, our GPS voice, struggled.

Once again I found that quaint, cobble-stoned or paved streets are wonderful for tourist brochures and photo opportunities, but they are in fact shit for tourists dragging bags. My right arm is now longer than my left. I need to remember to swap the bags over for the reverse journey. Symmetry is everything dear reader. Just like in Georgian architecture. Trust me, I just know.

We eventually found our way to our AirBnB. The door and key safe codes worked, the lights were on, it was warm inside. There was a bed and wifi. Sure there was no alcohol because the bottle shops close at 6pm, but we still had a Mars Bar, chocolate covered licorice, peanuts and some tea bags. Who could ask for anything more? Yeah, OK, but just don't.

The noise from the street was alarming. Narrow paved streets lined by tall buildings means that noise is amplified and reverberates. Happily the noise subsided as the local bars closed. There was one clown around 3am but he was on his own and pleading on his phone. All was quiet until just before 6am and the garbage truck arrived. That was it. No more sleep. Wheelie bins on cobblestones. The noise went on. And on. And on. Culminating in the bottle disposal from the restaurant or bar across the street. It was like recycling night at home.

Gamla Stan

The next day we awoke to snow. Not so exciting because it was extremely light. Eventually it became sleet and then drizzle and almost stopped. All unforecast, but, whatever. We found one of the recommended bakeries for breakfast down by the water. Pastries were good. Coffee was excellent, the best I've had since home. We also purchased a baguette to consume later in the day.

Our street and our windows and doorway on the right.

Stockholm has already found a place in our hearts and we will be back, probably in summer when the points of interest have more accessibility. And Jayne isn't required to wear her snow jacket, although we have learned to work with the weather.

In an attempt to channel France, we went in search of food to go with our baguette. There was no marché so we had to settle for a Coop supermarket where an angry man was cleaning the floor while people tried to shop. Seriously, clean the floors out of hours otherwise shoppers are going to walk muddy prints over the floor you've just cleaned. Again and again. Regardless, we were equipped with ham, cheese and tomato to go with our baguette. This would be our cheapest meal in Scandinavia to date.

They are our rooms above the shop.

It was then the serious search commenced. In Sweden, wine sales are government controlled. No idea why. To purchase for home consumption, you have to find a Systembolaget. No French dinner, peasant or otherwise, is complete without wine. There are no Systembolagets in the old town; it is an island of restaurants, cafés, boutique shops and the palace. Did I mention the quaint cobblestone streets?

The drizzle continued as we headed for one of the bridges to cross to the mercantile centre of Stockholm. It was only a 20 minute walk, dear reader, and one of interest. Stockholm, like Paris, has something to marvel at, every time you turn a corner. There were many photo ops despite needing to put on a beanie and gloves.

Oh happy day, we found the Systembolaget. What's more, it is cheaper than buying wine in Norway. Long live socialist control in Sweden. We purchased a French white and rosé and two Italian reds for $70AUD. Bargain.

NK

Just next door to where the bottle shop was located was NK department store. Excited? Me neither. It's a thing over here, like Bloomingdale's in New York or Harrods in London. Or, as it turned out, DJ's in Sydney. In fact it resembled DJ's very much. Mostly designer brand shop fronts under the one roof, all franchises I assume. 

The Palace.

Apparently there is a view from the top floor. Up we go on the escalator, floor to floor just like David Jones until we reach the point of no return. And no view. Unless it was from one of the numerous cafés that inhabited each floor.

It was a nice store if you have money to  burn. Otherwise no view and no sale. Back out on the street, we made our way back to Gamla Stan by a slightly different way. Across the river, past the parliament and the palace.

Sentral Station - Stockholm

For our afternoon's entertainment, we walked back to the station. Walking from there at night, not really understanding where we were going wasn't helpful. In daylight, we were there in less than 20 minutes. Good to know. Inside there were the 'restaurants' you'd expect in Australia. Fast food rubbish and one genuine restaurant. There were signs to various platforms. Sorry, tracks. A language difference.

River life.

We needed track 10. There were signs for Tracks 11-19. And also for Tracks 1-8. close, but no. Then  we spotted the sign for Track 10. Cool, we know where we are headed on departure day. Curiously we could not see Track 9 anywhere.  And we looked. We actually lapped the interior of the station building. A mystery it remains. Perhaps we will stumble upon it as we depart Stockholm, or it belongs in Harry Potter folklore.

We timed the return journey - wouldn't want to be late for a SJ train. They're always on time.

