NO - Oslo

June 25                 Saturday                             Norway                                Oslo                                      

The day began with an alarm, despite not having to be up early… but I really wanted to see as much of Oslo as I could within a single day.  Of course, since the Scandinavian tourism industry doesn’t seem to start prior to 10am, I still got to sleep through a decent share of the morning.  Breakfast was at Bagels & Juice, once again grabbing a tasty smoothie as well as a multigrain bagel with MIGHTY PHILADELPHIA CREAM CHEESE.  Oh how I’d been craving it ever since seeing it in my roommate’s cache back in Göteborg.

From there I returned to the Akershus Festning (Akershus Fortress) to get a glimpse of its interior and also to get some shots of the lovely scattered clouds across the otherwise blue sky.  Overall, the interior of the castle really wasn’t too spectacular… but the audio guide did offer some neat tidbits of information, so I’d still say it’s a worthwhile stop on a tour of Oslo.  But really the winner was the Resistance Museum.  This tiny building packs in a phenomenal amount of information that’s very well presented, even moving one woman to wailing tears.  While I didn’t feel any of it was necessarily depressing in the sense of Schindler’s List, I suppose it can still spark memories in feelings in some people who were far more affected by the war than I. 

Following much the same track as the previous day, I swung around the fjord to the harbor area by the Rådhus (city hall) and this time found the gay pride festivities to be in full swing, with folk dressed up in fancy costumes & cross-dressers aplenty.  There was a big showing of punk girls, though a noted absence of punk guys.  The beats from Oslo Live were quiet when I’d initially passed by en route to the fortress, with sound checks occasionally sending a few words or booms across the harbor; but now things were in full swing… with Kaskade currently taking stage & sending a steady flow of great beats through the air.  Giving how amazing the day was, I couldn’t help but lose myself for a few minutes and break out in dance, joined by quite a number of others outside the gates who were doing the same.  It’s amazing how easily you can meet European girls if you just move your body a little bit…  but it’s something I don’t do often; the combination of a beautiful day, contentedness with the city, love of the music, and a touch of exhaustion from several weeks of traveling… it all combined to get me to move in such a way as I haven’t done since college.

I toured the Nobel Peace Museum, originally not among my top destinations but it seemed like something I should do considering I was already right next to it.  Basically: it wasn’t too spectacular… I think it’s quite a bit more kid-friendly than adult-friendly.  There were some neat technological gizmos and a nice photography exhibit, but by and large I cruised through the museum pretty quickly.

Moving onto the Rådhus: it felt very much like Stockholm’s city hall in the layout and feel of most of the rooms, though it certainly lacked some of the flair that Stockholm had in rooms like its Golden Hall.  Considering I could tour it at my own leisure, however, and I’d say I liked this one a touch better.  While Stockholm bestowed upon us a great tour guide; your typical tour group really just isn’t my style.

Hunger informed me that perhaps it was time for lunch, and upon exiting the Rådhus there just happened to be a Burger King.  Once per trip I like to give in to a standard fling with Americana just to see how it compares with back home.  Usually it’s McDonald’s… mostly because foreign McDonald’s actually tend to be half-decent, in sharp contrast to the inedible fare in the USA.  But I was actually kind of craving BK… perhaps because the Scandinavian take on burgers – while not necessarily bad – wasn’t quite the American way.  Not to say Burger King is a huge improvement, but at least I know I can eat them back home, so I should be OK here.

Ultimately: the food was the exact same.  Except I got it in perhaps the worst BK I have ever been to in my entire life.  While the server missed entering in my onion rings, I’ll give her the benefit of the doubt & say that it was lost in translation.  But the rest of the place had no excuse… the straw box was empty, with people grabbing straws out of a plastic bag haphazardly placed on the counter.  The counters themselves were filthy, smothered in ketchup, mustard, and a mix of sodas; and the stairs to the next floor up were covered in similar goo.  Queues formed all over the place, with most not realizing that you had to queue to order then queue again to pick up your food… causing too many queues all over the place & too many people having to shuffle about when they missed the second queue (which I almost did, too).  No ropes, signs, nor other guides to inform people of this (lack of) order.  Even my tray was sticky… and when I decided to forego the tiny ketchup cups & just pour it onto my paper mat: I decided to slosh a bit more onto the sides of the tray just to try and ensure that they’ll actually clean the thing before putting it back out again.

Now one might concede that the place was busy… it certainly was, and yes: they seemed to be dearly understaffed.  But that’s not an excuse: that means they need more staff.  I’ve been to places far busier than that who’ve managed to keep things quite tidy.  Heck, McDonald’s in Russia is the place to be in every city, with each one packed & flowing out the doors… yet they were still surprisingly tidy.  Granted, I’d hazard a guess that wagers in Russia are quite a bit lower than Norway… hence it’s easy to hire more staff… but still, that doesn’t change the fact that this place was falling apart.

I stopped by the city’s art museum… while I knew it’d be a bit lacking in Danish art given that the nature of Norsk-Dane relations was a bit more favorable to the Danes, the museum nonetheless had some nice pieces; but really it was Norway’s more modern artists which were what people wanted to see.  Munch, much maligned by the hipster critics of America, is actually an artist I’m OK with.  While there are some pieces I’m not fond of, there are others – such as his self-portrait and his Scream which graces so many college dorms – which I actually quite like.  Yes, even Scream … it always reminds me of Home Alone.

There was a painting by Christian Krohg of Leif Erikson Discovering America which I was amused by.  It showed Leif himself pointing excitedly from the deck toward a small glimpse of land on the horizon, as if he’s screaming “Look!  There it is!  Over there!  I found it!  Me!  I saw it first over there!” … whereas surely his deckhands up along the mast – whose job it is to keep a lookout for things on the horizon and have the altitude advantage – would have seen it first… I think they would have been the ones so excited, with Leif hopefully being a bit more nonchalant about it all.  Or at least I’d dearly hope that my Captain wouldn’t get so worked up about hearing such information… that’d raise some serious concerns about his capabilities to keep a clear head when time demands.

Next up was the Vår Frelsers Gravlund, a cemetery north of the city center.  I was hoping for something either fantastically unkempt like in Lviv’s Lychakiv Cemetery or something with pristine order such as Arlington back in DC (don’t bother telling me how it’s not technically in DC… I know this).  What I got was a bit more Arlington-like… but not nearly on the same scale.  It was a pretty wander, but it didn’t offer nearly the photo opportunities that I’d hoped for, keeping my stroll comparatively short.  It was among the peace and tranquility of this graveyard where I first took heed of a police helicopter hovering overhead… I’d later come to discover why.

As I explored the graveyard I got to thinking, as I am wont to do in such situations… that is, any sort of relaxing and tranquil place; but then again my mind already wanders enough as it is when I’m ambling about busy city streets.  I figured that when I die, in the usual manner of my family I’d expect to be cremated and strewn out at sea… but I still want a large sculpture of myself planted into a cemetery somewhere.  It’d be a life-sized Greco-Roman masterpiece, replete with idealized ripping muscles and tight curly hair.  An epitaph would read “I am not here: feel free to cheer; but don’t dance upon the sea, lest you might join me.”

Examining the tombstones I thought back to how many cemeteries I’ve visited which include side-by-side graves of husbands and wives.  Except they apparently miss the “until death do you part” bit of their vows… when one of them dies: that’s it; they’re not married anymore.  So really they’re just friends at that point… and it’s a little weird to bury yourself so close to your friends.  There needs to be some buffer space.

I departed the cemetery and made my way toward the botanical gardens.  En route I passed by Damstredet, a small cobblestone street upon a hill.  It was certainly a pretty highlight of Oslo, even if it took only a minute to travel along.  At the Botanical Gardens (Botanisk Hage), it was once again more of a pleasant stroll than an endearing journey through a world of color.  The greenhouses had closed by this point, but looking through the windows it didn’t seem like there was much which I hadn’t already recently seen at past gardens.  The park did have a nice assortment of plants from throughout the world, located alongside a stream… but even that was only slightly interesting.  I did notice that the helicopter was pretty much directly overhead & still hovering about.

