to Warsaw

First of all, I must tell you that there is no direct flight from Bergen to Warsaw. You have to fly via Amsterdam or Copenhagen or Oslo or Paris and maybe some other destinations as well, just not "nonstop." This means that the day will be devoted mainly to getting to Warsaw.

Second of all, it is still raining and cold outside. My body is pumped up for warmth, because I left a very warm Wisconsin. It hasn't yet adjusted to the cold here, which is fine, because Warsaw is about to have a heat wave. As is my last destination of this trip and surely as is the farmette upon my return. It a little reminds me of my stopover in Iceland, heading home in June. From warm to cold to warm again. Older people don't like such weather fluctuations. I will confirm that statement!

Finally, I am finding that older people are not so quick to adjust to time changes. It's as if our circadian rhythm is so set in stone, that big shifts lead us to get confused about bedtime, wake-up time, eating time. I have argued with my physical self that it really must give in to sleep before 3 a.m. It has responding with a "ha ha you can't make me."

Last night, I thought I'd have some time to maybe even do the penultimate tourist thing here -- go up the mountain in the funicular train. For the views. But I was up late and dawdled my way through the morning, eating breakfast downstairs to the music of Grieg played on the piano next to me...

Put simply -- I ran out of time. Besides, I wasn't dressed for it. Switching to clothes for the Polish heatwave makes me vulnerable to Bergen's cold winds. 

It was, therefore, a long and leisurely breakfast. Maybe that is a better use of time anyway.

I think about Norway all morning long. My visit here wasn't long and it's only the second time I've been in this country, and yet some things are glaringly obvious. I'd just read in the Economist ( here), that if you consider the three principle markers of wealth (GDP per person, adjusted for price differences, and hours worked), Norway comes out at the very top, for the second year in a row. Its wealth is in part attributable to its natural resources (oil, gas) and yet, here's a fun fact: its oil supplies do not place it in the category of countries who shun renewable energy. (I think that club is increasingly smaller; we may be the sole member by the end of the decade.) Nor do they rely on gas guzzling automobiles. I learned (by experience and asking about it) that all of Norway's taxis are EVs. Such technology! I took three cabs in the course of my stay and they all had screens that showed every human and automobile within the perimeter of the car. Their navigation tools may be common in the US as well, but I've not seen them -- not in taxis, not in Uber rides. I was surprised, too, to see the number of tunnels we went through in all my connecting drives. At first I thought it was because of mountains, but then I saw on the taxi's screen that we went under lakes, housing developments, forests -- you name it. No wonder the presence of cars isn't as obvious and audible here. So many of them are hidden from view.

For all their wealth and life's satisfactions, it is also true that Norwegians are reserved. I had to chuckle at the book I saw at the airport:

They are indeed straight-faced and they don't appear to seek out conversations with strangers, my body scrubber notwithstanding. And yet, when I see them gather with family and friends, the warmth is strong and genuine and laughter abounds. Here's just one of so many examples -- today, at breakfast, a multi generational family (the child has to stand on tiptoes as he reaches for tall grandpa's hand):

Meanwhile, also during breakfast, I'm reading an article on the NYTimes (gifted for you; note it is an opinion piece) on how the current administration's great desire to "own the libs" is putting us even further away from real prosperity for all. If the Economist reports us to be in seventh place in terms of wealth, I'd say that may come as a surprise, but it will be no surprise if we keep falling each year.

 

By 11:30, I am leaving the hotel, lovely that it is...

 (I could spend a lot of time in this lobby listening to the live piano music...)

 

 

(... or downstairs in the exhibition hall, reading all about Grieg...)

 

 

Outside, the air is very blustery, but the rains have paused.

 

 

 

Time to catch my flight to Copenhagen. One hour and five in the air. Then another flight, equally short. I arrive in Warsaw just before 6 p.m.

Warsaw, and Poland in general, are becoming more and more complicated for me. So much of my past is in this city, in this country. But I'm not programmed or self-trained or motivated to look back. I did it for my book, Like a Swallow and once that was published, I closed that lid for good. I understand that some people like to review their young lives once they get old. I am not one of them. If it weren't for one small detail, I'd probably not be running back to Poland with the regularity that has been my trademark for the past ten or twenty years. It's a small detail, but it's absolutely a game-changer: my sister, nephew, and very close friend all live in Warsaw. To skip my annual trip to my homeland would be to give up on seeing them (they will never come to America -- there is zero chance of them traveling to where I live). So for now, I go back, but every time I plan this trip, I feel the anxiety of plunging into that world again. Perhaps that adds to the rebellion against adjusting to a new circadian rhythm?

