Oslo Aaaah Slow

My favorite fifteen of my husbands friends are all Norwegian. He's not, but they are and if he drinks enough, he becomes completely fluent in the language. I've seen this happen with valley girls and spanish but never anyone with norwegian! There're all friends from school and despite the fact that most of these young viking types drink and I quote the Scottish friend 'Heroic Amounts' at their annual boys weekend, the rest of the time they are the nicest famiy men you've ever met!

Since we, too, are now a 'family unit', they've invited us to come and visit and since I feel I've lost the option of a weekend skiing in the woods and pooring the vodka onto the sauna stones, we decide to go for the May bank holiday weekend.

Like 90% of the British, we gladly leave rainy cold London for the cloud free blue skies of anywhere else in Europe during these three day weekends. I must say it never seems to astonish me how - despite centuries of poor weather and internationally renowned rain, English people always complain about the weather -no they whinge- about the weather for hours of their lives...I don't understand how someone could be born here and live their whole life here and still be surprised that it's raining!


Sadly, most people choose Southern Spain or France and we've chosen well. beautiful foggy and now raining Norway. It wouldn't be bad if it weren't for the fact that the Scandi's keep pretending it's warm and wearing short-sleeved shirts. I am sporting my wooly fisherman's coat! Oslo is shockingly clean and everyone is...well, 'right fit'. I've always noticed this about Scandinavians -they are in such good shape and generally better educated than the rest of us and I've decided to crack the code this trip. My husband and I spend a long time analyzing the fact that it must be the healthy diet, discussing all the various forms of dairy products one never sees in the UK or US and how much seafood they must eat. In fact, we finish this conversation as we go into the local supermarket with our friend, Kjetil. Kjetil is one of those zero body fat skiing types, who girls go crazy for...even as we are skimming the aisles. I see him buying more 'ol' (beer) but also his staple items like rekka salad, potato salad and ofcourse, that piece of norwegian heretage Cheese Doodles! I kid you not, Cheese Doodles are alive and well -NOT in Alabama but Norway!!! Also, all the aforementioned salads are just mayonaise with something occasionally floating in it! He also tries to buy some donuts AND fake sugar!!! So much for diet...on the other hand, when I see how poor Norwegian t.v. is compared to American cable it soon becomes obvious that no living being could sit in front of it long enough to eat a bag of cheese doodles much less a costco size tub!

Secondly, Kjetil and all of our Norge pals -rich or poor had to -and I swear this is true - ski to and from school! That might keep you fit,eh?!

So, after picking up a few heartattacks in a bag and a definite case for liver pserosis, we head back to our hosts flat in Majorstuen. I pick up a copy of Norway's version of FHM magazine who's slogan is, 'Mann Magazine: for Men who can read' which has wonderful irony since a.) Norway has 100% literacy and b.) there is no other men's magazine in Norwegian. After our lunch, we walk down past all of the boats and marinas (public as well as private). Norway is definitely one of those places where everyone is middle class. It would be hard to find a really poor person but just as hard to find an incredibly rich one and the number of boats per capita shows they haven't left their seafaring nature loving roots too far behind.



Finally, we hit newly renovated Harbor, which is brimming with people basking in their halucinatory overdose of daylight, sitting in the sun or drinking in the outdoor cafes lining the harbor. From the harbor, we wander into Oslo center, although I've got it into my mind that I want a Lassekruffte (the traditional Skandi printed sweater so often seen in posh Alpine ski resorts). I was amazed at how patient all the men folk were in agreeing to visit the stores. Ofcourse, that was before the first five minutes of shopping, when I was notified that only 3 stores in Oslo sell these items and mysteriously all of them close by 4pm on Saturday only to open again, at 8a.m. on monday--sure, the perfect time for your tourist clientele. Again, one can tell we are in a rich socialist state, when none of the store hours have anything to do with consumerism or pleasing anyone but the owners.

Well, no matter...we hit the Square, which is not only incredibly charming architecturally but incredibly clean and full of flowers and beautifully planted trees. I can't believe how tired I am, so we stop for a coffee not only in the middle of the Square, but again in the ---Hotel for coffee. For some reason, the coffee is doing nothing for me....so, we go back to our host's place and after a lovely meal with too much wine and 'ol', we pass out.