Swinging by the train station, I’d hoped to nab a few photos of trains as well as get a better feel for the area while I wasn’t burdened with backpacks.  My previous venture through here – upon my initial arrival to Oslo – did not go so well thanks to my rather lacking Lonely Planet map.  Now I finally knew where things were & how it fit in with the rest of the city.  Except I also learned that Oslo is closing their train station starting tomorrow in order to do some major track work.

How does a European capital close their train station?  I mean, how could there not be other options for trains?  How could there seriously be only a single track available, especially on the line linking to the airport?  And how are they closing it for the entire summer??  Seriously, if this happened in the rest of continental Europe… geez, if this happened in Italy you’d have a revolution.  I’m pretty sure closing a capital’s train service is unheard of in Europe, barring the occasional outbreak of a world war.

Replacing the trains out of the city were buses out to the end of the track work, where people would then transfer onto trains.  I was dubious, but it ended up being my best option for the next day’s trip to Lillehammer.

I swung back to my hotel and got some info on Indian food.  I’d passed by a place between the cemetery & botanical gardens which got the cuisine stuck in my mind… and sure enough reception recommended a place just about where I’d gotten the craving.  I’d wondered if it was the exact same restaurant, but it ended up not being the case.  So I started my trek to the restaurant, but it only took about two blocks before my Lonely Planet guide had me lost.  I decided to just go with it… I wasn’t immensely hungry yet & frankly: I enjoyed wandering the city.

Along the way I met a punk girl who had been at the gay pride festival down at the waterfront.  She offered me some white pills and felt dearly embarrassed when I declined, insisting that they’re just mints from the festival and not drugs.  I simplify things as I write here, but I really did believe her that they were just mints; I just simply didn’t want any.  But just as we were starting to chat a bit: we turned a corner and she exclaimed “Oh my God, the police!” and went dashing ahead.  I’d soon discover why she seemed to be concerned rather than curious, and I’d also find out why the helicopter had been overhead all day.

As I approached I found a row of police vehicles blocking a street, with another row on the other end of the block.  There was a crowd of punks – various ages between teens & 30’s – within the adjacent plaza as well as a small group within the police barricade.  Tempers were flaring, with those within the barricade visibly angry but just yelling, and those within the plaza testing the police presence… some dashing forward; most yelling.  My first guess was that it was your standard European anarchist movement, but apart from a black flag carried by one of the folks within the barricade: they definitely looked more punk than anarchist… yes, to the layperson it can be tough to tell, but if there’s a subculture I affiliate with best: it’s punk.  While most anarchists come from punk roots; not all punks are necessarily full-fledged anarchists.  It’s sort of that square / rectangle dealie.  But my anarchist theory did get some boost considering that this was all happening right in front of a police station.

I snapped away with my camera from right in the middle of the action, shoulder to shoulder with mostly other tourists or local bystanders.   I watched as the police would periodically march forward, dispersing the punks, but the folk would move right back in as soon as the police retreated back to the barricade.  One officer, in particular, was with a K-9 and seemed to be a bit of an instigator… while the dog seemed to think it was all dear fun, it was clearly visible what the dog’s role was whenever he got close enough to one of the punks.  Several surely had some teeth marks to tend to by the end of that day.  The officer himself shoved the punks on several occasions, almost each time being met with loud screaming & several other punks rushing forward in defense… and ending with 1 or 2 being arrested each time.  The police were quick to use their batons, and even after things would calm down again: police asserted their presence by slamming their batons on the ground to retract them – making a loud clapping sound.  If this were America: a lot of those actions would result in a lawsuit, costing the police quite a sum of money.

It was somewhat surreal being able to be right in the middle of it and be left along.  Dressed I was, I clearly wasn’t one of the people the police were interested in; and likewise punk culture – as scary as they may seem to the average person – really isn’t about picking fights with strangers.  They look tough; but they’re not going to bother you as long as you don’t harass them to begin with.

A couple girls hopped up beside me, with the cutest one grabbing onto me for support.  I got to chatting with one of them and, given my extra foot of height, fed her information on the status of people being detained within the barricade.  I discovered that one of the girls – a girl in purple – was her sister; she was clearly concerned for her.  Through this girl I got some of the history of what was going on, confirming it’s not an anarchist movement.

So there’s an abandoned building next door to the police station, and I really do mean next door.  There are two buildings on that side of the block: the police station and the abandoned building; that’s it.  So it was a short trip for all involved.  Apparently most of these punks had been squatting in the building for some time, but the police arrived last Monday to evict them from the building.  The group obtained a permit for a party today – which I’d later come to believe had been permitted to occur in another nearby plaza on the other side of the block – but apparently they violated their permit and spilled into the streets, reoccupying the abandoned building about 30 minutes prior to my arrival.  So the police responded to kick them out of the building again & shut down the party for violating the permit.

As soon as two officers arrived on horseback: things moved into motion… the police lined up and began marching down the street, sending a couple officers down one parallel street & the horses along another parallel street.  All I could think of was how it’s the classic pincer move: send your cavalry out along the side to flank your enemy… a thought echoed by some of the other folk watching it all unfold with me.  As the officers advanced, completely ignoring the crowd just watching, I wondered about what’s so different with those of us observers… if I was wearing black, studded leather, or patches: would I be chased away despite having no relation with the events at hand?  Just because I’m wearing a bright red t-shirt, does that make me seem harmless?  Like I said, I actually affiliate quite considerably with much of the punk ideology…  were it possible for me to get passionate about things, I could quite possibly see myself right there with them with my fist in the air.  But I was left alone; and so were the lot of us standing around taking pictures.

We followed in behind the officers’ advance up the street Torggata, civilians in a war between our guardians and our counterparts; two sides we see as our kind.  It was at the road Hausmannsgate where the advance halted, with police stationed on one side of the street & the youths milling about on the other side of the street.  After some more photos I eventually gave in that not much more was likely going to happen, returning to my initial task of finding the Indian restaurant.  Fortunately, the police advance put my only a block away from it.

I ate at Delhi Tandoori – a place I’d certainly recommend.  As my hotels’ receptionist put it: everytime he ate there he ate too much.  That sounded perfect to me!  And sure enough, I lived up to that claim... the samosa was OK (could’ve used some more spice), but the naan was quite tasty as was the meal itself (I forget what exactly I ordered, but it was per the recommendation of my server and he chose well).  The mango lassi helped keep the meal’s heat quenched, though that didn’t stop me from downing almost a full pitcher of water.   I was absolutely stuffed by the end, with my stomach feeling overloaded right up until I fell asleep.  The service was also quite pleasant, with the two guys running it both quite enthusiastic about ensuring I was pleased with everything.

I returned outside just in time to see groups of the punk folk turning around the corner – including the girl I’d been chatting with earlier.  I had wanted to give her my card in case they had any interest in the photos & videos I’d taken, but she disappeared into a building just moments before I was within range to get her attention.  There were two buildings they had been heading into – one just beside my restaurant and the other just across the street.  Both were absolutely covered in graffiti and were tough to discern whether they were abandoned or not.  The one across the street appeared to be a disused theater, and a few minutes later I overhead a passing couple remark – in English – that the girl had once seen a play there.  I caught up with a guy covered in studded leather and asked if he knew whether they’d be interested in getting copies of my photos/videos, but he suggested I just not make a big issue out of it.  Fair enough; I didn’t inquire any further.

