Eventually, Liz caught up to me and we promptly ran the battery out on the camera. Silly me, I thought we had gone easy on it the day before and it didn't need an overnight charge (an unfortunate omen of things to come). Since it had been my fault, I dashed back below decks to plug the charger in, but that pretty much spelled the end of photography for the approach to Oslo. There were spectacular views of blue-black glassy water and green piney hills, chock full of little houses, many on smaller islands only reachable by boats. Although it was definitely reminiscent of maritime Canada, it was still unlike anything I’d ever seen before. The morning was sunny and gorgeous, and we kept running back and forth across the ship’s upper deck to catch the sights from each side.
The approach was insane. Although the Crown of Scandinavia was not as big as the Silja Serenade, it was still a very large ship and Oslo Fjord is not large. Some of the turns and narrow passages were a little hair-raising, but these pilots are professionals and it was a magnificent dance to get through. When we docked and disembarked, there was allegedly a bus waiting to take us from the ship to Oslo's Central Station, but neither of us could find said bus, so we followed the crowd and walked. Seven blocks of a gentle-but-steady uphill walk later, we found the station, the tourist information office, got our Oslo Passes and boarded the tram for the hotel.
It was just now after 1100 and we figured that we were facing a morning much like Day 3 in Stockholm: drop your shit off at the desk and find something to do until you can check in. Having already expended a fair amount of energy just getting to the train station, this was NOT an appealing prospect, but we're soldiers and we'll do what we must. Someone does take pity on the weary traveler, though, because our room was ready for us and we could check in immediately. Hallelujah! Our room is probably the best of the trip so far: it has the feeling of being in someone's home rather than a hotel. We're on the sixth and top floor, right next to Josephine Baker's Suite, with beautiful windows that open and look out on the Domkirke and the rest of the inner city.
Arrival in Oslo had been a bit chaotic, and the bright sun was H-O-T as we schlepped our bags all the way from the boat terminal to the central station. We ended up taking a mid-day nap, as we’d been awake since 6am and the walk from the bus terminal had nearly killed me (and Scott as a bystander to my general frustration with bumpy sidewalks and rolling luggage), then went out to explore the city after lunch near the hotel.
Not wanting to stray too far into Oslo, we found a place on the next block called Malik's which, given its hours, must be major drunk food, not unlike Mario's back home (NOTE: In the hand-written version of this journal, I noted here how poor my penmanship had gotten and suspected that maybe I was drunk already!). I had a falafel plate with fries; I've never seen falafel made into a burger before, but it was delicious and I demolished the plate.
We followed our plan to a tee, riding the tram through the town after lunch and realizing just how far we had walked with our heavy suitcases this morning. We really have put in some miles on our feet for this trip, but we kind of expected it. From Jernbanetorget, we walked over the pedestrian bridge to the gleaming white Operahuset, which is literally built into the harbor. Inspired by the look of an iceberg, the building was brand new, made of sparkling white marble and glass, with incredible sloping angles going right down to the water. The design of the building was such that people could climb up the strange angles and actually walk on top of the Opera, an adventure I left for Scott while I sat on the makeshift shore looking at the water.
With Liz's feet hurting, I made the climb alone, but I'm very glad that I did, although it did make me wish I'd brought my sunglasses. The marble from which it is made is impossibly white and quite painful to the naked eye. On a beautiful day such as this one, though, looking out over the water and mountains and city provided yet another of those “wow, this is cool” moments. It's hard to tell in the pictures, but I did sneak a zoomed in photo of Liz sitting on the “beach” slope awaiting my descent. The interior of the Opera was just as gorgeous, with light wood forming a sound-diffusing wall between the foyer and the performance area, which made the area eerily quiet, despite its height and scale. After resting for a bit in the Opera House, we crossed back to Jernbanetorget and got back on the tram.
We rode through the charming neighborhood of Frogner to the Vigeland Sculpture Park, which was utterly astounding. Something like 80 acres of lush trees, pristine lawns, sandy paths, ponds and streams, shady glades of tall trees, and hundreds of sculptures. A kind of arcade of bronze figures led to a plaza with a huge fountain. From the fountain, a series of terraced small gardens led up to the peak, where a giant monolith of bodies stood atop amazing views in all directions. The sculptor, Gustav Vigeland, was inspired by the human form, and the sculptures throughout the park depict the nude body in all stages, ages, and contortions. The statues immediately surrounding the monolith were carved in granite, and contained so much humanity despite minimal embellishment. The curves of the arms and shoulders were simply correct, rather than agonizingly detailed like Renaissance sculptures, and laying a hand on the granite felt like touching a real person. I probably took two hundred photographs in the garden, and could happily have stayed there all day, snapping away and touching smooth biceps and cool stone faces. Then some morons approached the wrought iron gate (basically stained glass without the glass) and the girl posed as if touching the stylized penis of the figure while her boyfriend snickered and took the picture…sigh.
Now very weary, we headed back to Sentrum in search of dinner. I suggested we head up Karl Johan's Gate, which seems to be Oslo's version of Strøget, but not quite so...well, København. I'd searched through the immensely helpful city guide in our hotel room and found a place that claimed to have Mexican food (which we'd been craving intensely) called 3 Brødre just off Karl Johan's Gate. After some souvenir shopping and browsing through an amazing store called DesignTorget, we managed to find 3 Brødre, but were shocked to find that it was a piano bar? Sneaky, sneaky they are in Oslo: they hid the Tex-Mex Lounge in the basement! The food was good, but it's not quite Los Toltecos. I had a grilled vegetable burrito and it was rather good and contained no broccoli. A funny moment occurred (I'm still laughing as I write this) when the odd country music being piped into the restaurant played Merle Haggard's “You Don't Have To Call Me Darlin',” which Dan has had us practicing for a change-up. I absolutely lost it when he got to the verse that we use, which starts, “I was drunk the day my mom got outta prison.” You can imagine where it would go from there!
After dinner, we were thoroughly exhausted, so we strolled past Stortinget (the open-air market, which was closing for the evening) and back to the hotel for the nightly ritual of uploading the day's pictures to the laptop and writing in our journals. Tomorrow is Scott’s birthday, and I can’t wait to explore Akershus castle and the ship museums on Bygdøy.
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