A fast flowing river.

Back home, we enjoyed our first night of true relaxation since we left Australia. No fancy dinner, no restaurant, no other travellers to dance around or pretend to care about. We had wine with cheese, tomato and ham on a baguette in the comfort of our own 500 year old apartment. More on that later.

Good night.

Until next time.

Dancing on the Ceiling (Oslo, Norway part 2)

Our last full day in Norway was not the beautiful day of sunshine we had yesterday, but it wasn't raining or snowing so that meant getting out and about again.

Even the statues get cold.

The Münch Museum, as opposed to the Münch display at the National Museum, was originally on the agenda. We had seen The Scream and although we understand there other iterations of it, we opted to explore the Opera House instead.

Across the road from the hotel.

The Opera House is near the Sentral Station and right next door to the Münch Museum, about a 20 minute walk from the hotel. Having already had a positive experience of a guided tour of the Sydney Opera House, we booked a tour for 1pm.

The tiger at Sentral Station.

Prior to the tour, we wandered around checking out the shopping searching for the Pandora store that had eluded us in other parts of Norway. Success! A Norway charm was purchased, a heart with a viking ship engraved onto it. Sadly, my attempts to purchase the softshell jacket I didn't buy in Tromsø were not as profitable for me or the local stores.

One purchase made, we continued to dodge the gypsies and whatever 'worthwhile' cause they were collecting for on the way to sentral station. They were easy to identify. All female as usual with a specific skirt made of some very shiny material.

Sentral Station

The last of gypsies accosted me as we walked across the forecourt to the station. I held out my hand up as she approached and said "No thank you". To which she replied, obviously miffed, "How about hello"? 

A sculpture at Sentral Station.

Sentral station is quite the destination and not just for trains. It in expansive inside and has numerous shops and restaurants. I imagine it is the sort of thing they are attempting with the redevelopment of Central in Sydney. I look forward to it and hope they don't take the usual Australian option and consider the likes of McDonalds and KFC as restaurants.

Oslo Opera House

After ascertaining exactly where we needed to be to catch the train the next day, with nearly an hour before our scheduled tour time, we set off to locate the opera house which was supposed to be in generally the same area as the station. We literally walked across the road towards the harbour and suddenly, there it was, right in front of us. 

The saunas on the water.

With time on our hands, we decided to take a stroll along the wharf area, across from the Opera House. Here we found for hire a group of floating timber sauna houses, replete with chopped wood to fuel the saunas and platforms with ladders so that after your sauna, you could plunge your overheated body into the literally freezing harbour waters. Hmmm not so appealing for us but we observed a number of hardy souls performing this masochistic ritual so it clearly is a thing, if only for gullible tourists.

The library next door to the Opera House.

We then made our way back around the foreshore to the Opera House itself, a modern (2008) building glistening with glass and white tiles that formed sloping lines rising from the water's edge to a viewing tower atop the building. This "roof" was populated by many people walking all over it. We found our way inside, located the tour meeting point and then sat down to take in the interior of the main foyer while we waited for 1pm.

The Opera House and Münch Museum.

The open space is again principally white with marble floors and sweeping windows that allow the harbour views to dominate one side. There is a restaurant within the foyer as well as a box office. The other dominate feature is an expansive timber staircase that leads to an upstairs mezzanine level that is lined by textured timber panels.

Precisely at 1pm, our guide arrived, gathered our tour group to welcome us and provide some general history around the design and construction of what is actually the home of both Norway National Opera and the Ballet. The building design apparently has some basis in the Sydney Opera House but apart from them both being white, on the water's edge and used for performance arts, we couldn't see it.

The foyer.

The guide invited us up to the mezzanine which is specifically visually distinct from the foyer area to denote a movement to the performance area of the complex. The oak clad walls are for acoustic purposes as well as aesthetic effects and they continue to dominate the decor as you move along corridors to arrive in the concert hall.

The wall changes colour as the day goes on.

Before we left the mezzanine, the guide spoke about the redevelopment of the whole foreshore, showing some before and after photos to highlight the transformation. A significant feature of the harbour is a sculpture made of glass and metal that is positioned on an island of concrete in the water. The work rotates around on an axis, driven by the wind. It is based on a painting that hangs in a gallery in Hamburg so maybe we will see the genesis of this work later on our journey.

The sculpture of the artwork.

Before we entered the concert hall we were informed that there would be no more photographs allowed. We sat in the darkness of the hall for a few minutes to hear about its features and capacity. The seating is very steep and not for those afraid of heights as it is a significant drop to floor level from the stalls. Each seat has its own video screen so you can choose in which language you would like your opera subtitles to appear.