When I say that the buildings were covered in graffiti, I actually mean that as a good thing… this was some really cool graffiti; the type I actually appreciate rather than the petty tags that I loathe.  There were so many neat designs & messages, all of which helped shape the identity of what the local punk movement represented.  I’d basically say that like their counterparts in other cities and countries: they were pro-drug, pro-love, anti-war, but not pacifists… willing to stand up and fight when so provoked.  They were also pro-bike.  Very pro-bike.  A large portion of the graffiti was actually pro-bike and anti-car.  Awesome.  Now that’s something I haven’t noticed among punk movements before...

I returned to the scene of the chaos to find a pair of officers still parked in front of the abandoned building.  I approached them and found myself chatting with perhaps the two nicest police officers I have ever spoken with ever.  They affirmed the exact same information I’d gotten from the girl earlier: they were just enforcing the party’s permit violation.  I did learn that the street where their advance had stopped was actually defined in the permit as how far they had to go in case they were dispersed by the police.  I learned that the actions of the K-9 officer were perfectly legal within Norway’s police system, though they did seem to get my hint that it likely further provoked the situation rather than help resolve it.

From there I pretty much made my way straight back to my room… while I had the energy to explore the city well into its evening, the healing process from my surgery back in Stockholm meant that things were itchy.  Incredibly itchy.  I remember this from my splenectomy 20 years ago: of my three biggest memories of that period, I remember playing Ms. Pac-Man, eating all the ice cream I wanted, and I remember the wretchedly itchy healing scar.  And given the location of the itching at the present: it was something best addressed in the privacy of my hotel room rather than indulging myself with nice deep scratches right there on a public street.

NO - Oslo

June 24                 Friday                                   Norway                                Oslo                                      

It was a pretty easy journey to the train station: walk toward the river, hop on the tram, and hop off pretty much right at the station’s entry.  Fortunately the train station and bus station where in a single continuous building, making it easy to work out an Oslo trip whether it be by bus or by rail.

I was a little surprised to learn that rail wasn’t going to be an option… apparently there was track work en route to Oslo, requiring that rail transfer to a bus midway through the journey.  So while it was technically an option, Swebus offered a bus which was cheaper, faster, and I could stay in the same seat the whole way.  So that won out, letting me immediately hop right onto the bus as soon as I’d bought my ticket.  Very little waiting required.

Overall Göteborg had shown itself a bit better than my initial impression, but I was leaving a day sooner than I’d originally guessed I might spend here… it just wasn’t the most endearing of cities; I’d say Stockholm was certainly the better.  While Göteborg certainly isn’t pretentious in the slightest (whereas Stockholm kind of is), its working class roots were still a bit strong in that it just wasn’t a city that geared itself toward tourists too well.

Oslo was different.  I got to take a bit of a tour after leaving the bus station because I went the wrong way… and then after backtracking from my initial northern trajectory I ended up going southwest… so I had to correct myself again to get further north.  All I wanted to go was go due northwest, but my Lonely Planet map was so incredibly inaccurate that this proved to be quite difficult.  Fortunately, despite the burden of carrying my full kit: Oslo’s pretty streets kept it rather bearable.

My lodging was at the Hotel Bondeheimen.  For the price I was paying: the room wasn’t nearly as luxurious as I’d hoped it would be… it was really just a room and naught much more; but it was very central.  Exceedingly central.  Really its location was pretty tough to beat.  So I tried to put the price of the rooms behind me and just accept it for what I now had.

I unloaded my gear and immediately went in search of dinner.  This ended up being Italian at the Trattoria Cappuccino located just behind the cathedral.  It was a linguine dish consisting of very thin homemade linguine & exquisitely tasty, but the serving was a bit on the small side.  While I usually do just fine with the smaller portions common in Europe (indeed, I actually appreciate it), this was a bit small even by European standards.  I suppose it was just incentive to indulge in dessert; a thought which I hadn’t considered until I’d already left.  I’d have actually rather liked to try their tiramisu.

The reason I’d completely forgotten about dessert was that I got to chatting with my waitress: a very beautiful girl who seemed to be quite interested in conversation.  She had remarked on my saying that I’m from America, noting something that’s always bothered me… I’m from America just as much as Canadians are & anyone from anywhere south of the border.  Of course, few Canadians will call themselves American simply because of the connotations that would bring… we kind of joked about that, but it was a Segway into learning that she’s originally from Costa Rica, hence her American remark.  She’s technically American, too.  I inquired as to how she ended up here & learned that she has Swedish parents (I may have misheard; she may have said Norwegian; clearly Swedish parents still wouldn’t completely explain being in Oslo).  She was also heading to Rome soon as a volunteer with the UN.  Here’s a girl with a strong international background, an ethic toward helping people, great at conversation, about to go to one of my favorite cities in a country that I hold dear, and she’s stunningly gorgeous… not even going the bottle blonde route like so many others in Scandinavia.  It wasn’t my favorite of moments when she was called away & we had to cut the conversation short so I could vacate and she could return to work.

I next made my way southward toward the Akershus Festning (Akershus Fortress), but not before first stopping at a place called Bagel & Juice just around the corner from the hotel to grab a rather tasty strawberry & mango smoothie.  At the fortress I did a quick tour of the Norwegian Armed Forces Museum.  I had 15 minutes to tour the museum and did it in 10… it had some interesting stuff, but overall it really wasn’t something that needed an immense amount of time.

Crossing through the gate and past the walls, I’d followed just in the footsteps of a guard only a few paces ahead of me.  As she returned to her post from her brief patrol across the bridge, I couldn’t help but be amused at her faint smile upon her realization that I was snapping several photos of her.  She had this look on her face that was clearly the desire to want to smile and pose for a photo; but unable to given her duty to remain stoic, composed, and alert.

The tourism information building was originally just going to be a brief pause for me to ask about the Oslo Card (which wasn’t available there), but I ended up spending considerably more time there after a passing glimpse at one of its informational signs turned into a full-fledged reading of every single one.  There were some amazing stories of convicts who had ended up at the prison for one reason or another, including a few who kept coming back after each time making an escape.  I suppose it doesn’t matter if you’re not very good at evading capture if you are good at getting back out again.  I was just approaching the last sign when I caught a figure out of the corner of my eye oriented directly toward me… the poor girl manning the desk was patiently waiting for me to finish.  While she insisted I keep reading, with the time at 17:05 and on a Friday evening: I dearly didn’t want to keep this young 20-something waiting; but I really was grateful and amazed at her patience in this tourist who insists on coming in right at closing time & then lingering about reading everything.  I was the kind of person that every employee despises :)

The fortress’ interior had closed, but I was still free to roam about its outside.  The winner here was the great views over the city, where despite the light drizzle the clouds were quite amazing above the city.  I’d come to love the clouds over Norway, where the effects of mixing ocean streams, rising mountains, and the clash of temperate and Arctic air all combine to create some amazing cloud formations; the like I’ve never seen.  Just beside the fortress was a massive cruise ship at dock.  I couldn’t help but smile at the cannons pointed directly at it, with the cruise ship’s multitude of openings upon its side seeming almost as if a massive battery of armaments aimed directly back.

I exited the castle and crossed along the harbor toward Aker Brygge, a pretty new waterfront neighborhood that I’ll come back to in just a second.  Along the way, in the harbor area by the Rådhus (city hall), were two concert areas… one I’d come to learn was for a gay rights celebration the next day; and the other was for Oslo Live, a concert series in its 2^nd to last day.  From the flyers I came to realize it was drawing some pretty huge acts.  The beats from the Oslo Live venue could be heard all the way into the center, and as I walked alongside its northeastern fringe the bass felt like it was moving blood through my body with more energy than my own heart.  It was some good dance beats, but I didn’t recognize them nor the artist… but it did cause me to slow my pace down a bit to appreciate the tunes.