We are awoken an hour later, piled into a motorcycle wagon (did I mention people are crazy for motorbike racing up here- and lots of them, it's like another national sport?) and taken to our friend, Jaat's in Ski. Jaat is probably the nicest man alive and his whole house is over-run with children's art projects, hand knit baby sweaters and the carpet is well, mostly lego pieces. His house is so wonderfully warm and inviting, which is good because outside it is FREEZING. Unfortunately, everyone at the party is outside and many of them are in shortsleeved shirts. All of them are shivering...when I mention we should go indoors, they look at me like I am a madwoman! It is then explained that even if it's colder than winter in Florida, this is the only summer they get and they want to make the most of it, even if that means pretending. After that, I begin to see the direct correlation between alcohol and their culture...mostly, because I, too am madly sipping away at --I can't believe it but it's true--Aquavit, that fiery beast they call 'the water of life' although I think they should change it to 'spirit of death' because it is BLOODY powerful but you'll never feel cold again!

The highlight of the party is that I find myself talking to Morten Mortenson ,a local celebrity-writer from Mann Magazine! We find out that he's been putting our poor friend Aaril through boot camp, just to see what it feels like 'for the magazine, in the name of research'! That, I must say, is a marvellous thing about living in a small country. It's so easy to be 'in with the in-folk' or to become a celebrity because a.) there's less competition and b.) more chance half the population knows you already!

Sunday morning, we awaken...not so bright eyed but definitely feeling bushy tailed. Today is museum day, mostly because everything is closed on Sunday and every restaurant we want to visit is closed, due to the weather (not looking so great, Norge). However, the Museums are all in Frogner, which is THE neighborhood in Oslo. The houses are big, beautiful and inherited and all the museums are located with-in walking distance. We visit the Kontiki Museum, which has not only a perfect reproduction of the Kontiki from the Kontiki Adventure (marvellous book for anyone who loves travel) but also the Rah and Rah II, as well as info on Easter Island and weird nic-nacs from the journey.



We proceed to the Viking museum, amazing again and not only do we see three full size Viking ships, which were recovered dating back to the time, my ancestors came to scandinavia but I also notice this little viking ship salt cellar, identical to the one we have at home. It would seem rather obvious how this came into our ownership and I'm delighted to think that it's 30-odd years since my mom picked up this souvenir and they are still selling them in the museum! After visiting the Framhuus museum, we ran out of time, but the Munch museum and a few others make it definitely worth a daytrip.


After a final wander through the massive park in the middle of the city and down the main square again, we know it's time to leave. We circle the Royal Palace, where the royal family is living and I am shocked at how easily accesable it is...in comparison with the U.K. In Norway, there is a saying, 'what makes anybody better than anybody else'. This could be construed as negative in Britain, but in Oslo it means, humility is a virtue particularly for those, who are great. That summarizes everything that separates these two great lands.

Finally,
exhausted and mayo salad-ed out, we drive off to the airport. It's a quick ride to an empty, clean and modern glass, wood, steel terminal. I couldn't think of an easier way to travel, except for avoiding sunday:).

Paris as Parents

We decided to go to Paris with my mother for her birthday. Through lastminute.com, we book one of their surprise hotels. Knowing that France and the UK are notorious for having lots of low quality 3-4 star hotels (after all there are some, who believe it was staying in that Paris hotel which killed Oscar Wilde), we have low expectations and I am shocked at how absolutely ADORABLE, clean and friendly we find the Hotel Montparnasse.

The first thing we did that was wonderfully easy, was we took the Euro-Star. If you book last minute, it's not cheap but it's so expensive that if you spend 10 extra Euros you wind up in First Class! So, a first class ticket to Paris complete with champagne and a three course meal. The Euro Star used to have divine meals and now they're acceptable...but still, nothing like two hours with flowing champagne and winding up in Paris.

From the Gare du Nord, we hop on the Metro as soon as possible. After having lived for a year in Paris, I tend to think Gare du Nord is a rough neighborhood but my husband, Mr. Angleterre chides me that I am overreacting ( I seem to remember a similar reaction just before our car got lost in Overtown,Miami). Before our departure, we see a gang of 100 Angry Africans in Hoodies running out of the Gare du Nord followed by police cars and an ambulance--you do the math.

With the blink of an eye, we arrive at the hotel. Certain stops on the Paris metro have certain innate smells but everything else seems cleaner and cheaper than it used to be...but maybe that's because I'm not a poor student trying to stretch 5 Euros a day to get a cup of coffee. Friday night is a dream. We wander down through the amazing local open market stalls of fresh terrines and drippingly ripe fruit and pick a Brasserie for a delicious meal! For me, that is what makes Paris...PARIS. Lighting up all that Hausmann architecture at night and lining the boulevard with trees and having lots of wonderful, relaxed and cheap Brasseries where one can eat like a King or just be able to sit for hours drinking excellent coffee. This is where the Southern Europeans have us beat. Lifestyle. It's all about lifestyle. Enjoy the moment.