After this, we headed away from the public performance area behind the scenes to the practise and workshop areas to see what goes on to stage an opera or a ballet. This was the really interesting part where we saw dancers practising, costumiers making all sorts of outfits, milliners, shoe makers, set designers, painters, lighting technicians... a veritable hive of activity in a maze of spaces yet every craftsperson or technician was very quiet, calm and individual in their pursuits. I'm not sure this would be the atmosphere just before the curtain goes up but the feeling was serene and purposeful as we wandered finally into the backstage area to observe the commencement of the creation of a set design for an upcoming performance.

The first statue of a woman that we've seen.

One unexpected feature of the corridors of creativity, was the laundry bags that regularly hung outside the practise rooms with instructions to put used underwear inside... in fact artists are not apparently very good at following instructions since there were items of personal apparel dropped on window sills, in alcoves, on exercise mats all over the place. Had we had any fetishist tendencies, we could have scored a goldmine of maybe famous people's smalls!!!!!

All too soon we were in a lift and back in the marble floored lobby - as it turned out, a far more interesting tour than we had in Sydney where the backstage, behind the scenes areas were not part of the deal. 

Münch Museum from the roof.

After the tour, it was time to walk outside on the ceiling to see the harbour from atop the house. The tiles up here were textured but that did not mitigate the slipperiness of the ice that was widespread across the roof. We saw a number of people slip and slide across the roof. They weren't exactly dancing on the ceiling, but from a distance ... anyway, that is where we arrived at today's title. Dancing on the Ceiling by Lionel Richie from 1986.

A short walk part way up the slope was sufficient temptation of fate for Jayne. I beat a careful retreat back to the flat path surrounding the area, negotiated the ice field at the top and crossed to the other side where there was no ice due to the sunshine. Rookie error, should have started on that side.

It was time to head back to the gastronomic options of the railway station where we had our usual late lunch/early dinner and then headed home to pack and prepare for our departure the next morning - our last night in Norway before heading to our next Scandinavian destination, Sweden. 

Until next time.

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.

 

15 Feet of Pure White Snow (Bergen to Oslo, Norway)

The day began, dear reader, as days used to, back when we worked, with an alarm waking us. Unattractive to say the least. One of the best things about retirement is waking up. I mean without an alarm. I'm not that old. I still expect to wake up.

Spoiler, most of the photos are from on board the train.

It was sort of light at 7:30am as we checked out. The best news was that Freyr, the Norse god of rain (among other things) had decided to grant us safe (dry) passage to Central Station. We also managed every pedestrian light. What a positive beginning to our almost 7 hour train journey.

But first, some observations on Bergen:

• We saw puppy school one evening and criss-crossed paths with them for a while. They were out walking in the park in formation. Except the Great Dane puppy. He was in disgrace and had to wait behind.  Later, he disappeared from the class entirely. I hope it wasn't racial.
• The whole of Norway jogs. First observed everywhere in Bergen. Since confirmed everywhere in Oslo, even on icy roads and pathways.
• Hotel room doors open outwards. Be careful as you wander those Norwegian corridors.
• Norwegian TV has a lot of foreign US/UK shows with Norwegian subtitles. That in itself is not notable. What caught our attention was the breaks in the shows which run 30 ads back to back before the show resumes. Seriously, you can have a shower and make a cup of tea and not miss a minute of the actual programme.
• Don't drink wine unless you have bought it at a bottle shop. The bar, restaurant and hotel markups on wine are eye-watering! Also be prepared since shops (including bottle shops) all close on Saturday afternoon and don't reopen till Monday morning.
• Also, it rained. Did I mention that?

At the station the train was waiting, but we were made to queue at the gate. In true European style, people looked at the line of waiting passengers and went, yeah, nah, I'll just walk to the front. Or stand to the side and wait for the line to move and then muscle in.

The gates opened about 15 minutes before scheduled departure and the crowd flooded through. Happily, there was ample storage for our large suitcase and the smaller bags went into the overhead rack. We settled in for one of the more remarkable rail journeys.

Our more than comfortable seats had adjustable tables and spacious legroom. A pity we didn't find the power point beneath the seat until we were coming into Oslo. The computer battery had died well before that. The vista as we crossed Norway was, cliché, picture postcard. The snow began not long out of Bergen and continued for most of the way to Oslo. Early on, the view was interrupted by tunnels and later the photo ops were ruined by snow on the window. Seriously, it was just amazing.