And yet...

I feel I do Warsaw a disservice. I cannot be objective and claim with certainty that it is a great place to come to, because I know it too well to regard it from the perspective of an outsider. Intimately well. But I also know that without doubt, Warsaw is fascinating. A real blend of history before your eyes. It was as grand in the eyes of the world as Vienna and Paris, before the wars tore it apart. Once cosmopolitan -- indeed, before World War II, every third resident was Jewish and according to most accounts, it had the second largest community of Jewish people in the world (after New York). Now? Well, the Ukrainian war brought Ukrainians here, but otherwise, I still think of Warsaw as ethnically and religiously undifferentiated. Still, it's got regional pride! And it's a green city, with beautiful parks. It has a dynamic food scene. My most recent hotels have been extraordinary. Objectively lovely. And yet, I'm not pressed to return frequently. Maybe I just know it too well. (But then, why keep going to Paris?) Quite likely it's that I have an ever present desire to move forward. Keep my past at the margins. Stay focused on the years before me.

 This time I am in Warsaw and in Poland for five days. Think that's short? There aren't many cities in this world (perhaps none, aside from Paris) where I would spend so many days. This year I'm trying out a brand new hotel, close to the Old Town. Ironically enough it is run by a Norwegian company -- the Puro Old Town. I booked before they even finished building the place and so I had my choice of rooms. I picked one (perhaps the only one?) with a balcony. 

I cab over to the hotel. It's a relatively short distance -- a 25 minute trip on the weekend. 

And immediately I fall in love with this Puro! It's just as described, only better. The minimalism, the freshness, the Scandinavian simplicity -- all there. And the view! Straight onto the Grand Theater and Opera House of Warsaw, which is indeed grand -- built in the early 19th century (like so many historically significant buildings, it was destroyed during World War II and meticulously rebuilt, and reopened in 1965), and larger than any theater I've come across elsewhere.

 

(only a fragment appears in the photo, taken from my balcony)

 

 (my room -- spacious and serene. the flowers? provided by my friend!)

 

Ah, my friend! She comes right away to my hotel. Bee, my awesome loyal forever friend, whom I have known for 45 years -- and our friendship only grows: an unstoppable train, moving at great speed forward, maybe because we are of the same age and we know that time is precious.

Somehow I thought I'd find food at the airports or in flight today. I would have, had I gone the longer way (through Amsterdam or Paris). But I chose the shorter connections and I arrive without lunch or dinner (but after a big breakfast!). Thus the first thing to do, after checking out my room is to find some food for me. (Not many Poles would put off eating a big meal until the evening and so Bee is across the table from me just for company.) Beets, pears and endive...

 

 

 

And delicious Polish "dumplings," with chanterelles and fava beans. 

 

 

And we share a cheesecake. Such a common dessert here. So out of favor back home. 

We talk some and of course we will do this again and again in the days ahead. I do have to keep it not too long tonight. I'm going to work on my internal clock again. Time to get serious about getting some sleep.

with love... 

to Bergen

I must admit that I can only think of three Norwegians who have achieved worldwide fame and renown. Chronologically -- Henrik Ibsen (b.1828), Edvard Grieg (b.1843), and Edvard Munch (b.1863). Maybe there's another, but this is all that comes to mind right now. I mean, the lead singer in ABBA is actually Norwegian, but who knew that one! Another fun fact: although the Nobel Prize in all categories is awarded in Sweden and by Swedes, the Nobel Peace Prize is awarded by a Norwegian committee. This might explain our current leader's disdain for Norwegians, reciprocated to be sure, since he is not talked of as being a finalist.

Munch and Ibsen lived closer to Oslo. But Grieg is all Bergen. As you know, I have avoided visiting Bergen, even though I fly in and out of this city. I know it well from pictures and travel books -- it's on every cruise ship's itinerary and, too, visited by most who want to see a Norway beyond Oslo. It is rather goofy to avoid a city because it's popular, especially since I go to Paris so often, which is THE most visited European city (indeed, it's the second most visited in the world, following Bangkok). But, I go where my heart steers me and that's not always aligned with my brain (which seeks to control goofy impulses) and Bergen hit far fewer buttons than Osøyro did. Until the rains set in.

