from Oslo, Norway: oh, children

They stand out. I see them on the boats, in the parks, on the streets. Always cool to watch, often smudged, with drips of ice cream on their chins. Sometimes extremely well tended.

A last morning in Oslo. An afternoon flight to Amsterdam, an evening flight to Istanbul. Landing in Turkey in the middle of the night. Somehow finding our way to the Asian side of the Bosphorus. It adds to the mystery of the place.

One last photo from Norway. Of children – brother and sister in this case. They’re coming out of the theater, walking hand in hand, preoccupied with something important, like maybe a crack in the sidewalk.





More tomorrow, from Istanbul.

From Oslo, Norway: vessels

So what images best present Norway? They would have to include ships and fjords and glacial waters. And Oslo? Cafés and ferries and children with very very light hair. And boats. Everywhere – boats.

My admiration for the Vikings was only half serious two days ago when I rowed my own wooden boat up and down the Hardengenfjord. Today, I gave them a more thorough consideration.

We sailed over, via ferry, to the Viking Museum, where we could stare endlessly at the boats that, more than 1000 years ago, carried the Vikings to sea.

Impressive. And beautiful.





And although my little boat had been designed to imitate the looks of a Viking dinghy, hands down, the ancient boat would have walked away with a “best of show” in a competition between the two.





Daughters are predisposed to reassure parents of their abilities and exceptional strengths and thus I was told that I probably had Viking blood in me in that I could well manage on a boat and trip requiring that degree of stamina. In truth, I’d only go out if someone promised to pull on the oars should the winds fail. And I would insist on a decent night’s sleep at a nice seaside inn, with a fresh and honest dinner to cap the day.

I’m not sure that was in the offering back in the year 900 A.D.

Zipping back on the ferry, we noted the tankers that hauled crates of goods from China…





…and the small shrimp boats that, each morning, brought in large quantities of fresh sea critters for Oslovians to devour right that day (these are parked right in front of the Nobel Peace Center)…





…and, of course, there were other things out there on the water. Things that require paddles of a different sort.





Is it oxymoronic to speak of Norway as the land of the sea?

Late in the day (or is it night? ), a different set of vessels demonstrated once and for all that Norwegians really do know how to work with food. Watermelon and tomato soup, turbot filets, crayfish, tenderloin and an array of strawberry presentations were brilliantly executed. A regional, seasonal menu done in a northern country with a short growing season. Absolutely inspired.

Here's an example (this is the crayfish and asparagus in a lobster sauce, with Jerusalem artichole chips; I like the frothy ocean look and of course, the vessel):





So, my admiration is quite genuine. For Norwegian boatmen and cooks who take on challenges that make me feel small. Okay, I may feel small for other reasons, too. The shrimp besides the lobster. The dinghy beside the ship. You get the point.

from Oslo, Norway: heat wave

People who hate the hot summers of the south, think of the Scandinavian peninsula as a breath of fresh, cool air. The highest temps hover in the sixties and the nights are crisp. Too crisp, sometimes. Pack a sweater. A jacket, gloves maybe. It’s a nippy land.

This week in June, you would have been fine with a sundress and sandals.

Yesterday’s six hour train ride to Oslo was brutal. Without air conditioning and with only two tiny slits at either end permitting fresh air, the car quickly heated up to a nice, steady broil.

And, even though the entire week we have been experiencing sunny days and high temps (in the eighties), people refuse to process this. It is so incongruous, so completely at odds with our perception of how it ought to be that we continue to pack that sweater, just in case. I look at the passengers, with tucked in shirts, long pants and thick socks and I think – take it off, all of it, you’re making me sweat just looking at you!

The conductor suggests that we all exit at the next station. It’s a three minute pause. Get some fresh air – he tells us. We do. The platform is hot. We stumble back inside and close the window curtains. Forget the stunning view. Survival trumps view.

But ask the Norwegians and they grin at the wonderfulness of it all (expect those working in the heat traps). Yes, isn’t it nice?

These people are sun deprived. Welcome, sun. Mmmm, more is good. Keep laying it on.

Sunday in Oslo.

We walk down to the pier, through the castle park, up the main street, tracing the steps now not of Grieg, but of Ibsen and Munch (Ibsen, the pampered, adored writer, Munch the looker, the haunted painter).

Endless walking. Past the the port, the palace, to the food fair (refreshed by Norwegian cloudberry ice cream), up the old Oslo blocks, collapsing finally in a warm hotel room because, you know, this country doesn’t need air conditioning.

I hate too much air conditioning and so I am not the complainer now. And who would want to complain anyway. The day of sun (or is it that it’s Sunday?) brings out every last Oslovian. Endless people watching opportunities.

A sample of the sights and tastes – of a Sunday in Oslo:



Oslofjord: castles and ships




revealing, listening - with a sweater, just in case




cool statues, cool fountains, cool people




fast food




a cigarette break




food fest




a path with a view




café life




old Oslo




dinner




in the evening sun: enjoying one daughter, missing the other

from Oslo: white nights

I’m sitting on a flight next to a sea captain. Tugboats – he has sailed tugboats around the world for more than thirty years.

I hardly spent any time at home (in Rotterdam). I am used to it.

I tell him that a friend has wanted to take me sailing but I balk each time. I get seasick on choppy waters.

You are healthy then. The healthy response is to feel the disturbance in your balance and to react negatively to it.

I smell nicotine on him all the way to Amsterdam. He talks politics and has a running commentary on the ways and habits of Americans. He becomes more and more forthright as the free wine flows into his plastic cup.

You can make a lot of money in America. In Holland, you can become rich only if you are born into money. The rest of us don’t have to try, because we’ll never get there! It’s very liberating – we have a good life instead.

We change planes in Holland, arrive in Oslo late and eat perhaps the most expensive quick meal ever. Yes, Norway is even more pricey than England. How about that!

But what stands out, hugely, is the light. It is near 11 in the evening. We sit outside with our plates of salmon bits and burger patties and sip wine from a jug and watch the light. The never fading June light.






In the morning, work causes us to go our separate ways for three days. I'm on my own now, heading northwest into fjord country.