Chapter 2 - Norway
Rob and Leslie’s Adventures in the Nordic Countries and London
18 February 2023 to 18 March 2023
The Castor - The ship for our coastal exploration of Norway
In mid-February 2023 Leslie and I left on a month’s holiday in the Nordic countries. I wrote a bit about our adventure each day. I’ve broken this story into its four parts:
Chapter 1 - Finland – Click here.
Chapter 2 - Norway – This webpage covers the Norwegian part of our trip.
Chapter 3 - Iceland – Click here.
Chapter 4 - London – Click here.
If you’d like more details about this trip, please feel free to contact me.
Rob Landsberry – August 2023
Day 8- 26th February 2023
Herdibledenflunig to one and all.
Regarding my story of the angst that men experience when contemplating a wee with four flys to navigate, I’ve been reprimanded by one reader for failing to consider the female point of view, where those 4 layers have to be completely lowered, exposing the nether regions to the freezing Norwegian air. Apologies to ladies one and all.
And thanks to Waz for describing the quest to Free Willy as a ‘search and rescue’ operation. 😂👍
So, Day 8 saw us move to the Snow Hotel at Kirkenes in Norway, which is 400km north of the Arctic Circle. There were two options for accommodation. One was a cosy cabin high on a hill, looking out across the snow‑covered grounds and on to the rolling pine covered hills in the distance. The other was sleeping in a room made of ice, on a bed made of ice, with no windows and an ambient temperature of minus 4 degrees. Hmmm….tricky decision.
Everyone but Clive had pre‑booked cosy cabins. And, as we all stood in the ice bar enjoying a warming brandy, you could see Clive re‑thinking the whole thing. He glanced into one of the ‘ice bedrooms’ and next thing he was in a conspiratorial huddle with Jens, our tour guide.
A deal was done. It was cosy cabin for Clive and an ‘adventure’ for Jens…one from which he emerged the following morning looking decidedly worse for wear. “Well,” he said, “it was an experience, I guess. I believe I may have slept for about 15 minutes.” The fact that Clive looked quite chipper didn’t help poor Jens at all.
So, what do you do when you’ve hardly slept and you’re feeling a bit second hand? Well, I’ll tell you. You arrange to take the group out on the ice to haul up a swag of Atlantic King Crabs. Of course you do!
Our group heading out to hook us some crab
Our two crab men took us out on the frozen river, located the spot where traps had been laid, and dug a trap‑sized hole in the ice. Then up they came. Traps laden with these monster crustaceans. No sooner had they landed them, and BAM! They were killed right in front of us. The squeamish turned away, whispering ‘the horror’, just like Colonel Kurtz in Coppola’s Apocalypse Now.
Then it was back on the sleds, laden with shellfish. Our group went to the warmth of the dining room, from where we could look out the window as the guides cooked the freshly caught Atlantic Kings right there in front of us. And less than 30 minutes from when they were caught, we were presented with a tray laden with the freshest crab claws you could ever eat.
And eat we did. We were allowed to have as much as we wanted. The claws were so large that we were pulling out whole 20cm long perfectly cylindrical pieces of warm sweet crab meat. Halfway through, Leslie turned to me with a tear running down her cheek and said, “I’ll never eat anything this good again in my life”. And I believe she’s likely to be right.
Despite our best efforts, the 18 of us couldn’t get through all the crab. I asked for a doggie bag, but no luck.
And with that, stopping to say cheerio to the huskies, we made our way to the bus that would take us to our Havila ship for our 6-day cruise from the very northern tip of Norway down the coast to Bergen.
Our course from Kirkenes in the north to Bergen in the south
There are just 200 passengers, so it’s our sort of cruise. We lashed out and upgraded to a suite which is seriously huge for seafaring accommodation.
They warned us of rough seas and high winds overnight, and lo, it came to pass as we pitched and rolled our way south. Leslie and I found it quite relaxing, but fellow travellers Nelly and Kerry decided to spend most of the night driving the porcelain Nordic ship, keeping a close eye on the water levels in the toilet, rather than outside the window.
As I write, it’s just been announced that we’re turning towards Hammerfest port and so the waves will appear more ‘interesting’. Having just made that turn, I can see that many people have become interested in the print on the inside of the plentiful supply of Havila branded sick bags located all over the place.
So, earlier this morning, Leslie hops in the shower and after about two minutes, the boat does a significant list to port, holding that position for some minutes. Bottles, glasses, phones, knives, spoons, my juggling clubs, and anything else that’s not battened down all slide rapidly to the floor.
This includes a third of a glass of red wine on Leslie’s bedside table which does the sort of move an Olympic athlete would be proud of, only to land upside down, emptying itself on the pristine white sheets. I hold up a card with 9.6 written on it - well deserved. And so, our desire to be Eco Voyagers (and have no service of our room today) will go by the wayside, I’m afraid.
But what of poor Leslie in the shower, I hear you ask. Well, as the boat continues to list portside, she was thrust against the portside wall of the shower cubicle covered in soap as the shower itself filled to overflowing, spilling into the bathroom.
Now, I’m no boat designer but wouldn’t you put the shower drain to the port side, and the bathroom drain to starboard, so at least one would empty, irrespective of the listing direction? Well, apparently not…both were starboard - totally safe and out of the way of any contact with water during a port list, as all drains should be.
The shower recess was now producing a lovely waterfall into the bathroom, which also filled up, cascading into the bedroom. Leslie was saying something about trying to get back under the shower to wash the soap off, but I could barely understand her as her face remained squashed against the cubicle wall.
Gosh we laughed. Shortly afterwards, the ship righted itself, and we left our wine spattered, waterlogged room with an apology note for the staff, removed our Eco Voyager tag from the outside door handle, and left for breakfast. I’d added a PS to the note saying, “By the way - this was all Leslie’s fault.”
But the main story today is truly odd. We’ve been watching some episodes of season 5 of the fabulous behind the scenes Formula One docuseries ‘Drive To Survive’ when we have some rare nighttime downtime. We watch on Leslie’s iPad, or when connections allow, we hook that up to a TV. So, I look at the TV connections in our stateroom, only to find that there’s a USB device plugged in. “Hey…looks like someone’s left their USB here,” I say to Leslie, “maybe there’s some good movies on it.”