Ice on the water, not smoke, and that is not fire in  the sky.

We stopped at Myrdal where those wishing to enjoy the mountain views of Flåm were required to change trains. Announcements, helpfully, were in Norwegian and English. The Flåm train was waiting on the opposite platform, the drifts of snow covering the area in between. Apparently that is one of the most picturesque rides. Not sure how it will be today in the white out.

Myrdal. It was snowing.

There are not a lot of pictures because the window was covered in snow. However, the scenes of houses buried up to their eaves in snow, baby prams with skis at the front instead of wheels, frozen lakes and rivers, fir trees with frosted boughs and major snow falls along the way will live me forever. It is a world so foreign to my Australian life.

We arrived dead on time at Oslo Sentrum, something with which most Australians would be unfamiliar. A train arriving on time? Who knew that could be possible.

Freyr had deserted us and the Norwegian drizzle had recommenced. So, it was a damp 25 minute drag of the bags to our hotel, the Hotel Continental.  Another American Express hotel. Good work Amex. This time we scored a room upgrade, free breakfasts and $100US to spend at the hotel. Also once again, it is an excellent location in the theatre district near the water.

After unpacking, sort of, we researched dinner. While the hotel is 5 star, so are the prices and  dining options and we wanted something more casual after a day in transit. Prima Fila, an Italian restaurant was 5 minutes walk. We booked. Fortunately. Norway is weird, everyone seems eat early, like we do. This is a curiosity at home. These are our people. Except it restricts our food choices.

The restaurant was crowded. The service, after being shown to our table, was slow, but that was ok. Eventually we ordered. The waiter was, well, a wanker. He knew one Italian word (let's get into the one word or two argument), buongiorno, and threw it around liberally everytime he approached a table of young girls. Given he should have said buonasera, I thought he was a dick. 

Dinner was fine. Bruschetta, pasta and pizza, to share. Not a complex issue, one would think. Not so. The pizza arrived unsliced and had to be sent back to the kitchen because we didn't have a knife sharp enough to cut it. The pasta arrived with the pizza. Interesting for a shared meal. No extra plate, even for the mussel shells from the seafood pasta dish, but hey, we can deal with that. 

They are houses.

No dessert, but I asked for a glass of house red after the meal. It had aged well by the time it arrived and was almost dropped in front of me, accompanied by a muttered "Cabernet sauvignon," as he then boomingly 'buongiornoed' his way to the nearby table of girls.

The restaurant had emptied significantly by this time and there were several vacant tables. It had been interesting to watch the comings and goings. A booth in the level above where we were seated, arrived to much fanfare from staff. They were all dressed to kill, suits and pearls. Flowers were produced from somewhere. We had no idea who they were and really didn't care. However, their presence clearly mattered to others.

A frozen lake.

We also observed a patron in a wheelchair discover that the access toilet was up two steps, requiring him to have assistance from a friend and a waiter (not ours) to reach and return from the bathroom. All it would have required was a short ramp to solve the problem. Unfortunately, our own previous experience with disability access in Europe matched this. Not really hard to alleviate a lot of stress for people who are simply trying to live life.

Our bed beneath a 'monstrance'. Felt like I was sleeping on an altar.

We called for the bill which arrived without so much as a buongiorno. Disappointing. The auto pay devices in Norway require you to input the total cost of the bill, which had been presented to Jayne. She went to push the button and the waiter was finally interested in us. "Would you like to leave a tip?" he asked. "No," Jayne replied. "Not even a little one?" he enquired. "No," said Jayne again. "Ok, bye bye." And he scrunched up our receipt, plonked it on the table, turned and flounced off.

Although I'm not a fan of tipping to cover staff who are underpaid, as in America, I'm happy to provide a tip if the food and/or service warrants it. The food was good tonight, not great, but the service was, at best, average. I should have asked why he thought he deserved a tip. He was gone before I could say buonasera.

And that was pretty much our first day in Oslo. Tomorrow snow is predicted. A lot of snow. Hence today's title, 15 Feet of Pure White Snow by Nick Cave and the Bad Seeds from 2001. Enjoy.

Until next time.

 

I'm only happy when it rains (Bergen, Norway) Part 2

The journey through Bergen continues dear reader with a new title. I'm only happy when it rains by Garbage. I assume they must have had Bergen in mind when they wrote their 1995 hit.

Sorry if the timeline seems out of kilter, but this is a post that was pulled together over four days and you need to accept that time in this post is not linear.