Continuing on into Aker Brygge I reminisced upon all the waterfronts I’d seen thus far…

• ·         Reykjavik’s isn’t really built up much, but for what there is I’d say it’s mostly industrial.
• ·         Stockholm’s had a continuous tourist presence through most of it, but a lot of it was fronted by boats and such… while there were some plazas, I didn’t really feel that it actively engaged with the water so much as just look upon it; the private boat-bars more detracting from the public appreciation of it (although the boats tended to be rather vintage, so I’m not necessarily complaining; vintage boats can make for lovely photos regardless of function).
• ·         Kalmar embraced the water a bit more, with Kalmar’s Castle and adjacent park providing a nice waterside view and a pretty harbor; but like Stockholm not really working with the water rather than just looking upon it.
• ·         Karlskrona definitely used its resources, with several public plazas and parks offering plenty of opportunity to relax & appreciate the water; but not many businesses which actively engaged with the water.
• ·         Århus had a totally industrial waterfront.
• ·         Copenhagen kind of ignores the water, not really having many buildings of interest fronting the water with the exception of a few spots along the canals, except even then the focus tends to be more on the parallel walkways and not as much on the canals… not too many benches & too many boats (but again: in some cases the boats made for great photos).
• ·         Göteborg takes bottom rankings: pretty much covering its entire riverfront with nothing but industry.  I’d have expected more out of Sweden’s second city.

But then there’s Oslo.  It has its industrial fringes along the fjord (though I seem to recall reading that this bit technically isn’t a fjord), leaving its waterfront near the city center open for the tourism industry.  Of the three sides bound by land, there’s the castle/fortress on one side, the Aker Brygge neighborhood on the opposite side, and the harbor in the middle.  The harbor just serves bar-boats; none of which seemed to stay docked too long… they were bars that actually cruised around; not just sit there at the docks like in so many other cities.  This freed up the view from the promenade to look down the fjord, and the nature of the promenade offered plenty of room to avoid feeling crowded & also a number of spots to sit down.  The fortress likewise gave a great elevated view, really sparking one’s appreciation of the sea.

Now for Aker Brygge.  This is a mixed use development which replaced a bunch of warehousing and industry (which still remains just beyond the couple blocks of development).  With mid-rise buildings (about 6-10 stories) and ground level retail & restaurants, it definitely served as the place to be both by day and by night.  The restaurants tended to be a bit higher-end, but this was definitely where both the casual & fine dining seemed to be for most folk.  There were plenty of benches about and a number of water features in addition to the fjord and a canal, of which the canal was home to a line of boats on one side and the fjord-front hosted larger yachts geared toward fjord tours; but even then the view toward the fortress was still unimpeded from most points.

Even away from the docks, the interior of the neighborhood had a pedestrianized area… and I specifically enjoyed the architecture of the buildings themselves.  First, the were visibly modern but had a hint of traditional Nordic touch.  You could see the modern Scandinavian designs in the very geometric shapes, but somehow there just seemed to be a bit of classic influence in there… I’m not an architect so I can’t pinpoint it much better than that.

I especially liked the balconies, a component which I feel American design woefully misses in so many developments.   The balconies were varied, helping to keep the upward views from being monotonous; and the balconies also provided enough room for the residents to actually use them.  That might sound a bit trivial, but there’s a trend among architects in America to add balconies that are only 1-2 ft wide… they’re really just large windows at that point.  You can’t walk out on them; you can’t look down; you can’t appreciate or engage with what’s outdoors in the way you could if you could put out some chairs and a table.  With great views from each of these balconies, they all helped offer an “eyes on the street” that can not only make it more engaging from a civic perspective; but also help deter crime by making any would-be perpetrators feel that they’d be more likely to be seen.  And there’s the monotony element – something architects are guilty of worldwide whereby they just copy the same exterior over and over again.  With the varied shapes of the buildings, my eyes were continuously drawn upward just as much as the ground also engaged my senses.

So basically… I really liked Aker Brygge.  The only thing that seemed to be missing were some good cultural venues… but it could just be that I didn’t spot them.  A local theater space, perhaps.  Or even a school; but I also don’t know the Norwegian word for school… so maybe I just didn’t see that, either.  There were a couple statues & other art pieces which were pretty neat, including a rather odd piece that contorted the landscape at one of the central plazas.  Within the same plaza was also a statue of a relaxing nude woman… I wasn’t sure if it was vandalized or if was an approved art piece, but it’d been painted over with colored shoes, lipstick, and… pubic hair.  Without that latter coloring I probably wouldn’t have thought much of the differential between each of the legs, but with the coloring it suddenly became quite pornographic to view the statue from a certain angle.

Now back to those bar-boats in the harbor at the center of the fjord.  Just a slight interjection before I continue on with my day.  As I walked along one of the piers I couldn’t help but notice something peculiar about the crowds on each boat.  Every single woman… I mean right down to every single one… that is: 100% … so all of the women on each of three boats along the pier was a bottle blonde.  Not one brunette among them; not even someone who may have been a natural blonde.  Bah… not that I’m inherently against bottle blondes; but I just see people who have to change themselves so thoroughly as being people with some self-identity, esteem, and confidence issues… and more often than not I tend to be right; and more often than not they tend to be heinously annoying.  Now there are exceptions; and I’m good friends with some of those exceptions; but none of these women looked or sounded like the type to prove me wrong.

So in general, Scandinavian women have been at their prime in their 30’s.  Granted, by the time they hit 40: they start to look like your standard over-the-hill Cali-Mom: great body but a mummified face.  In their teens and 20’s, they just come off as too ditzy/trashy-looking; whereas they eventually become a bit more dignified, classy, and respectable… but these lasses on the boat – largely in their 20’s and 30’s – didn’t give much credence to my little theory.  The guys weren’t much better.  In line with what I said a few days ago, the guys on these boats just looked like a bunch of fratboys.  Though fortunately, the guys off the boats have tended to seem a bit more normal; not quite the Danish thugs or as much like the Swedish fratboys.  Bummer… I’m such a fan of Swedish backpackers; I just can’t stand its urbanites.

While I’m nitpicking over these things: I’ll also take a stab at the Norwegian’s sunglasses.  So aviator-style sunglasses are huge here, apparently.  I’m mixed on aviators… I love their look on, you know, aviators and other enforcement-type folk; but on your general layman they reinforce that whole fratboy persona.  So I’m ultimately not a huge fan.  But what bothers me here isn’t my inherent aversion to them so much as they the sunglasses they’re wearing are about 50% larger than they should be.  It makes it seem like they have very small heads; it’s an illusion that really bugs me.  And running with that: I’d still say it’s better than Americans’ current sunglasses obsession of wearing these huge round things that make them look like bugs… seriously, Americans have no fashion sense.

So I’m on a roll here, I’ll keep this rant going.  Fashion sense.  So back to women: if I had to pick a single physical trait that best defines Scandinavian women – yeah, I’m being a male pig here, I know – it’d absolutely be their legs.  Now normally I’m an arm guy… not because I’m sexually aroused by arms (that seems kind of weird), but because I find arms to be such a great signifier of the rest of the body.  You can tell if a woman is too heavy, too thin, if she’s very lean and toned, or if she’s just a good size.  It’s always been a consistently good indicator.  But here… Scandinavians have been quite thoroughly turning me into a leg man… partly because they show so much of them; partly because they’re all quite well toned; and partly because they somehow make them seem so incredibly smooth and long.  It all seems weird as I write it but makes perfect sense in my head.

And top it off with the jeans… firstly, European women know how to wear jeans.  Heck I’ll also credit European men with pulling off jeans.  Americans of both genders fail at both, and I take no shame in saying that I’m among them.  Not only do we wear jeans which don’t look nice to begin with – what’s this crap with pre-faded, pre-holed, pre-whatever – but our flabby excesses just roll on out with the ever-endearing term “muffin-tops”.  You flat-out don’t see those in Europe.  Every time I have seen them, 95% of the time they’ve ended up being American and 4% of the time Canadian; with the remaining 1% being the folk among the various European sub-cultures who could care less or even embrace bad fashion (this is pretty much where I’d count myself).