“Good” - it can be such a personal word. One man’s ‘good’ can be another man’s ‘WTF!’.
I flick the telly on, access the USB, and Leslie and I sit there somewhat dumbfounded to find 30 or so thumbnail pics of clearly naked people. I click on one, and the opening screen simply says, ‘Czech Massage 126’. And then the video begins, and we vicariously enter the somewhat bleak world of a Czech massage establishment.
A woman enters. She goes to a tiny change room, where she disrobes.
She heads out onto the massage table with a tiny towel covering the nether regions. In comes the male masseur who proceeds to empty a small vat of body oil on her, and starts the full body massage, slowly at first and then becoming what you could only describe as extreme full body, taking on the flavour of a sort of naked medical examination.
The masseur then strips, and of course one thing leads to another as it always does when you have a naked woman, a naked man, and copious quantities of body oil, all trapped in a tiny room. It’s full on, with a palpable air of seediness and depression. It ends as all these things end - to paraphrase TS Eliot: not with a whimper but a bang - and the young lady pops back to the dressing room to gear up and leave.
Somehow, the fact that she was heavily pregnant only added to the degree of jaw droppiness that Leslie and I were experiencing. We looked at one another and simultaneously thought the exact same thing at the same time. After all, it was the only decent thing to do. We simply MUST host a video night for our group during the voyage.
I’m imagining Vacláv arriving home from his beautiful cruise, saying, “So, Adèla, the USB - you remembered to pick this up, of course?”. And then Adèla looking all sheepish, only for Vacláv to slap his forehead and shout “sakra!!!”.
Those crazy Czechs!! 😱😱
I will 100% be handing the USB in on Wednesday. Thursday at the latest. Just so they can call up Vacláv to check how the old rub-a-dub business is going. Yes indeed, no later than Friday.
Love to all
Leslie and Rob
Day 9 – 27th February 2023
What can I say other than FFFFAAAARRRKKK!
Relentless 8 metre swells, with the occasional peak a little higher than that. 140 kph winds. Bear in mind that hurricane strength winds are anything above 120 kph. Please - don’t waste my time with your pathetic 120 kph. Sleet and snow coming at us from all angles. Some waves crashing over the bow, making it all the way up to the 9th floor.
And on it went. For 6 hours.
We sat in the 6th floor lounge for almost all this time. Through the huge window at the bow all we could see was grey and angry sky one minute as we headed up the 8-metre face of each wave, and equally grey and angry water the next minute as we crashed down the other side. And it was 100% a crash.
I’m reminded of Billy Crystal in City Slickers shouting, “I’m on vacation!!!” as he gets dragged along behind a crazy bull. Leslie and I try that very line at top volume, but no one can hear us over the sound of crashing waves and vomiting passengers.
We had two relatively calm and short periods where islands were blocking us from the open sea. During these times we allowed ourselves to believe that it was all over. That is, until a jolly Norwegian gent would pop onto the intercom and say, “Well, tremendous fun we’re all having, nei? Well, there is guut news. Dat was just a run that was a test. In 5 minutes we will be back in open waters, but THIS time, not so much with the waves that are babies”. He would chuckle a little, adding, “And this will stay for the period of one hour” - muffled sounds and mumbling - “nei, nei - I’ve just been told it will not be lasting one hour….it will be lasting two hours”, he laughs again.
Do NOT fuck with me Olav.
To top it off his buddy Leif decides that the bar has to be closed, just because 2 dozen bottles of premium spirits have been launched like 24 scud missiles across the entire length of the bar. Even when I was mid earthquake in Japan, at least the bar stayed open…and it was on the 32nd floor. For God’s sake, these sorts of disasters are exactly what alcohol is for!
We knew things were bad when the guy who ran the café came out to take some photos, shaking his head and doing that whistle you do when you see Niagara Falls for the first time. That’s never a good sign.
I asked one young sailor if this was as bad as it got, to which he said, “Nei, nei - this is just halfway up the tree. We can get swells up to 17 metres.” That’s almost 56 feet!
Anyway, we survived unscathed. Which is more than we can say for more than half the group, who had vomited so much that they were just moments away from bringing up organs.
For those who haven’t been in conditions like this, believe me it gives you a whole new view on the value of life. Particularly your own.
And walking - well, I say ‘walking’, but it makes John Cleese’s silly walks look like a deportment class. Let’s just say that it’s impossible to walk without looking like you’re totally shitfaced or you have cerebral palsy. In fact, at peak wavage, you look like both. Of course, we all try to look like we’re in control, but we’re just kidding ourselves.
An interesting side note is the impact it all has on your weight. And not just those with a predilection for the yawn that is technicolour, as Olav refers to it.
You rise to your feet and start to slalom down the hallway, and suddenly the ship is plummeting down an eight-metre wave, and you become a bit light on the loafers, but not in the Liberace way. Suddenly you’re almost lifting off the ground and you weigh about 42kg. Then BAM!!! The ship crashes at the bottom of the wave and starts to rocket skyward, and your body compresses like a piano accordion, and you weigh 317kg. It’s like a bunch of Norwegian sailors are fiddling with the basic laws of physics, and you’re the subject of their dastardly experiment.
At one stage Leslie went up to the 9th floor bar area and I went to our room to change out of my gym gear. I opened the door, and it was like that scene with Lucille Ball in The Long Long Trailer, when she decides to make dinner in the caravan while Ricky drives along. The caravan ends up covered in just about everything they have, with Lucy buried underneath it all.
Lucile Ball in the Long Long Trailer
Well, this is what our room is like when I open the door. The gift bottle of Prosecco has left the ice bucket, and the two champagne glasses have smashed. All the water from the ice bucket and our bedside glasses is all over the place. Our wardrobes have opened and everything’s on the floor. Anything not battened down has been randomly thrown about the room. And remember I’m in there still riding along with the 8 metre swells.
Then BAM - the biggest wave of the day hits and I literally get launched from one side of the suite to the other, heading straight for the glass topped table - and I’m still wearing my shorts - fully exposing my bare legs to massive risk. I’m running, wobbling and freakin’ out all at the same time, and about to crash into the table when, without thinking about it, I jump the table like some sort of freakin’ Ninja warrior, and all in slow motion, landing on the couch, somehow managing to just avoid crashing through the glass.