(morning view out the window)

It struck me actually on the day of arrival: I don't just want to stay in my room and look out at a fjord in the rain the whole time I am in Norway. And I became convinced yesterday, after my walk to town, that this place is beautiful, but only if it's not raining. When the weather is bad, cities have more to offer. A hike up a mountain or even a hill in pelting rain is... not fun. Been there done that, famously with Ed on a Canadian hike on the extension of the Appalachian Trail, and, too, with him, screaming down the mountain as a storm rolled in (he followed at a more leisurely pace, having zero fear of being out in a storm) while we hiked the Spanish Pyrenees. 

So I checked my booking at the very pretty Solstrand Hotel and confirmed that I have a 24 hour cancellation window. That means that yesterday, I could cancel my last night here. I did that. The idea is for me to spend my final Norwegian night in Bergen. Where? Well, I was obviously going to be tempted by the Hotel Opus XVI. This is the way one book describes it:

Much like the famed piano concerto that it’s named after, Opus XVI weaves separate parts and influences together in perfect harmony. This boutique hotel, run by descendants of Norwegian (and Bergen-born) composer Edvard Grieg, celebrates Bergen’s cultural heritage while remaining wonderfully contemporary... One of the architects behind the building, which was once Bergen’s grandest bank, was the composer’s cousin [he was the son of an aunt, on Edvard's father's side]. Today, original features such as the central hall’s marble columns and polished granite walls stand alongside contemporary, Scandi-chic design. Many of the rooms and suites are named after Grieg’s masterworks.

Well that sounds cool! I booked a room. There were only two left and I chose one with a chair, but with an awful view out onto the courtyard. On the upside, it saved me some money.

 

(the Opus XVI, once a bank, now a lovely hotel)

 

 (my room: good chair, no view)

 

(with family photos on the wall)

 

 

(the staircase still looks like it's part of a venerable financial institution of yore)

 

 

Hold on now! What did I do on this wet morning back in Osøyro, before coming to Bergen? That's easy: not much! On this trip, I'm not clicking into European time very easily so I stayed up way too late and slept in way later. I barely made it to breakfast before they closed down.

(one last look at the still busy grand dining room)

(boy, waiting for dad to get coffee)

 

 

(even as I found a sweeter table in the quieter adjacent room)

I booked a ride into Bergen for 12:30. I did not want to swim again at the Solstrand again, walking in this weather wasn't going to be fun, so I decided to go to the Spa. I could not afford a full massage (time-wise and actually money-wise, feeling prudent after realizing that Bergen was going to cost me more than Osøyro), but I thought an aromatherapy body scrub was doable. So I signed on. They scrub you, rinse you, oil you, and massage your face all in the space of 50 minutes. I've never had something like this, nor do I fret about having rough skin, but still, the Spa is very much a part of the Solstrand, so I felt good about giving myself up for a "treatment."

And it was lovely. Perhaps the best part was that in the course of the scrub, my Spa specialist (who spoke reasonably good English) chatted me up some, and I realized that this is the only long conversation I am going to have with a local Norwegian on this trip. Normally I like quiet, but this was a rare opportunity to ask some questions about living here, in this part of the country (she was born on an island close to Bergen).

I learned a few things: that her four children are grown and that she is ready to ditch her husband and find someone who will partner up and do stuff with her. Perhaps travel. She was intrigued that I should choose to be with someone in my older years who actually hates travel. I explained that it worked for us. Still, I think her search will have imperatives that weren't especially important to me. 

I learned, too, that she, like many Norwegians, hates the sound of cars close to home and will do a lot to live far away from a city's center. Walking to the waterfront and getting in a boat is a life's necessity. I asked if she skied -- after all, didn't the Norwegians invent cross country skiing -- and she explained that Bergen actually does not get much snow. But go inland and you are set!

Finally, I asked about the guest here. She explained that in the summer they do get visitors from all over the world, and there are always large groups of Norwegians celebrating stuff. Family birthdays, anniversaries, etc. In the winter, the hotel is especially popular among Norwegians because a gift certificate for a visit is a very common stocking stuffer for Christmas. So then they all use it right away. 

She then tells me to go enjoy Bergen. Off I go. 

(goodbye lovely hotel by the fjords, where anemone windflowers, roses and yarrow bloom in August...