We wander back to the hotel faces red with the wine we drank and sleep like babies,well until the baby doesn't sleep:). Saturday is Marchee Au Puce day. I've been promised and I drag my shopping-adverse husband and my excited but somewhat lame mother and baby through the dodgy area between the metro and the market, trying to hurry them as quickly as possible, explaining that once you're in the market, it's much better...reminding my mother to close her purse, my husband to stop speeding away and constantly watching the stroller and the little hand which comes out of it to grab at any material we might pass on the way...

The Marchee Au Puce hasn't changed a bit. There's no time for me to hit the secondhand clothes venders because I know my husband is like a parking meter with shopping. You get two hours and then all h*ll breaks lose. We wander through the plastic shoes and the dodgy African Louis Vuitton vendors straight to the Antiques, which sadly now that I am older...I realize are often times fakes (probably created for Americans shopping here)or insanely overpriced (also probably created for Americans shopping here).

AND we discover another fabulous Brasserie right across from the market. Perfect, my husband gets to eat, my mother doesn't have to walk, they'll watch the baby and I'll be right back:). I speed-wander the aisles of the serious dealers, dreaming of where I'd put these beautiful Napoleonic beds and empire chests....until, we (they) decide it's time to go. As I always used to do for fun in Paris, we hop on a bus and just stare out the window at the miles of incredible architecture racked up one against each other and the funny thing is...these are the bad bits. We're not in Passy or the Bois de Bologne. This is the neighborhood where muggings are common by night and honour killings are ordered, but by daylight all you see are miles of white turn of the century cornicing and pedastals.


It's funny. I feel like this trip is visiting a Paris I don't really know. I never much hung out in Montparnasse and it's turning out to be quite charming for the bohemian history it has. I would suppose that would make it quite bourgeouis today...much like Islington in London or Brooklyn Heights in NY. My mother is too tired to go anywhere, which makes her weak and an easy target for babysitting! We dump the tired twosome and head onto La Coupole, a still famous restaurant, once famous for serving Sartre, Picasso, Cocteau, Brach, Hemingway...the works.

You would think a place like this might have mediocre food since it could just live off it's name, but the food and the service is SUPERB! We order a seafood platter and it's everything out of the sea...much of it, you wouldn't think was the part that was meant to be eaten..


Firstly, aside from the half lobster and crab, nothing is cooked. The oysters are rawed but so are the muscles, the clams, and something that looks an awful lot like a snail (escargot of the sea as our waiter calls it) are all served raw! Surprisingly, many of these items seem to taste better cooked and we learn quickly there's a reason ecargot are usually covered in garlic! Still, everything is divine. The service, the people watching, the food, the ambience...honestly, I feel like I am in a french movie and Thiery L'hermitte is going to come and finish the meal with us.

We wander the streets back to the hotel. Gosh, I REALLY miss living in a city with a pulse. Somewhere you walk outside and there are interesting looking people and they look interested as well and there's energy. The life force. Londoners are very good at hiding any of that energy and in Zurich, it's probably illegal...but Paris and New York and certain parts of Vienna and most of Italy and Coconut Grove all have that. I need it. I need to feel alive. Sometimes I feel like I'm on an emotional diet and I'm missing the life force. Why be alive if I'm not feeling it, exchanging ideas, being used for the things I have to contribute. Thank you Paris for giving me that...thank you for reminding me.

Sunday is a day I usually dread but in Paris, we awaken, have a fresh croissant in line from the bakery like everybody else and a big cup of chocolat chaud. We wander the Cimetiere Montparnasse and see the tombs of Sartre and de Beauvoir,Beckett, Jean Seburg and Saint-Saens. Inside Saint-Saens beautifully carved marble tomb, there are letters from all over the world. People thanking him and praising him. One Canadian in particular wrote that he listened to his music and thought of the peace his deceased wife must enjoy in the afterlife and the peace his music brought him. It was so beautiful, I cried...to know there are people like that in the world. Which means, it's not just me and Stephen Fry and a couple of sentimental academics, who have feelings like that...there are more of us out there.

As we left Montparnasse, we decided to walk the usual haunts - behind the Louvre, a touch of St. Germaine, Place de l'Opera. HenriIII said 'Paris is worth a prayer', well, I'd say it's certainly worth atleast a weekend. You don't have to see everything that way, but it reminds you...to pray. un bon merci pour tous.

Paris is like the lover I was too young to ever appreciate. I have returned to see it in my fullness of age and am aware of how lucky a silly little naiive society girl was to be protected and included and educated by this great world within a city.

a bientot j'espere...