Meanwhile, when that freakish wave hit, Leslie was literally thrown completely off her chair on the 9th floor, landing on the lap of Olav who’s on a coffee break. “Well, an upside there is to this weather”, he says, chuckling.
Ah, life on the ocean wave!!!
To quote Billy Crystal once more, “This was NOT in the brochure!!”
More tomorrow.
Leslie and Rob
Day 10 – 28th February 2023
Today is a new and exciting day for us all, as Jens, our fabulous tour guide has been added to this mailing list so he can see the trip from a traveller’s point of view.
Jens, our tour guide
So, some may be thinking that I say ‘fabulous’ only because Jens is now on the list. But nei, nei, nei - this I will not have. Jens has been excellent with we 17 travellers, sharing all sorts of things with us, including the bad cold he’s managed to get - but we blame that rascal Clive (mentioned in a previous email) for starting that particular localised pandemic.
And speaking of Clive, perhaps today is the day to provide some insights into some of our fellow travellers. But Jens, this must remain between the 3 of us, and your fellow tour guides, and the 40 or so people cc’ed on this email. Reading on from here implies acceptance of that condition, Jens - I have a law degree and I’m NOT afraid to use it. And remember also that these are just observations - I make no judgments.
Jens himself is one of those tall, super thin, fast moving, Nordic people, who’s held in complete contempt by we who are more XFM sized than M sized (where XFM is the size I ask for when shopping for clothes - Extra Fat Man). He’s even MORE annoying because he speaks multiple languages, and even though he’s never said it to my face, I see him every now and then, secretly judging my English‑speaking laziness, having just barely mastered a pathetic single language.
He’s a very positive person. No matter how bad the news is, he ends each section of his information sharing talks with us, with a rather jolly ‘goodt’ or good, as we would say. “So the waves will be continuing at 8 metres for another two hours and we may all die”, (slight pause), “goodt”. That sort of thing.
If he was a doctor, he would calmly share the fact that “you have a rare disease which comes with no cure and which will provide you with a hideously painful death in just 8 weeks - perhaps 6……goodt”.
Jens is calm, knowledgeable, resourceful and adaptable as circumstances change, and he’s soldiered on through his cold to continue with our fabulous program. That’s it Jens, I’ve sucked up enough now…well at least for free anyway. 😂
Some of you will remember my mention of our fellow traveller, the enigmatic Sylvia, as I believed I called her. I couldn’t remember her name but have since been reminded that it’s actually Alison. She keeps to herself, wears headphones ALL the time, eats at a different time/place to the rest of us on the tour, and makes no eye contact with anyone. Perfect for group travel.
Well, I have a confession to make. And Jens, here I remind you of our contract. This morning, I touched Alison’s undies. Yes, this is 100% true. But no, she wasn’t wearing them at the time. Leslie and I were doing laundry, and all three washing machines had clothes in them. However, one of them had just finished.
Now there are rules about this. They’re not like the obvious ones, such as ‘do not put a cat in the washing machine’. They’re the unwritten rules - the ones with which all travellers struggle. It’s the age‑old question that goes way back to ancient Egypt - just how far can you go with another’s washing/drying in a shared facility?
My personal belief is that once a cycle is finished, it’s gloves off. You can do what you want. If the owner can’t set a freakin’ timer in this day and age, well then, there’s something wrong.
So I move the clothes into the dryer. That said, I would NEVER take the next step. It would be a truly anarchic world if people then took it upon themselves to pick a random dryer setting and hit ‘start’, thereby ignoring the fact that the owner may well have a preference for a more ‘multi layered’ drying strategy.
So, in walks Alison, and sees me stuffing my clothes into ‘her’ washing machine. I explain. She nods. And then we stand in silence for a moment, simultaneously realising that I’ve touched her slightly damp undies. It’s awkward. But we pretend it isn’t. She actually thanks me. This has been like something approaching a ‘conversation’.
But wait. Leslie and I go back 40 minutes later to move our washing to the dryer, and again we meet up with Alison who’s now folding hers. We exchange a bunch of words AGAIN!! So that’s almost looking like TWO pseudo conversations.
Then, when she leaves, I notice she’s left her tracky dacks there, so I pop up to her room to hand deliver them. She thanks me by joining her hands as if in prayer, with a slight ‘namaste’ bow…but no words passed her under‑used lips.
Fellow passengers are simply in awe of my progress. And I must admit to being quite chuffed myself. Erinna, a lady in her 40’s with a fabulously sharp sense of humour, says to Leslie and me that she’s not that surprised. “Let’s face it”, she says “you ARE overtly friendly”. And quick as a flash Leslie corrects her, “I think you mean OVERLY friendly”. We all laugh. Well two of us do, anyway.
I’m seeing Alison joining us for dinner one night before this tour ends. Stay tuned.
And to round things off, let me quickly mention Clive. He’s the one whose wife doesn’t want to travel (implied: ‘with him’), and who is Patient One in our tour group’s mini pandemic, which Leslie and I have so far managed to avoid.
Clive is almost 80. He’s a real Aussie character. He videos everything he sees, also adding some incredibly insightful commentary. “Here’s a reindeer. He’s eating some stuff. Oh look. He’s buggered off.”
Leslie asked him what he does with all the video. “I put it in a box, and occasionally watch it.” A half‑truth, I’m thinking.
Clive knows no one’s name from the cruise. Doesn’t even pretend to know. Couldn’t give a fuck. On the odd occasion when he remembers our tour guide’s name, he still pronounces ‘Jens’ with a ‘J’, despite the fact that we all correct him, reminding him it’s ‘Jens’ with a ‘Y’ sound at the start, just like Jens told us. “Like Yen - the Japanese currency.”
Clive just goes “Yeah…whatever….if he wants me to say ‘Yens’ then put a freakin’ Y at the front instead of a freakin’ J”. And then he just barrels on regardless.
He’ll chat to anyone and assumes that everyone is on our tour - even though 90% of the people on the boat are German and have nothing to do with the tour. Some don’t even speak English, but even that doesn’t get in Clive’s way.