Basically: Europeans are much more fit to begin with, but even those who are a bit heavier wear jeans cut to hide it a bit better… in many cases they wrap along the waist higher, which with the right top makes it seem just fine.  Of course, with the wrong top you look like you’re stuck in the 80’s and have a massive rear-end… I have seen this on many occasions in Europe, where there’s definitely a larger proportion of people stuck in the 80’s (or at least early 90’s) than we have in America.

But no more ranting; back to the city!  I continued northward into a really pretty neighborhood.  This was the highlight of Oslo, but really in general: Oslo has been the first city that has really had the European joy of just wandering and getting yourself lost, with each street having a unique character.  Granted, this particular area was the home of embassies… so clearly it was a bit better off than the rest.  Among them was Fortress America: the mighty walls and fencing standing out among the quaint historic buildings in a manner that only America and Russia could do so well.  Nothing rouses feelings of patriotism quite like seeing your home embassy feel cold and forbidding even to you, its own offspring and kin.  I wouldn’t even know how to enter into an American embassy if I ever needed to… I feel like I’d end up in a tiny cold room with an uncomfortable seat and a single bright light whilst they attempted to find out why I was there, and after three hours of interrogation I’d have probably forgotten why I was there to begin with… making me only more suspicious before next thing I know I’ve scored a free trip to our little base in Cuba.

So instead I just take pictures.  Lots and lots of pictures.  I love putting our guys at unease.  That’s one of the great things about living in DC: you get to have fun with our safety paranoia and security theatre on a daily basis.  Because every terrorist will surely use a large expensive SLR… clearly they won’t use a point & shoot or a mobile phone… or just look up photos on the internet.  So yeah.

I ate dinner at a place called Rust.  From the name I knew it wasn’t a place for me… only hipster places have names like that; I’m not pretentious enough to dine at such places.  I actually ended up eating a quite tasty burger, but of course its presentation was in the true essence of a hipster sort of place… something so simple had to be presented like it came from a top-tier restaurant.

My return journey took me through the palace gardens.  Yet another strike against Lonely Planet is their complete absence of any reference whatsoever to the royal palace.  Even if there aren’t any tours, I’d have at least expected them to say so.  I really have no idea if there are or not.  And considering this is a European capital and seat of an existing monarchy, I feel like that’s kind of a big deal… even if it is a pretty young monarchy & capital (by European standards, at least).

I saw a woman pushing a baby stroller while on her mobile phone.  While she was dialing, she rolled right on through a pile of horse manure & also over a plastic bag with something in it.  I’m not sure what was actually in the bag, but I feel like you wouldn’t want to push your baby through it.  As she transfers to chatting, she starts meandering left and right before eventually crashing into the side of a park bench.  So… these people drive.

 A fun result of all the recent rain: the dirt plaza in front of the palace had channels that grew ever wider as you moved downhill toward the city center.  And where the dirt came to an end: the dirt continued, regardless, into the forked street – covering it in bright red-orange gravel.  I wondered at what their maintenance regimen is after such periods of rain… I assume they bring in more gravel to fill in the channels, rake it flat, and somehow flush the sewers.  Ahh, the thoughts of an engineer…

Moving into the central park I stopped at one of the theaters and watched a busker swirl about, forming massive bubbles.  I wouldn’t have given it too much heed if it weren’t for the couple of small children running about with pure joy on their faces.  I figured it’d be good photo fodder, and after about 20 minutes I finally moved on; but not before offering him a few coins of my own.  The guy had a hat quite full as it was, what-with parents supplying the wee ones with gifts; but I really felt the guy had a good performance persona… I quite like buskers who contribute to the community in such a way.

Other buskers in the area included your usual fare of musicians and fake statues.  I’ll sometimes give coins to the musicians, but they have to be good.  I’ve seen some stellar ones only in Rome, Salzburg, and Edinburgh… that’s been it.  They need to play original music; it needs to be captivating; it needs to show talent and skill; and it needs to either be a true community asset or it needs to be so skillful that I feel the musician is underappreciated.  And I’m not against handing out paper to those who are really good.

Fake statues aren’t among them.  Now I kind of like them… and standing very still does take some talent… and I’ve seen a couple which have a bit more fun with it; but the statues here in Oslo were just statue-ing; not hopping off to haunt people or anything mime-ish.  At least mimes & miming requires some animation; it’s entertaining.  But Treebeard would call them “tree-ish”.

Similarly the musicians weren’t very good, either.  But Oslo took claim of the worst busker I’ve ever seen: people just sitting around in a goofy costume.  One example: Mickey Mouse.  He was just sitting there with a hat out for coins.  No talent required.  It’s like the Mr. Plow of busking: I could hear the guy’s argument with his girlfriend (or parents)… “Sure the huge costume is expensive, but it’ll make money!”   I’m sure that’s worked out well.

My night in my excessively-expensive hotel room drew to a close.  Oh, how I wish lodging was cheaper in Scandinavia… or really if anything was cheaper.  While Britain may still rank highest on account of conversions, these Nordic countries are quite simply obscenely expensive.  A dorm bed at a hostel costs as much as a typical hotel room in the USA… a dorm bed in the rest of Europe is half or even a quarter the price.  I’m going to grimace when I see the credit card statements upon my return home.

SE - Göteborg

June 23                 Thursday                             Sweden                                                Göteborg                           

OK, Göteborg: show me your good side.  The sun was up, the air was warm, and I got a particularly good night’s sleep.  After grabbing some pizza, I made my way into the city’s center to take in its sights.  There weren’t too many things I’d marked as must-see; mostly just tall places where I could try and get some shots of the city.  So sure enough, I worked my way directly to the waterfront… well, the tourist-oriented waterfront; or what little there is of it.  The vast majority of Göteborg’s riverfront is given over to industry, leaving just a small sliver as a harbor featuring a couple boat-bars, cafés, and souvenir shops.

But there was also a tall red and white-striped office tower right by the river, including an elevator up to the top for the tourists (named Göteborgs-Utkiken).  This was another one of those cases where you had to show up on the hour to go, but the receptionist let me up despite being 10 minutes into the hour… when I reached the top I came to guess that it was because things were a bit quiet.  There were two other people up there: a mother and a 30-something daughter (or so I assumed it was a mother/daughter relation).  So that pretty much gave me free reign over circulating about the windows endlessly, nabbing photo after photo of everything I could set my lens upon.

Once I grew weary of that I made my way to a nearby Ferris wheel to do it all over again: rise up, photograph, circulate around… albeit circulating a bit more vertically rather than horizontally upon a level platform, as in the office tower.  En route to the Ferris wheel I passed by a trio of Italians, letting me get to use a bit of my Italian skills… which haven’t returned nearly with the pizzazz that my German skills have returned these past few weeks.  But with two of the three being absolutely phenomenal-looking women in their young or mid-20’s (and I’ll be first to say that I really don’t fine Italian women, on  average, to be that attractive), I didn’t hesitate in the slightest when they asked for a photo and I got a chance to strike up conversation.  When their battery died just as I was taking their photo: I think my heart skipped a couple beats when one of the girls came up to swap them out.  Of course, with them both traveling with a guy who could easily grace the cover of any European fashion magazine: I knew it wasn’t worth my time stopping to chat any more than necessary.

I boarded the Ferris wheel with only one other group: a team of Bulgarian athletes who took up two other cars.  While I’d been in the office tower the weather had started to cloud up considerably, and it was while I was hovering about in the Ferris wheel that the rain started up with abundance.  Fortunately I got some great photos before the rain & then used the rain to get some photos of a bit different variety… and I was very dry; that was good, too.  The rain quit just as I alighted and returned to the streets.