The Stave Church

The first glimpse.

Another church, and this one has a most interesting history. It is, of course, wooden in structure and is covered in tar to protect it from the elements. The Norwegian word 'stave' refers to its construction where solid timber beams (staff) are used as support. There were thousands of stave churches in Norway but a piece of long-ago legislation, decreeing the acceptable minimum size of a church, resulted in most of them being destroyed. About 28 remain and all share the same feature of being constructed using no nails. Every piece is interlocked and can be deconstructed and reconstructed as often as necessary. Ani describes them as lego churches.

Haunted?

The tar renders the church totally black and creates a medieval, if not totally evil, picture. It also made it a very easy target for arsonists. The last person to burn it to the ground was the father of ‘black metal’ or ‘death metal’ as we refer to it in Australia. In fact, Bergen is the home of death metal. Wouldn’t you be proud? Home to a music genre that is populated by angry white boys who play their instruments badly and loudly and can’t sing in tune.

The Funicular

One of the main attractions in Bergen is the funicular ride up the mountain from right in town. It is typical of other such rides we have undertaken in places like Budapest and Wellington in NZ, but the vehicle itself is very modern. It holds nearly 100 passengers who stand in the compartments for the few minutes it takes to go up or down the mountain. 

The Venus is down there somewhere.

At the top, are the ubiquitous gift shop, café and playground but the Norwegian twist comes with the addition of the Troll Forest behind the buildings. We didn’t venture into that area so I have no real idea of what it looked like. The rest of the area was fairly nondescript and we spent the majority of the brief visit at the viewing platform overlooking Bergen, taking photos and trying to identify where we had driven as well as where we needed to go the next day. 

Our hotel is near the yellow crane.

One landmark we were looking for was the Bergen Convention Centre and Grieg Concert Hall, a building that was part of the guided tour. This houses a permanent museum which honours Norway’s greatest composer. Its other claim to fame is that it is supposedly designed to look like a grand piano. We couldn’t see it from the street level and it wasn’t much more apparent from the bird’s eye view but …

Easier to see from on high.

After a quick tour through the gift shop, it was time to descend the mountain and take the short drive back to the ship.

The Venus

Before we went back on board, we spoke to Ani about our excursion that was scheduled for later in day. He confirmed our suspicions that it would cover much the same ground. We cancelled it and, after viewing the menu, also our reservation at the Chef’s Table, which meant we had ample opportunity to pack our bags to meet the 10pm porter collection deadline. After that and a leisurely nightcap, we spent our last night aboard the Viking Venus.

The following morning, we were off the ship before 9 o'clock and wheeled our bags the 20 minutes or so to our hotel. Cobble stones are quaint but they are not friendly to wheelie bags. It was a tough slog, but at least it wasn’t raining – and it was our second day in Bergen.

Hotel Oleana

The hotel is quite central. It’s about a 5 minute walk to the harbour front and 10 minutes to Central Station, which was my main consideration. We were surrounded by restaurants and bars and the museums were also inside a 10 minute walk. All excellent news in a city where it rains forever.

The view as you sit on the toilet.

Oleana is a self-described boutique hotel and is not large by any means. Breakfast was supplied daily for free. That was a nice surprise. The staff were lovely and welcoming although we arrived at 9am for a room that wouldn’t be ready until 3pm. So, what to do? We dumped the bags and walked the city.

The outside wall of the shower.

We walked to the station to ascertain how walkable it would be when laden with our bags. We checked out the park and the lake, then wandered down to the dock area, through Bryggen and went to exchange some money just in case we required any cash. We didn’t.

Back at the hotel after midday, we sat in the lounge and read and blogged until our room was ready. Now that was an experience. The room, not the lounge. The pictures say it all, but in Scandinavia they have these weird sleeping arrangements. Couples still share a bed but they have their own individual duvets. The theory is to allow a more peaceful sleep for both people who can then adjust the duvet to suit themselves. Well, after 3 nights I call bullshit. It made no difference whatsoever. In fact, we ditched the duvets in favour of a sheet that we brought from home. Explaining you want a sheet between you and the arctic strength duvet can be a challenge, we've found.

The bed - with our sheet.

Our room also had an interesting shower placement. It was in the middle of the room. Visible from the hallway if the door was opened. Best to telegraph shower plans if your partner goes out.

The shower.

Rosenkrantz Tower

Our wanders took us back around to Bryggen where we had been as a part of the cruise tour the previous day. One landmark we had seen that had not been included, was the medieval precinct that had been home to the royal family when Bergen was still the capital. 