So, today we pulled into the port town of Sortland, which was on Leslie’s list of ‘must see’ towns. In 1998, local artist Bjørn Elvenes came up with the idea of turning his hometown of Sortland into a three-dimensional artwork using a blue colour palette. The idea being to attract more tourism. The concept went where all good ideas go to die – the Municipal Council – and over a period of a couple of years, Elvenes grand artistic idea was whittled away by a series of bureaucrats and councillors, until it was too much for poor Bjørn and he started working with individual building owners.
Despite the red tape, the results are pretty good as you’ll see in this series of photos. And it did put Sortland on the map. Many people now refer to the town as Blåby (Blue City).
But enough for now. There will be more insights into our fellow travellers tomorrow, along with a possible update on some Nordic attempts at English.
Love, hope, harmony to all, along with the ability to see the funny side of it all.
Leslie and Rob
Day 11 – 1st March 2023
We’re still cruising the west coast and fjords of Norway. Bleak, majestic and beautiful all at once. In fact today, as we headed south, we crossed the Artic Circle, marked by a metal globe on the Island of Vikingen. We also stopped for a wander around the town of Brønnøysund, another beautiful coastal town surrounded by some of Norway’s thousands of islands. We thought we’d take a group shot, for which Alison, our resident recluse volunteered to be photographer. God forbid there should be any physical evidence that showed her actually on our trip.
Look how lucky we were to catch Clive (far right) in such a chipper mood. The left-hand shot is us being sensible, with the right‑hand one of us all in our happy places. Doesn’t make a bit of difference to Clive.
So, let’s talk language a little. You may remember my Day 4 email, with Joachim the cab driver wanting to take us to the “archy pell ego” in Finland when we next visit. Well, there’s been some other locals who’ve made admirable attempts at some rather difficult English words and phrases.
Before we went out huskie driving and catching Atlantic King Crab on the ice, we were decked out in some EXTRA warm gear provided by the tour folk. “You vill also be needing the bollockclava for the wind”, said Onni our tour guide. Oh how I chuckled. That is until I was mushing those huskies and retrieving those crabs, and freezing my nuts off. It was then that I thought maybe Onni’s nomenclature was right….the bollockclava would have really hit the spot.
The same can’t be said for the priest who conducted a mini service for us at Harstard Church.
Harstad Church, Norway
We were to join her in the Lord’s Prayer, but each in our own language and all at the same time. With Norwegians, French, Germans, and a variety of English speakers, she acknowledged that this could be a bit messy, “In fact, zis vill sound like a real cock o’ fanny”, she told us. And sure enough, it was indeed a bit of a cock-up.
At the church, we also learned about Hans Egede, the Danish-Norwegian Lutheran missionary who took off to the wilds of Greenland in the early 1700’s to ram Christianity down the throats of the locals who were apparently quite prepared to give up their free and easy lifestyles in order to accept that everything they’d been doing happily for centuries, would now see them standing in the express lane at the gates of hell, should they persist.
“Zis vanking and the pleasing of the flesh must be ended, for the God’s Kingdom is open only to those for whom the earthly pleasuring has been denied. The Kingdom is basically for the miserable and the dismal, and those for whom the humour has been bypassed”, said Hans, although why he spoke in heavily accented English in Greenland is, quite frankly, a little beyond me.
Hans Egede wearing a Christian protector to stop him seeing his willy
Old Hans and his entourage grappled with the local language, with one of their first tasks being to translate the Lord’s Prayer. As a regular traveller, I usually tackle the basics before moving onto the more heavily religious works, mainly because, when you’re busting for a wee and you already know that you’ll have to work your way through four layers of pants and four flys, it’s better to have ‘where’s the toilet please;’ under your belt (pardon the pun), than to pop up to a bemused local as you start with, ‘Oor Farten ist bai inst Havan, halloven bai die namen’.
But the point here is that once Hans got to the ‘daily bread’ bit, he and his buddies were a bit stumped. Turns out that your early 18th century town in Greenland had no Bakers’ Delight, nor had the residents discovered the joy of hot buttered sourdough toast. In fact, they’d never seen any bread at all - whether daily, or at any other frequency.
Not to be beaten, Hans changed the line to ‘give us this day our daily SEAL’. Brilliant! This of course gave rise to many changes to familiar biblical lines, including the now famous Greenlandic versions of popular prayers and Bible verses, such as:
“The Lord is the clubber of my seal cubs, I shall not want.”
“It is easier for a bowhead whale to pass through the buttonhole on my seal skin jerkin than it is for a rich man to enter the kingdom of heaven.”
And the ever popular, “And the narwhal will lie down with the arctic fox, the humpback whale will lie down with the collared lemming, the musk oxen and the bearded seal and the yearling together; and a little child will lead them.”
Now, I’m all in favour of mixed marriages, but that whole ‘humpback whale/collared lemming’ thing just sounds like a recipe for disaster.
You can see the respect in which Hans is held by the way the appreciative locals have treated this statue of him.
Hans Egede statue in Greenland
The visit to the church was part of a tour with a local guide, and he delivered his commentary in both English and German. At the start of the tour, and in English first, he stressed the importance of wearing seatbelts even on the bus, adding that the fine for not doing so was quite hefty, and that that money would be better spent on a few beers. He paused…waiting for a laugh. But since it was not that funny, the group of English speakers failed to deliver.
So, off he went in German. Despite his failed attempt at humour in English, he had an air of confidence as he delivered the Germanic version of what he clearly felt was champagne comedy: “Das Geld wäre besser für ein paar Bier ausgegeben”. Well, the Germans went nuts. They laughed hard - hard enough to burst a poofulf valve, as my Mum would have said - although I may have spelt ‘poofulf’ incorrectly. Kate, maybe you can shed some light on the spelling, and possibly even on the precise location of this particular valve.
We were in the seat behind the guide, and I leant forward and said, “Much funnier in German”. To which he nodded and replied, “It’s German sense of humour”, which immediately reminded me of the fabulous German comedian, Henning Wehn, telling the story of when he was reported missing by Interpol as a young man. Click the link here to watch it - and watch all 7 minutes if you have time, because you’ll see and hear the very funny differences between Aussie and German humour.