 

 

... and where you will find plenty of bronze sculpture)

 

 

When I thought up my visit to Bergen (on the fly), I decided the best thing to do on a rainy day is to go to the Edvard Grieg Museum in the neighboring Troldhaugen. This was the home of composer for 22 years. He wrote many of his best-known works in the little garden hut there, while his wife, Nina (!) toddled around the house fixing him things and singing his music. He was her first cousin. She was his muse. (They had only one child -- a girl who died soon after turning one.)

Edvard and Nina Grieg finished building Troldhaugen in 1885. They lived there when he was home in Norway, from April 1885 until his death in 1907. Immediately after, Nina moved to Denmark, where she spent the remainder of her life. And it was a long one: he died of heart failure at 64, she died at 90. Maybe Denmark served her well. 

Now, these would have been useful notes if I had actually gone to Troldhaugen. But in the end, I chickened out (even though I had pre-ordered a ticket to the museum and expected to stay for a piano concert of Grieg's music there). To actually visit Troldhaugen, I would have had to jump out in Bergen, leave my suitcase at the hotel, and get right back into some mode of transportation -- bus, taxi, whatever -- and go the 25 minutes south again. No thanks. Besides, it wasn't raining (yet)!

I left my suitcase at the front desk and went for a walk instead. The proper way to see Bergen would be with a guide book, perhaps starting at the shore and the fish market, going to the museum that houses a nice collection of Munch canvases (though the Scream is in Oslo), and certainly going up the hill (by funicular) for the view of the city from above. That's what every visitor does. Not me. I went looking for a nice coffee shop instead. I checked out three and finally picked the Fjak Chocolate Shop and Cafe. Here's what I saw in my wanderings about the old town:

(what's blooming in Bergen? geranium and hollyhock, among other things)

 

 

(this is a town of fish)

 

 

The Fjak is beloved by locals and by Asian tourists. I saw many of both.

I picked their "typical Norwegian" cookie with caramel (so good!) and I also bought a bar of chocolate because I've been missing a bite in the evenings before bedtime. I swear I sleep better after a square or two of it melts in my mouth. Or so my heart tells me. (My brain knows better.)  I chose a small one with (I kid you not) reindeer lichen and lingonberries. Now if that doesn't sound Norwegian!!

And then I went back to the hotel and considered life, and Bergen, and the days ahead (I leave for Warsaw tomorrow) from my comfortable chair, listening to Grieg compositions on YouTube.

Toward evening, I did a bit more of walking and this time I went for the obvious high points of this city:

Yes, that would be the fish market, which is extremely popular among visitors because it offers many opportunities to sit down and order seafood on the spot, inside and out. (Notably, it also sells berries which I swear, tempted me even more than the fish! Real wild blueberries! You never see these in Midwest markets where there are only locally cultivated ones, sold only for a short few weeks.)

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

(and many currants) 

 

 

(that is the largest crab I have EVER seen!) 

 

 

 

 

And of course, I had to take a look at the iconic row of colorful houses lining the old wharf of Bergen, referred to as the Bryggen Quarter of the city. If you've seen only one photo of Bergen, I'm sure it will have been of this row of houses. In truth, this is somewhat misleading, because Bergen is nothing like this image elsewhere. And it reminds me a little of Warsaw in that Bryggen is a UNESCO World Heritage site, even though these houses have burnt down (they are wooden) and have been rebuilt many times over. Warsaw's Old Town is also a UNESCO site and it, too, does not have the original structures, but there as here, the buildings were meticulously reconstructed according to old patterns, and so UNESCO regards them as accurate renditions of what once once there (as it does here).

 

 

 

 (the greater wharf area:)

 

As for dinner -- well, I had found a place not too far, but because it is Saturday, all the good tables were already booked, so I would have had to eat very early. I was enjoying my Grieg in my room too much. In the end, I chose to eat in the hotel dining room. 

(this, too, has that feel of a great big hall in a bank!)

 

 

That's how much it really didn't matter -- so long as the food is fresh and honest, and with a hint of Norway, I'm happy.

(scallops, pickled peaches and some stuff I dont recall now, but the white topping is possibly the loveliest ever -- little flowers. Edible I hope!)

(monkfish with mushrooms and peas and garlic, plus potatoes in an amount I would expect at a Polish table!)

 

 

(stairs to walk down, but elevator to go up!)

 

Tomorrow evening, I should be in Warsaw.

with love...