In which we go to Oslo and below (Norway part I).

Once upon a time a couple months ago, I was waiting for the U-Bahn and saw a giant poster advertising direct flights from Hamburg to Bergen, Norway, showing the quaint town under a dramatic sky. At that point I had already notified my job of the last five years that I'd be leaving, and as I didn't have another job lined up yet, knew that I'd probably have some free time come the end of July. After passing the Bergen ad a couple times, I finally did some googling to see if the cheap flights were legit (congrats, you got me, Norwegian tourism industry). When I saw that they were, I was hooked. I'd been on short trips to Denmark and Sweden before, but had never been to Norway, nor had I spent any extended time in Scandinavia. This trip was to be the grand finale of the last many years of working full-time in the translation field, or perhaps the beginning to whatever new chapter of my career, life, whatever, lay ahead. 

After a few weeks of research and reaching out to friends in or experienced in all things Norway, I had planned a Grand Trip from the Oslo area in the east, then west to Bergen, and north to a tiny village that is home to a friend, all via plane, train, bus, ferry, and fjord cruise. On July 18 I had my last day of work, and on the 20th I was on a flight to Oslo. So it begins!

I arrived in Oslo in the morning and had a few hours to look around the city before meeting up with a wonderful Smithie who had so kindly offered me a bed at her place on the Nesodden peninsula south of Oslo (thank you!). One thing that I was not prepared for, even though I'd seen it in the weather forecast, was the heat wave that was very much present in that part of the country as in most of Europe. This resulted in a tour of Oslo consisting of me lugging myself from one shady spot to another. First to the swanky opera house on the water, where the tourists wielded selfie sticks, filming themselves as they climbed up the steep platforms around the building.

Then to the shade of a church downtown, the grass dry and brown outside, doors locked.

From there to a garden on the university campus where I snagged one of the last shady benches and a couple construction workers came to lunch on sandwiches they'd picked up at the nearby deli. The fountain was still burbling and the grass and other leafy things were still green, so it was clear someone had put a lot of time and waterpower into the campus despite the drought. 

 

After that I continued to the park behind the palace, where I hung out under a tree until it was time to meet my host at the ferry terminal. A little boy nearby was painstakingly moving the gravel from the pathway into a little pile on the grass, no doubt some special treasure in the mind of a six-year-old.

At the appointed time, I met my host and got comfy on the upper deck of the 25-minute ferry south, the breeze feeling delicious as the boat cruised along. After getting settled in at her place, we took a walk down a steep path to the Oslofjord and went swimming in the salty North Sea water.

That night on the porch, sky falling.

The next day, a Saturday, I'd originally planned on going back to spend more time in Oslo, but after my hours spent there the day before taught me that Oslo was hot, packed with tourists, and pretty extensively under construction, I nixed that idea and followed my host's recommendation to visit the village of Drøbak farther south down the fjord. Doing so required first flagging down a passing ferry (the only one that morning) from a tiny boat landing by waving wildly at it while a couple locals fished a few feet away. When the ferry honked that it had seen me and came in to dock for a moment, the locals put down their rods and pulled out their smartphones, and filmed it as it pulled up, swiftly put down its little walkway for me to board, and pulled it up again. I felt a little bit like a celebrity with star treatment to have this big ferry filled with people come fetch me, but mostly I just felt a mix of relief that it had worked out, and, well, awkward.

Anyway, I made my way up to the top where the rest of the tourists were taking pictures, found myself a corner on the railing, and delighted in the scenery for the next hour as we cruised from village to tiny landing to village to tiny landing south along the Oslofjord.

Drøbak is a super cute fishing village which, among other things, is known for sinking a German cruiser in 1940 from its Oscarsborg island fortress, thus allowing time for the royal family, parliament, and cabinet to be evacuated and the nation's gold reserve to be properly secured (thanks, wikipedia). Today it is home to many artists and thrives on tourism, and for good reason -- it is objectively very, very cute. An easy place to spend a few hours wandering up and down its narrow streets, snacking on pecan cinnamon rolls from the bakery, and sitting in the park built into the boulders on its northern edge, watching the boats go by.
 
The whole time there I could not get this song out of my head ("...Drøbak is, Drøbak is, Drøbak is a perrr... feeect... PLAAACE!!!").  

Anyway.

A peek inside the local library:

I was rather taken aback by the number of tourists there (myself included, I know, but at least I'm not loud about it), and after seeing the downtown area I found a shady spot next to the church to eat lunch. The side door to the church was propped open behind me, with the piano concert being played inside drifting out into the sunny afternoon, broken only occasionally by applause from within. 

Continuing back into the park beyond the church is where I found all the locals, the younger ones lined up and waiting to jump off piers and diving boards into the sparkling, deep blue water. Just another hot Saturday in Drøbak.

I made sure to get back to the ferry landing in time for the last boat of the evening, along with a zillion other tourists, and half-dozed for the hour it took to get back to my stop, lulled by the motion of the boat and early evening sun catching the water outside my window.

Once back at the house, I took advantage of it being July in Norway and went for a walk in the woods in the bright evening sunshine.

It was overcast when my alarm went off at 5-something the next morning, and I quietly collected my things and headed to the bus stop for the one bus to take me to the one ferry that would get me back to Oslo in time for my train. It was quiet on the boat as we cruised through light drizzle and a shifting pattern of blue-gray clouds.

There was still plenty of time before my train once we reached the city, so I took my time getting to the Sentralstasjon. Moseying from the ferry at Aker Brygge and past the Nobel Peace Center, I was taken by the statues of women in front of the city hall. In most cities such a prominent location would be home to a highly revered dude on a horse, and not women with all of the curves of real human bodies, and children. Looking up information about the square later, I found that they were done by a couple of (male) Norwegian sculptors, but nothing more. 'Course there were plenty of dudes in bronze all over the rest of the city, but this was still a comforting sight to see on a sleepy Sunday morning.

Definitely classier than the giant, inflatable bears hanging ominously above the streets of the shopping district anyway. HUG LIFE, and watch your back before one of these guys mauls you from above.

Once at the train station, I hopped on the train to Bergen, found my seat, and got settled in for the very long, very grand adventure that lay ahead.