The tour guide continued to joke around every now and then. We English speakers would very occasionally laugh a little, but the Germans continued to outdo us by a significant margin. I believe even Goering used to love to get Hitler chuckling with gags like this one (which, by the way, is a 100% genuine German joke):
Alle Kinder laufen in den Bunker, nur nicht Beate, die fängt die Granate.
Which translates in English as, “All the children run in the bunker, except for Beatie, who caught the grenade”. What the??? 😱😳😱
Before wrapping up for today, and speaking of all things wordy and cultural differences, let me share some Danish sayings that Jens sent me. Yes, I know we’re in Norway, but Jens is from Denmark - these are just two of the 72 languages he speaks (over achiever!).
A favourite saying is, ‘there’s no cow on the ice’, which I believe is the same in Swedish. It means ‘no worries’, because if your cow is on the ice, then this will be trouble - for both you and the cow. I believe it’s been shortened from, ‘the cow's not on the ice as long as its rump is still on land’. So, no worries!
Then there’s this one that’s similar to one of ours: ‘a bird in the hand is worth 10 on the roof’. Of course, we’ve gone for less exaggeration with ‘a bird in the hand is worth 2 in the bush’, or as Sue, who ran the company Leslie and I last worked for said in a client meeting, “a bird in the hand is worth two in my bush”. She said she kinda knew it wasn’t quite right as it came out of her mouth, but she barrelled on regardless.
Then there’s this cracker, ‘you can’t blow and have flour in your mouth’. Now Jens says this is advising us to focus on one thing at a time, but I did a bit of research, and it appears to be the equivalent of our ‘you can’t have your cake and eat it too’, which is more about you not being able to have both the benefit of consuming an item and yet still have the item.
The difference is that we had the good sense to mix the flour with some other shit and make the actual cake. Because seriously, I neither want to eat raw flour, nor do I want to use it after it’s been in my mouth. You crazy Danes, Jens!
More soon, and in the meantime, remember this wise advice which is given in Norway: ‘Ikke selg skinnet før du har skutt bjørnen’ (‘don’t sell the hide until you’ve shot the bear’). I’m hearing shades of chickens and eggs.
Cheers
Leslie and Rob
Day 12 – 2nd March 2023
Some folk have heard that I create and edit these daily messages on my iPhone, and a few have been quite surprised. Leslie - who is a single finger iPhone typist - thinks I’m an idiot, which probably has nothing to do with my iPhone emails at all.
But wait, I go further. My daughter Lauren lives in Japan. She regularly writes and publishes academic articles in the linguistic space. I’ll often do a final edit for her, correcting some stuff, making suggestions, etc. Knowing we were on holidays, she messaged me to say that she wished her editing buddy was available, as she had an article to submit in two days. It was the day of the massive waves here in Norway. I said to send it to me, and I’d have a crack at editing. So, I sat and edited around 5,000 words in Microsoft Word on my tiny iPhone screen, in markup mode, and all while being tossed about in 8 metres waves. Now THAT’S challenging.
But back to the trip. Clive continues to amuse and entertain. Day 12 saw him hold court for a half an hour at lunchtime about his exploits in Vanuatu. God how we laughed as he detailed how he’d basically used the place as a tax rort to put one over on the ATO for over 15 years, slipping back into Australia every few months with $9,999 in tax free cash, and with a conscience as clear as a spring morning.
“But the ATO is basically all of us”, said Leslie, “so you’re actually scamming all of us.”
“Don’t be silly girlie”, says Clive with a patronising tap to Leslie’s shoulder, not realising the imminent danger he’s in. “Everyone does it.”
Anyway, it all ended on friendly terms. Well, aside from Leslie’s fork protruding from the back of Clive’s right hand.
Clive also reconfirmed his total disinterest in any member of the group aside from himself, when I asked him about his time at the upstairs bar the night before with a couple of our tour people. “Yeah, it was good. I sank a few. I even bought a couple of drinks for …”, (a pause - though very short), “…our tour leader”. Ten days and he STILL doesn’t even remember Jens’ name. The man is a mountain of ignorance girt by a sea of disinterest.
Anyhow enough about Clive, as I know that he irritates my mate Dave Gunter something savage. But of course I lie - sorry Dave (not so much). There are two more gems from Clive, because he’s just so out there that I can’t resist.
The first one is courtesy of fellow traveller Erinna, who arrived at the restaurant at lunch with her Mum and brother. Clive was sitting at one of our three group tables on his own, so they joined him. Before anyone said anything, Clive’s opening line was, “What about those people who self-diagnose their kids with a disability, just so they can get a payment from the government”. Who opens with that? I mean, really….who? Clive!
Same lunch. By now Leslie and I are seated at the next table. Out of the blue Clive says. “Let me tell you how I get through life. Every day I wake up, go to the bathroom, look at myself in the mirror and say ‘Jesus, you’re an ugly prick’, coz then I figure no one can insult me, because I’ve already done that myself.”
Traveller. Tax cheat. Philosopher. A true Renaissance man.
On a separate subject, at our group briefing, all 18 of us turned up, and as it ended, Jens suggested that would be a good time for a group photo. Well, you’ve never seen anyone move as quickly as Alison - not towards the agreed spot of course, but straight out the door!! “Group? What group? Am I in a group?”. She leaves us tomorrow before our tour ends, so I have no more time to crack through her mysterious façade…and no more interest, to be frank.
I’m grateful to cousin, Mary who shared her similar experience with an oddly private couple on a tour through Jordan. Mary and her friend invented explanatory scenarios for them - maybe they were having an affair and had told their respective partners that they were on a ‘work conference’. Maybe they were brother and sister and felt ‘awkward about their relationship’ - eeeeww!
My feeling with Alison is that she’s been receiving secret messages and commands from extra‑terrestrials through the headphones she continually wears, as she monitors the holiday behaviour of earthlings for her intergalactic equivalent of a PhD. It makes sense.
The afternoon saw us anchor in the harbour at Trondheim, a city that was established in the late 8th century on the Nidelva River. It’s considered to be Norway’s technology hub and is home to Norway's science and technology university (NTNU) as well as its research institute (SINTEF). We took off on a walking tour, which took in the Nidaros Cathedral as well as the multi‑coloured houses that run along the river.