The Stadsmuseum (Göteborg Museum) was my next stop, really just because I wanted to see their Viking exhibit.  I’d been in Scandinavia for nearly a month and really haven’t seen anything Viking-related; I figure that might be a sin or something… but really, Norway is the center of the Vikings: so I haven’t forsaken it yet.  But I appeased the Viking heritage by finally getting my first taste of their culture, seeing the remains of a longboat and some neat statues of the various Norse deities.  The statues were really cool: almost cartoonish but exquisitely crafted… I was forced to wonder if they were actually more modern constructions; they seemed in far too good of condition.  Indeed, I’d put my money on that they are pretty new; but the longboat sure wasn’t.  The boats remains were laid out & left it very easy to visualize its shape and look.  I’ve always loved the longboats, and seeing one firsthand granted me a renewed appreciation for their ingenious structure.

My next stop was the Trägårdsföreningen, a botanic garden in the city center.  This was a lovely stroll and with the recent rain: it offered some great opportunities for photos.  The clouds were blocking the sun, but sometimes it’s worth thinking of the clouds not as an impediment but a very large diffuser… it helps reframe the situation when you’re trying to take photos.

After that I kept heading southeast toward the Universeum, a science museum specializing mostly in the earth sciences.  Along the way, however, I passed by some film crews in front of the city’s university.  Curious, I hovered about a bit and attempted to stay out of the way of the camera, which seemed to be focused on a vehicle parked on the sidewalk.  I started walking up the stairs to take a look and get a good shot of the action, as the stairs seemed to be out of the shot & there seemed to be a crowd of other onlookers.  But just as I’d ascended a couple stairs, one of the crew assistants stole my attention and asked me to hold on… and seconds later the scene started & all those folk along the stairs suddenly set in motion.  They were all extras.

I ended up getting to be an extra in that scene.  From speaking with the staffmember I learned that they were filming the next Johan Falk movie, a Swedish crime drama or something like that.  Apparently it’s quite popular; unless that was just her attempt to make her job feel valid… I really have no idea if it’s popular or not, but Wikipedia’s mention that the last couple movies have gone straight to video has me a bit concerned; or it could be that Swedes watch a lot of videos & “straight to video” isn’t such a bad thing?

At the Universeum: there was a great exhibit on water, focusing a bit more on its interrelationship with the Arctic regions.  Another exhibit was a large indoor rainforest, replete with free-roaming monkeys, birds, and other critters.  I watched as a monkey hopped onto a railing – inches away – and nabbed at a rather large insect which I hadn’t noticed right beside me… it made for fun photos as he consumed his dinner.  The water-oriented stuff was interesting, with one contraption showing a bunch of different hydraulic engineering concepts in a very hands-on manner, including locks, hydraulic jumps, and even Archimedes’ screw.  Seriously, every civil engineering lab should have one of these: what a great way to show the stuff I’ve spent 6 years of my life studying in classrooms.  Sure it was for kids, but what’s a college student (or even an adult) but a child at heart?

The aquarium was your pretty typical aquarium; not too much of interest considering I’ve been to some pretty phenomenal aquariums in my lifetime.  But one thing they did have going for themselves was a huge swordfish which seemed to enjoy coming right up to the windows.  There was also an underwater tunnel… always a win for an aquarium.

One of the museum’s rooms was clearly intended to make science fun for children, but I’d wager its designers knew full well that the parents would likewise have a blast.  There was a huge variety of interactive exhibits, including a bunch which used various lights and sounds to assault your senses, gauging your body’s reaction in various ways.  I was a bit surprised at how much warm colors increased my heart rate and how cooler colors really soothe me… but the musical aspect was more interesting: I was in motion along with the beats the whole time, but the rock & roll caused my heart rate to surge whereas the downtempo music caused me to become so calm that some doctors might have considered me legally dead.  The rock + warm colors combination contrasted immensely with the downtempo + cool colors bit… it was like comparing the Himalayas to Kansas.

Within that same room was a game where there were a bunch of large red buttons scattered about a board that I’d say was about 1.5 meters tall and 2.5 meters wide.  You had to press the one that lit up, and keep going for 30 seconds to see how many you could press.  It was basically a game of Whack-a-Mole.  There was a definite limit on how fast you could go based on the delay between hitting the button & the next one lighting up, but with my score of 44 almost doubling the best of everyone else who’d tried: I deemed myself to have done quite well at it.

There was one more room which was dedicated to forensic science.  I’d wager this would have been immensely more interesting had the translations worked… both English and German seemed to not work.  While the translations didn’t work in the previous room, either, at least the previous room was rather self-explanatory; this one had a bit more info on the science which I wasn’t able to understand.  But there were still some activities that I could figure out well enough… from fingerprinting to tracking footprints to DNA sampling to facial recognition… lots of fun stuff.  But my favorite was the laser room.

So in this darkened black box were a whole bunch of lasers going from wall to wall, leaving but the faintest red beam across the way.  Of course, as anyone who watched Mythbusters knows: real security lasers use invisible infrared; not visible red beams… so unless the dude who installed security decided to be a cheapskate: you’re not going to be able to see the beams in a real-life break-in situation.  But here: I didn’t care… this was my chance to be a thief; a criminal; to reenact Entrapment in all its Catherine Zeta-Jones’ rear-end’s glory.  And that I did.

I left my backpack and camera at the entry so that I could artfully maneuver up, over, and around each of the criss-crossing beams, with great deft making it to the very last trio of beams all crossing over one another.  I contorted my body and readied myself to pass through, when all of a sudden my thievery was foiled by a small child bursting in and dashing gleefully through the beams.  Alarms sounded, ruining all I had worked toward… but fortunately the otherwise pitch black room bored the child, and when no guards carrying AK’s showed up: I continued with my break-in and finished the room.  Alas, the exit just took me to the same room as the entry… no industrial secrets or extravagant wealth to be had for the taking.  So at the point I nonchalantly walked around to the entry to grab my gear and depart.

It was at a place called Smaka where I grabbed my dinner, and for once Lonely Planet served me quite well.  I got the standard Ikea meal: meatballs, mashed potatoes, and lingonberries.  The berries were actually berries, though, not the jelly-like paste of Ikea which I am personally not a fan of.  The actual berries tasted much the same (perhaps even a touch better), but had the berry texture that I love so dearly.  The meatballs and mashed potatoes weren’t Ikea, but they were still quite tasty… far better than the meal I’d had back in Stockholm.

Back at my hostel I tried to plan the next day, with much of the work consisting of trying to secure transport up to Oslo & then a room for me to stay in.  Once again, however, Oslo seemed to be booked solid… much like Stockholm had been.  Saturday night was easy to find a room for, but tomorrow night – Friday night – was considerably more difficult.  I ended up paying about $250 for a room on Friday night and about $100 for the same room on Saturday night… ouch.

This was all complicated by the rather lacking internet at my hostel, the Masthuggsterrassens Vandrarheim.  While they had wifi, there seemed to be some issue with their ISP in that I had to log into the ISP in order to activate my computer on it.  Since I didn’t have their username and password for the ISP (they’d be pretty dumb to give that out!), that meant that some pages redirected me to the ISP’s login page… but oddly some other pages didn’t.  This was a problem that everybody was having, but fortunately I seemed to be less affected by it than others… plus I learned how to cache pages & work around the redirect somewhat, but that didn’t work when I had to submit forms to book transit tickets or reserve rooms.

I ended up having to use the sole public-use computer to look up info & then use my email to book reservations, hoping they’d act upon my email just as readily as the online booking system.  Fortunately this worked for my hotel reservation, but left me open on the whole travel part… I figured I’d just show up at the station and catch the next ride to Oslo, whatever and whenever that might be.

While waiting for the public-use computer, I got to talking to a German guy, a man in his 40’s or so who worked as a pharmacist for Bayer. Apparently he was gearing up to do some work in Sweden and wanted to learn some Swedish in preparation for that, but we both commiserated over the difficulties in learning technical language when classes & daily use only teach more casual conversation.  I’ve been wanting to learn German for some time now in hopes of opening myself up to potential job opportunities through a large chunk of Europe, where I think my profession is a bit more progressive than in America; but learning my profession’s technical language isn’t the kind of thing that’s easy to do until you’re on the job.