It resembles a remnant keep because it is.

The fortified area is surrounded by a stone wall and contains a number of well-preserved medieval buildings including the prominent Rosenkrantz Tower. It was not open to the public to actually ascend but you can wander around the enclosed area to view the tower, a substantial church structure and a number of buildings that are now used by the Norwegian naval administration. There is also some open parkland and a lookout over the port as well as a parade ground.

Guildenstern was nowhere in sight.

The Museum

It was raining the day we visited the museum. Well, it had to happen. We rugged up in our waterproof coats and headed out. It appeared not to impact on the locals at all as they went about their business, dressed appropriately, most without umbrellas.

I know, of all the things to photograph. And, yes, it was real. Once.

The museum appears as the Münch Museum on Google but that is not accurate. It is a museum and it houses the Rasmus Meyer Collection. A fine collection of works it is too, of major Norwegian artists as well as a substantial number of Edvard Münch paintings. Enough to demonstrate the development of his work over a period of time. 

Well worth the visit, even if some of the more modern parts of the display are somewhat incomprehensible.

Food

Three days, three restaurants, three free breakfasts and no need to eat like we ate onboard the ship where everything was laid on constantly.

Bjerke was our first attempt to eat a more traditional style of Norwegian food. The restaurant is just near the harbour, with views of the water from some windows. We began the evening with the water views. We were seated only long enough to pour water and open the menu when the American man seated behind me gave such a solid, meaty sniff that I thought he would inhale his food. He really hawked back like he was going to spit. Classy restaurant behaviour - get a handkerchief I thought. This was followed by a gargling, throaty cough.

Jayne and I exchanged glances. Do you want to move? "No, it’ll be ok," I said. Moments later he was at it again. Sniffing to prevent a catastrophe from emerging from his nostrils, followed by a sickening cough. And so it continued, 3, 4 or 5 times. It was flesh-crawlingly disgusting. When the waitress arrived and asked did we want anything, Jayne requested we move tables.

We gathered our coats and water glasses and were moved to other side of the restaurant where the window looked out over the square. No water views, but I could breathe the air freely and our ears and sensitivities were no longer assaulted.

They love a statue, they are everywhere.

As we left Jayne heard the man's wife say, "That was a good call, them moving tables". What does that mean? He knew he was ill but came out anyway? Disgusting on so many levels.

The meal was good, if too large for us. Prinesfisk. Cod with shrimps, white asparagus, parsnips and potatoes, fried cabbage and butter puff pastry. The scallops I had as a starter were perfect.

Olivia is, from what I can see on Google, a chain of Italian restaurants across Scandinavia. We ate here on our second day for two reasons. First, it is the name of our newest granddaughter. Second, it was still raining and this was the closest option for dinner.

Good food.

It was good pasta and pizza. I would be happy to trust my appetite to this chain. Not that I need to eat pizza everyday. One interesting observation here was that in Norway, they do not serve a pizza pre-cut. It comes out whole and everyone eats it with a knife and fork. Weird.

We watched the people outside dealing with the rain as we enjoyed our meal. The locals were a standout, totally unconcerned. Then I spotted a couple battling the elements, she with an umbrella and he festooned in a Bunnings rain poncho, wheeling his suitcase to whatever hotel they were staying at. Aussies, totally unprepared. Smug, I had another sip of my wine and nudged Jayne, check that out.

A legendary Norwegian poet. So says the plaque.

Our final meal was at Fish Me at the fish markets. I'd read mixed reviews, some positive, some extremely negative. The complicating factor was there was another, more upscale restaurant next door. They probably shared the same kitchen. In the end, we opted for the more casual experience.

Winner. The food was brilliant. Scallops, again, were perfectly prepared. Jayne had fish and chips and was extremely pleased with the product. I had mussels and fries. Wow, I've never seen so many mussels in a dish. If we lived in the area this would be our go to place to eat out.

Repair work in Bryggen.

To wrap the dining experiences, the food here is expensive. Yes, we generally have wine with dinner, but still. The pizza/pasta dinner and a bottle of wine was around $200AUD and so was the dinner at Fish Me. Not cheap when you're travelling and need to eat out almost every night. I guess if we become desperate, we have spied the first McDonalds in Scandinavia since leaving London ... only joking. About eating at Maccas, not its existence.

And that is it from Bergen. Tomorrow we brave the rain to catch the train to Oslo.

Until next time.