The façade of the Cathedral is adorned with hundreds of stone images, some of which are quite odd. The photo to the left is just one – It portrays what appears to be a priest holding a basket full of heads. Meanwhile the soldier next to him is looking on thinking, “Hey, how come you’ve got a whole basketful of heads, and I’ve just got this one between my feet?”. Oh, he’s pissed off alright.
The view up and down the Nidelva River with all of the colourful buildings is impressive at any time. But when the light is just right, the sun catches the buildings perfectly, and when there’s no wind the reflections in the glassy river are truly memorable.
On the evening of Day 12, we toured across the Atlantic Road to the marble mines in Bergtatt. You know how we NSW folk think that the Grand Pacific Drive on the NSW South Coast is pretty amazing. Well ‘HA!’ to us. The Atlantic Road makes that look like a back lane in Redfern.
To get a feel for the road, take a look at these two video clips. The first is from the latest James Bond movie, No Time To Die. The view of the Atlantic Road starts at about 1 minute and 35 seconds in. The second is a less frantic aerial video of the various elements that make up the Atlantic Road. Amazing infrastructure.
Arriving at Bergtatt marble mines, we donned our protective helmets and headed deep into the mountain, where we cruised about in the crystal-clear underground lake. The mine has been producing marble since 1938 and is still in operation today, with part of the facility dedicated to tourism.
And lastly for today. Leslie and I almost completely forgot about getting rid of the USB (you may remember this is the one containing some dismal Czech porn which we found plugged into our TV on day one of our cruise). So, I thought I’d have a bit of ‘harmless’ fun.
I haven’t mentioned Jerry and Lynne, fellow tourers who are originally from Dublin, but who now live in Queensland with their kids and their charming accents, and who’ve taken up jobs as funeral directors in later life. It’s no coincidence they’re on our tour. Given that Leslie and I are amongst the youngest of the 18, our tour company ‘50 Degrees North’, insists on having at least one funeral director on every trip - it’s just so much more convenient. No one has died yet - but the tour ain’t over.
Anyway, Jerry and Lynne are quiet gentle people. So, at lunch I see them sitting at a table together and pop over, saying, “Hey Jerry, I’ve got that USB you lent me. It was just like you said ‘interesting’”. He looks bemused as I hand it to him and quickly leave the restaurant.
Later that day, the USB is delivered to our door in an envelope by one of the crew. Written on the front in Jerry’s native Gaelic is simply ‘PÓG MO THÓIN’. Mission accomplished.
And with USB back in hand, in a simple move when I next see Jens, I slip it into his backpack. I won’t be there to see what unfolds back in Copenhagen with Mrs Jens, but my imagination is already producing a cheeky smile.
Stay tuned…Day 13 tomorrow. And that’s halfway.
Cheers
Leslie and Rob
Day 13 – 3rd March 2023
Flashback to King Crab day. We were allowed to eat as much as we wanted. This is the time when you realise that God got it a bit wrong. Four stomachs for the cow. Just one for the human. We should at least have a ‘holiday stomach’ so we can take on more of the freshest crab EVER!
Jens says we needed a doggy bag (which is apparently not allowed by the tour folk). I ask him if Danish has a phrase for ‘doggy bag’. He ponders for a moment, and says, “No - I think we just use the same phrase form the USA. We actually don’t use it much at all - we usually just order what we will eat.”
I mention that in Australia most restaurants now give customers requesting a doggy bag the containers to fill with the extra food they so greedily ordered. Again he thinks for a moment. “This is not a concept we have.”
And that right there is why the US and Australia have an obesity issue, while Jens is thin like the stick. Order just what you can eat. Eat only what you need. Will we ever learn?
Back to day 13 in Bergen. What a fabulous city. But you know, it’s had serious city-wide fires more than 30 times across its history. Sometimes 30% of the city has burned - sometimes 90%. How is it still even here?
It so reminded me of the scene from Monty Python and the Holy Grail, when the king talks to his wimpy son saying:
When I first came here, this was all swamp. Everyone said I was daft to build a castle on a swamp, but I built it all the same, just to show them. It sank into the swamp. So I built a second one. That sank into the swamp. So I built a third. That burned down, fell over, then sank into the swamp. But the fourth one stayed up. And that's what you're going to get, Lad, the strongest castle in all of England.
The Bergenese just kept rebuilding. Every time they did, they tried to make things more fireproof. One idea was to make the streets wider as a fire buffer. Then, after the next massive fire, a law was introduced saying that all new houses built facing the wider fire‑buffer street had to be made of stone, not wood.
Well, your Bergen folk nodded, saying, “Ja, ja - a good idea this is”, and then built cheaper wooden houses, covering them with a thin layer of plaster. That’ll fool ‘em”, they said, as a fire started a few streets away.
Now Clive was delighted with this - anything that shoves it right up the powers that be is good with Clive.
But NO MORE CLIVE. I mean it. Unless he says something very funny, or very wrong - hmmm, that’s bound to happen.
So, 18 of us and we’re together until Tuesday. Take out Leslie and me. That’s 16. And we’ve covered, Clive Ad Nauseum (not his real name), Jens, the Irish/Aussie undertakers Lynne and Jerry, and Alison. That’s 11 left.
So, let’s take a quick tour around ‘The Gang Of Six’. I mentioned Mick and Jann in an earlier email. Mick is the 79 year old dude who’s constantly trying to convince us all that he’s 58. Jann is his Dutch wife. They’re two of the Gang of Six, all friends/family from Rockhampton.
Jann finds Mick’s jokes incredibly funny, and I can only imagine that’s because English is not her native language. Otherwise Mick is what we’d call a … let me think … ah yes. A giant knob.
They’re traveling with Gordon, a delightful British guy with the driest sense of humour, and his ‘way too Aussie’ wife Nelly. Nelly loves to complain about the cold - she was majorly surprised that winter in the Nordic lands would be so cold. She’s not keen on the food either, because it’s not what she’s used to having in Rockhampton. She also LOVES to use the word ‘youse’ – ‘are youse goin’ to Maccas tonoight to get a noimal meal?’.