The bed above me – occupied by the German girl the previous night – remained empty this time around, with only the French couple being my roommates over the night.  Once again the guy came back and still smelled horrendous, but once again I was able to tune it out.  Phew. 

SE - Göteborg

June 22                 Wednesday                        Sweden                                                Göteborg                           

Ug… my worst sleep of the trip.  The door had just enough slack that the pressure gradient caused it to keep knocking back and forth, exacerbated once folk started waking up (first at about 5:30am) and left the door open just a touch.  While everyone was personally quiet as they went about their business: that door soon became my nemesis.  In my highly intermittent sleep for the next three hours: I came to hate that door; to despise it; I wish ill upon it; I tried to lull myself back to sleep by thinking of the things I would like to do to that door… an axe; a chainsaw; a flamethrower!

I ultimately rose with a pounding headache, but of course I had no idea where I’d packed the painkillers that I’d been given at the hospital.  I hadn’t used any during my time there, so I knew I had some stowed away somewhere, but it hurt to think… so I tried not to.  It was like being on the Vogon homeworld.  Fortunately reception would come through on that end: sweet nourishing drugs!  My headache gone about 30 minutes later & the action of the day helping to keep it away.

The first step was a train north to Frederickshavn, a small industrial town at the northerneastern reaches of Jutland.  I slept a good deal of the train ride, albeit slightly distracted by another twin of my friend Svitlana sitting across the aisle from me.  I saw a twin back in Stockholm, and here was another; albeit with a tiny nose ring.  I mentally kicked myself for sitting across from her – at a table with some old woman stuck on her mobile – instead of with this cute girl… but it also gave me due excuse to concentrate on recouping sleep rather than attempting conversation.

Arriving in Frederickshavn I did a pretty good job at picking the correct street & walking a direct course to the ferry terminal.  With 30 minutes of available time, it took me 10 minutes to reach the walkway, 5 minutes to traverse the lengthy elevated walkway through the port, 5 minutes to check-in and board, and enough time to make it to the top deck & watch us depart.  Win!

The ferry is littered with slot machines, with queues of people taking full advantage of them.  I can get the desire to spend the last of your coins as you transition out of a country, but I’m pretty sure a good share of people had expended their spare coins already but were still there.  Ahh gambling: a tax on stupidity.  At least give us something more engaging than slots!  I’m more than willing to part with my money if I can at least have some fun doing it... slots just don’t cut it for me.

After watching us push away from Denmark I found a spot at the front of the boat down in one of the restaurants, sitting there tapping away on my laptop while the muzak alternated between piped-in tunes (mostly jazz) and a live band (folk music).  The girl in the band looks like a young version of the wife/mom from the National Lampoon’s Vacation movies; a rather cute blonde that looks to be in her young to mid 20’s… pretty voice, but I’ve discovered that the local folk music isn’t my particular interest.

Our arrival into Göteborg was gradual, as would be the case with a very large massive ferry that looks the city’s tallest buildings eye-to-eye… clearly not the sort of thing that should be moving fast up an urban river.  The effects of being up so high also made it all seem slower.  When we docked I came to realize that people were all carrying – and I mean all carrying – massive amounts of beer.  Seriously… two to three cases each; just what a single person could carry.  There were a pair of customs officers on the other end but neither seemed to care; I wager they were more interested in if anyone rolled off the boat with a pallet of booze.  The “red line” for customs – for those with something to claim – consisted simply of a telephone and a sign indicating to dial a number if you wanted to claim anything.  So yeah: Denmark is expensive; but I did learn that its price savings compared to Sweden is apparently enough to make it worth the trip when it comes to beer… or at least good enough to stock up if you just happen to be making the trip for one reason or another.

As I disembarked I found myself in a pretty run-down area… certainly not the city’s best point.  Fortunately, my hostel wasn’t far off, keeping the hike easy; but unfortunately that meant I was staying in this less-inspiring area.  It wasn’t the best first impression of the city.  My impressions were only reinforced by my evening walk to find some dinner.  The places my Lonely Planet guide suggested weren’t nearly as appetizing-looking upon arrival and there was a dearth of much else which didn’t cost an arm & a leg.  I ended up at a place which marketed pizza, pasta, salad, and kebabs.  As is true in America: places that try and hit multiple ethnic foods often falter at the other one… it’s best to stick with their native dish.  Hence my passing over Italian and option for the kebab: the backup food of choice in Europe.  It was a downright tasty kebab, so I’d say it was a perfect decision.

I wandered a little bit but ultimately made my way back to my room for an early evening.  I had a full room of four beds, with the first to return being a young French couple in their early 20’s.  They both seemed really nice & I talked to the girl quite a bit, but the dude had a downright toxic scent of body odor.  Even immediately after he showered: he returned and once again reeked of BO.  Now, I’ve grown up among the Amish and have smelled many an unbathed on a warm sunny Saturday during the planting or harvesting seasons, and I’d say this guy was worse… but fortunately my Lancaster County upbringing enabled me to tune it out after a few minutes.  Sometimes it’s a good thing that I can smell cow or horse manure and think it smells wonderful; it smells like home.

The last roommate to return was a German girl from near the border with Denmark – I’m drawing a blank on the name of the town.  I was a bit confused at first when I couldn’t place her accent; it was a German accent I’d never heard before, but then again most Germans I know come from quite a bit more southward.  I really wish I’d taken some more time to chat with her… especially because she had a carton of Philadelphia Cream Cheese -- easy initial conversation material.  Seriously: Philadelphia Cream Cheese is its own food group and anyone who would carry it along as a backpacker is clearly a zealous devotee.  Plus she looked to be in her mid-20’s, downright cute, and clearly had an interest in chatting with me… but my brain just didn’t seem to pickup on that; and when I woke up the next morning she was gone.  I’ve noticed that I seem to have a thing for German girls, but I’m pretty sure I’ve noticed (and probably said) that before.

DK - Århus

June 21                 Tuesday                               Denmark                             Århus                                   

I had to wake slightly early to make sure I showered & recombobulated myself after having settled in for a couple days.  My original plan upon arrival in Copenhagen had been to stick around another day and then catch a train back into Sweden and up to Göteborg, but I felt I’d seen enough of Copenhagen & decided it’d be a good chance to see a bit more of Denmark.  So I booked a train west and then north to Århus, Denmark’s second city.

Upon arrival I found myself in a bit of a dirty stretch by the train station, but a block later I was in the pedestrianized area and found it to be a rather pretty little city.  I actually enjoyed traveling around the streets, whereas in Copenhagen they felt just like a monotonous chore.   Århus ultimately felt sort of like DC: sure it’s technically a city, but it really preserves a small town feel within it.  It was far more walkable than Copenhagen, in part owing to its smaller size but also a greater balance toward pedestrians; whereas I’d previously noted that Copenhagen was definitely more bike-friendly at the cost of being ped-friendly.

Arriving at my hostel at 15:00, I knew I was strapped for time to see the city… so I immediately dropped off my bags in a storage room (checkout didn’t open for another hour) then went outside to see as much as I could.  With the two main churches first to close: those were my first target.  The Domkirke had some restored frescoes (whitewashed back in the day on account of seeming “too Catholic”) and a tower right on the central square.

The church’s staffmember was kind enough to chase down the key for me, letting me scale the tower in my lonesome with 30 minutes until closing.  It was fun having the whole tower to myself, arriving at the top & climbing about the bells’ structure to get at the windows; but fencing on the windows had too tight of a grid for me to get many good photos from.  It was a bit amusing as a live band in the plaza outside broke into Rage Against the Machine’s “Bulls On Parade”, adding a marked contrast to my present location within a church tower.  Even the staffmember laughed the moment I mentioned it; she was thinking the exact same thing.