Nelly’s sister is member 5, Gayle. Every time Nelly introduces her sister Gayle to someone, she says, “This is my sister Gayle - my OLDER sister”. After 45 introductions, Gayle is still loving this…can’t get enough of it. And Peter, Gayle’s husband, rounds off the Gang of Six.
Sisters Gayle and Nelly are Olympic standard whingers. Almost everything about this trip disappoints them. I have the feeling that if they got a phone call saying, “Good news!! You’ve won $22 million in Lotto!”, they’d say “What, and I suppose now I have to come and collect it.”
We sat with Peter and Gayle at breakfast. They’d already ordered. Our breakfast arrived first. Well, Gayle saw red! “What about my sausages….I ordered before you”. It’s a fair point, but at this stage we were still on the boat with our next port 4 hours away. It wasn’t like we were going anywhere.
The pitch of her Aussie nasal whineeness continued to rise. “And my beans and eggs too.”
“Are youse alright” shouts Nelly from the next table. “No, I’m not. I haven’t got any food and these two (that’s Leslie and me) have already got their’s. I want my beans.”
Helpfully Jann points out, “Ah, but they upgraded to da GOLD pass….dats why they get da first serving.”
Oh God, Leslie and I have now become the French Royal family on Bastille Day. Bring out the guillotine.
Waiters are called 4 times to check “on my beans…I really need my beans”. Her voice is driving into my brain like Edmund Hillary’s piton into Everest rock. Leslie’s head is almost on fire.
We excuse ourselves, with Gayle’s hand in the air like a disaffected student, trying to get a waiter’s attention while continually repeating, “my beans - my beans - my beans”.
They’re NOT bad people.
Or are they? 🤔🤔🤔
Nah. They’re just travellers who didn’t know winter in the artic circle would be cold. Nor that folk in other lands ate food that was different to the gastronomic marvels of Rockhampton.
Well that’s it. We’re halfway. Are you still with me? I hope so. Because the best observations are yet to come!
Love
Leslie and Rob
Day 14 – 4th March 2023
Put a bunch of 14 and 15 year old boys in military uniform and hand each of them a crossbow. What could possibly go wrong? These are the members of Bergen’s Buekorps, translating as Bow Corps or Archery Brigade, and they take it all VERY seriously.
When our tour guide described the Buekorps and their activities, it all sounded a little too much ‘Hitler Youth’ to me. But that’s probably because, amongst Dad’s many and varied snippets of advice that he passed on, were these gems. NEVER put on a uniform and NEVER volunteer - for anything! I believe this all started with his time in the army during WWII. You can read a brief account of that here.
The upshot is that had David and I been born in Bergen there would have been no Buekorps for us.
Bergen is a fabulous place. Highly recommended. Although it’s a relatively small city, with fewer than 300,000 people, it has culture coming out it’s arse…if you know what I mean. So many galleries and museums. The people of the Nordic countries seem way more prepared to fund art and cultural facilities than we do, particularly when we’re under the fascist, short sighted, culturally bereft, junta that is the Coalition - although I’ll refrain from sharing my personal political beliefs, of course.
We also learned the fantastic story of Ole Bull, a Bergenese child prodigy and violin virtuoso, who at just 9 years of age was playing first violin in the Bergen Philharmonic Orchestra. Living from 1810 to 1880, he was handsome and charismatic, and was loved and fawned upon by all who met him. He was the first true Norwegian superstar. He had an aggressive and flamboyant style on the violin, but also amazing technique.
Bull womanised his way around the globe, playing from the top of the Great Pyramid of Giza, across Europe, and throughout America, where he played thousands of concerts to rapturous audiences. He accumulated huge amounts of money, lost it, then did it all again. He lived an amazingly lavish life, married twice, had seven children with those wives, and it is believed more than 40 additional kids with various women as he fiddled across the globe - also taking time to play the violin.
It’s a great example of nominative determinism, as “ole bull” translates from Norwegian as “old bull”. Lock up your daughters, the old bull is back in town!
He was also the first person ever to market his own perfume. Forget ‘Eau De Skany Ho’ from Christina Aguilera, and ‘One Night in Paris’ from Paris Hilton. Mr Bull’s fragrance was simply called ‘Fiddle With Me’ - well that’s what I would have called it, but he went for the more subdued ‘Ole’. Most bottles contained genuine perfume, with some lucky gals getting a bottle full of Ole’s genuine used bath water. Nothing says I love you like a tiny bottle of bath scum.
Ole would send the perfume ahead before a concert, along with signed photos, so that everyone would know his name before he arrived. In marketing terms, he was way ahead of his time.
So how come we’ve all heard or Edvard Grieg, another famous musician who hails from Bergen, but not of Ole Bull? Well, while Ole was swanning about the globe, creating a series of mini-me’s, the far more serious Edvard was actually writing some excellent music. Grieg had a quiet life and left a powerful musical legacy. Bull partied like it was 1899, left a thin volume of original pieces which fell into obscurity, along with a string of single Mums.
Who had the better life? Discuss.
So, I’ll end with an interesting Norwegian fact.
Australia has an area of around 7.7 million square kilometres, and a coastline of 34,000 kilometres. That’s a ratio of one km of coast for every 226 sq km.
Norway has an area of just 385,000 square kilometres, and yet their coastline is just over 100,000 kilometres. That’s a ratio of one km of coast for every 3.85 sq km.
That’s what you get when you have almost 240,000 islands, compared to just 8,200 in Australia. Norway’s coastline is second in length only to Canada’s.
When I tried to get Clive to guess the length of the Norwegian coastline, having told him what Australia’s was, I said, “including around the islands”, his response was, “Ah, don’t be a bloody fool…that’s just bloody stupid. Just draw a fucken line around the main bits on the map and measure that”. As he took his leave, he was mumbling, “…around every island - bloody nonsense. Ridiculous.”
Geez Clive…lighten up. I was just filling in time with some interesting facts.
More tomorrow.
May the Mighty Trolls of the giant Norwegian peaks always bring you much whale meat and many reindeer balls.
Leslie and Rob
Day 15 – 5th March 2023
In shocking and disappointing news, this is all I have for Day 15 as we had a super busy day and night, including a farewell dinner and quiz for our last night together with the tour group. Also, I’m still coming to terms with the fact that we will sadly never cross paths with Clive again. I’ll be back with a combined Day 15/16 very soon.