The nearby Vor Frue Kirke had a crypt was which was partially lit with some candles, so that was nice; but otherwise I was in and out in 5 minutes and still managed to feel like I saw everything there was to see.  A large portion of it was under maintenance work & closed and it was otherwise pretty unadorned… of interest more to those with a huge interested in churches; not so much to those more interested in the neat & fancy.

Next was the ARoS Aarhus Kunstmuseum, the city’s major art museum.  I’d initially thought I only had an hour to explore it before it closed at 17:00, but when the clock struck 5pm just as I was finishing up my last stop: I’d taken note that no one else seemed to be making their way for the exit.  Turns out the museum was staying open late on account of it being summer… the first place in all of Scandinavia with a significant change in hours!  YES!!!  So I returned to the exhibits and took a bit more time to appreciate (or at least examine) all of their exhibits.

There was a section on Denmark’s golden age of art, which I’d noted on a previous day that I’m rather fond of.  Danes really did a great job creating photo-quality works, capturing landscapes and body expressions absolutely perfectly.  However, the lion’s share of the museum deals with modern art…  which is a form that I just don’t get.  It’s such a contrast to see it go from these ornate and lovely paintings to a sculpture of two figures that have been injured and disfigured in dozens of different ways, leaving limbs and debris behind them.  Or a canvas that’s orange.  Just orange.  Or a photo some girl took of her behind, with pants pull down but panties still on & the wire of the camera’s remote running back to the camera.  Why?  Is this supposed to be a statement about pornography?  Is it supposed to be a statement about narcissism?  Am I just supposed to admire her ass, which was only OK?  If I took a photo of my own rear end: could I get it into a museum?  Yeah, I didn’t get that room… although I did like the photo of the little girl holding a chainsaw; that amused me.

The first floor has a large life-like sculpture of a boy… it was pretty neat, I suppose, but I didn’t really get how it was the major draw of the museum up until the completion of their most recent bit… which actually ended up being my first stop but I’ll get into that last.  Below the Boy, in the basement, was a series of exhibits themed around Dante’s Inferno.  Well, loosely themed… I was really hoping for a greater tie-in, as I’m a huge fan of the Divine Comedy.  Each room had some sort of visual twist:

·         A large living head trapped underwater, formed by a projection on a huge egg-shaped object in a water tank.  It felt like a character in Myst.

·         A room of mirrors creating infinity all around

·         A film projection onto a sheet draping over E.T.   That is, a sculpture of E.T., replete with Reeses Pieces at his feet, and draped over him was a white sheet… that was the canvas that some uninteresting film was being projected upon.

·         Another projection room was decorated as if someone’s living room.  A film projection portrayed a person’s 24-hr day in 8 minutes, with the lighting in the room changing accordingly from twilight to dawn to midday to sunset to night.  From the video, I can only assume the person – clearly a woman – must’ve had a rather bad day… her morning consisted of her crawling naked along her lawn.

·         There was a large rounded monolithic object in a room which was pulsing bursts of light, as if souls were trapped within.  I didn’t think too much of it until I read that it was tied in with the University of Tokyo’s astronomy folk… every time a star was recorded as going nova it triggered a pulse of light; its location (I think) upon the monolith being derived from the stars’ location within the universe.  So the exhibit itself was dull but I liked the tie in with the real physical universe.

·         A room had a glowing red wall with a green line… I didn’t get that one.

·         The first room you pass by had several projections, which I eventually realized were all slow-motion videos of someone jumping into the water, albeit played backward.  I liked how it was set up, though: a very large open dark room.  It was quite relaxing.

·         And two more rooms I can’t recall…

Another floor had an exhibit on colors of light.  This one was actually kind of entertaining... one room included a fine mist being sprayed in front of a spotlight, with the droplets refracting a rainbow if you stood at the correct angle.  It was also fun watching people flail about in the otherwise pitch black room, with the spotlight making it difficult for people’s eyes to adjust to the room’s layout.  It was just a flat open room, but it felt like there would be a drop-off or objects or something; some barrier to prohibit you from getting into the mist.  But the whole point was to let you roam free & see it from all angles, even within it if you so desired.

Another room, part of that same light exhibit, consisted of a very dense fog illuminated with color, forming a color wheel room.  Different segments had red, blue, yellow, and green lights & you could walk through the color combinations… with absolutely nothing in front of you to help gauge distance or place; letting you become fully enveloped by the color.  Only a  few support poles & silhouettes of other people let you focus on anything; unless you opted to look up at the light racks or down at your feet… both pretty much at the limits of visibility.

Running with that color theme was the latest permanent installation: Your Rainbow Panorama.  Complementing a roof deck with good views over the city, another level up was this large circular walkway with windows of a massive color wheel.  The entry was in deep blue & you could walk around through the colors and back to deep blue.  I didn’t get why people kept taking pictures through the glass… all did was color the city; you could get a clear & more interesting view from the roof deck.  The color didn’t do anything interesting to the city worth of a photo.  To me, the real interest was in looking along the corridor (a few tourists did grasp this), taking in the color gradient and appreciating how the reflections in the glass created these neat visual effects.  My camera was always pointed along the hallway; if I want a colored photo of the city I’ll just add a filter.  I also liked capturing photos from outside the walkway, snapping images of peoples’ silhouettes within the colored glass.

For chow I stopped by Karl’s Sandwich Bar, toward the north end of the downtown area.  For once Lonely Planet succeeded: not only did I find it easily, but holy cow did they offer a good burger (specifically what my guide recommended).  It was huge and quite tasty, served alongside a box full of fries.  Like Five Guys, they actually provided more fries than I could even eat.  All for 60 DKK, which at about $12 is actually a pretty good deal for a meal in Denmark.

I swung through the downtown again and past the Domkirke, beside which were some festivities for some sort of youth soccer something or other.  I didn’t quite get what exactly it was for, but when I heard swing I knew it was something I had to swing by… er… yeah, pun not initially intended.  Some more jazzy/swingy tunes were played, including Duke Ellington and Van Morrison.  But eventually I had to get moving to plan the next day, which would involve a bit of complexity as I traveled by rail and sea.

As I sat and listened to the music, however, I dwelt a bit more upon the people of these two countries: Sweden and Denmark.  Between the two: Stockholm definitely has more hot women.  But Denmark succeeds at pretty, beautiful, ad cute.  Stockholm has bottle blondes who look like they could never hold a conversation; the Danes look very real, as if you could really engage with their minds.  So I’d say Denmark might actually be ahead in that regard, despite not necessarily claiming the greater world renown which Sweden enjoys.  And as for the guys?  To put it simply: in Denmark they’re thuggish; in Sweden they’re a bunch of fratboys; and in both there’s a good-sized subculture of both skaters and punks… both of which I’m rather OK with; but the thugs and fratboys just annoyed me as much as they do back home.

One of my roommates was already in the room of the Århus City Sleep-In when I walked in: a London guy whom I’d peg as being in his 40’s; a freelance journalist there to cover whatever that youth soccer thing was.  I later met another dude originally from northeastern China but now working at a hotel in England.  There was another Asian guy but he didn’t talk at all; either he simply wasn’t talkative or he didn’t even understand what “Hi” meant.  I’m guessing a mix… not talkative but probably because of a language barrier; but I’d be hard-pressed to believe he didn’t recognize a greetings when he heard one.  Just before midnight we picked up another roommate, a guy who appeared to be of Middle-Eastern descent (slightly tanned skin but definitely Mediterranean features) and was of about 50-60 yrs or so… English definitely wasn’t his strong point, leading me to guess he’s likely from one of the former French colonies.  Algerian, perhaps?  All in all we ended up with 5 out of 6 beds occupied; the bed above me remaining open.