Day 15 - Catch-up Mode
I’m casting my mind back to two days ago, so I can do a proper Day 15.
Now some have said, “Enough with Clive already!”, and I get that, but he is simply a MASSIVE source of stories. But I will resist, despite Day 15 being what could only be described as ‘International Clive The Travel Knob’ day. I kid you not.
A few folk reading my emails have also said they’re glad they weren’t on our trip, because everyone sounded TERRIBLE. But here’s the thing. I’ve tended to focus on the more negative stories because they’re funny. And I must admit (and you must keep this just between the 271 of us), I MAY have exaggerated just a little.
We’ve actually really enjoyed traveling with this group. You know, we all have our quirks. Leslie tells me that I can even be a bit annoying from time to time. WTF? I never ask her what my annoying habits are - if she shares, she may make me stop. And that will not do.
When we travel, everything is part of the adventure. Mostly fabulous stuff happens. But sometimes one or two bad or odd things will happen. But they just add to the story. You remember them, and they’re often funny. It’s all part of life’s rich tapestry. And part of the magic of travel.
So, I need to introduce the last 5 of our tour group of 18, as we approach the time when the group disbands. I’ve already covered Jens our fabulous guide, then there’s Leslie and me, the gang of 6, Alison and Clive. That’s 11 of us.
Oh…we look a bit like we’re all in some sort of St Patrick’s Day prison
But let’s take a closer look at travellers 14 and 15 - David and Cindy. I’ve mentioned them before. A sweet couple from Florida. Second marriages for both. They were our religious pals in my Day 5 email…the ones who shared grace before lunch. We’ve had some fabulous laughs and chats with them.
But….and there’s ALWAYS a ‘but’ - David loves to clear his throat. That may sound relatively innocuous, but if the Olympic Committee ever see fit to introduce Throat Clearing as a sport, my money will definitely be on David.
He’s not your ‘couple of times a day’ gent. And he’s not even your ‘couple of times an hour’ gent. He’s your ‘every fucken 5 minutes’ kind of fellow. And it’s not just an STC (Standard Throat Clear). It’s a deep, phlegmy throat clear. It taps into a rich vein of warm, thick bodily fluid from deep in his very soul.
It’s not just moist. It’s wet and warm - like a Vietnamese rainstorm. Cindy doesn’t seem to even notice. It’s like she’s thinking, “I just love a man who can orally juggle his own snot.” Leslie says she doesn’t notice it either. Do I have some sort of gob radar?
I once sat outside at a tiny restaurant in Hong Kong for breakfast, while a delightful Hongkonese gentleman hawked and hawked until he delivered a spinning gob of snot, which would land with a moist SPLAT at my feet. Every 10 minutes. And I was eating slightly undercooked scrambled egg at the time. It wasn’t pretty.
But here’s the worst of it, David’s gobbiness NEVER gets delivered. He seems to have the phlegm equivalent of a camel’s hump. I assume that Cindy helps him empty it when they get home. A dream job.
Kate will support me here. I believe I’m very much in tune with ‘the phlegmer’, because our father (who art gone) was also a massive gobber, although he collected his in his handkerchief. Everyone needs a hobby. I can barely think of it without feeling nauseous.
So that’s Cindy and David. And that just leaves Kerrie, Erinna and Matt. They’re from Wollongong - so not far from us. Kerrie is Erinna and Matt’s Mum. We’ve had a lot of fun with them. Kerrie is a lawyer and is two years older than me - in fact we were at UNSW Law School at the same time and probably walked passed one another many times. Kerrie says she doesn’t remember doing so, but I’m pretty sure that she does. After all, Leslie always says that I have a face that’s ‘once seen, never forgotten’.
Erinna is 47 and has two kids back home. She’s also a lawyer. Matt is an engineer. He’s 40 and has a 23 year old son. What? That’s right – he and his partner at the time (and now wife) did the HSC while being just months away from welcoming their son into the world.
Matt’s a triathlete and looks about 23 himself, so I took to calling him ‘bastard’ until he said he thought ‘Mr Bastard’ would be more appropriate.
All fairly normal. Or are they? Matt is gluten free. Erinna is a vegetarian. And Kerrie is a pescatarian. It’s a bit like some sort of joke - “So, a vegetarian, a pescatarian and a gluten free person walk into a bar….”.
Every mealtime anywhere involves a plethora of questions.
But has anything with gluten in it been stored within 2 metres of the fish?
Has anyone who’s breath smells vaguely of beef been involved in the preparation of the cous cous surprise?
Has the chef ever baked non gluten bread, or watched someone on TV bake it, and if so, what are his hygiene practices before switching to gluten free?
Then when the food arrives, it’s examined swapped around, rejected or just left there to allow space and time for copious ‘tut tutting’.
But to top that off, they all have a variety of phobias. Erinna complained that her room was too hot. I told her the window opened. “Yes, I know. But a pigeon might fly in”. A freakin’ pigeon!! It’s minus 10 and snowing….I haven’t seen one pigeon ANYWHERE. They’re either frozen or they’ve buggered off to Corfu.
Erinna’s pigeon
And on the fabulous King Crab day, Matt was so convinced that he would get ‘crab juice’ on his shoes, that he hired a pair of ski boots, which I might add, remained juice free. I’m not even sure you can juice a crab.
And as people around him cut and cracked their King Crab claws, he rushed to grab a dozen paper napkins to protect himself from a stray piece of shell or crab. He completely covered his shirt, his pants and his face.
And this is all just the tip of the iceberg (pardon the pun). I believe they may all be suffering from antiphobiaphobia - the fear that you may run out of things to be afraid of. No chance.
And that’s our group. Eighteen fabulously diverse, quirky, interesting, funny individuals who have made our trip something to remember. And all 18 of us enjoyed a magnificent 7-hour train trip on Day 15 - from Bergen to Oslo.
Metres deep pristine snow, dark foreboding fjords, skiers, tobogganers, mountains rising like shards of snow‑covered glass, boats of all shapes and sizes, huge forests, small fishing villages, and much more.
Our train from Bergen to Oslo - I had to really run to catch up after snapping this
On the train I spoke to Jens about our experience with eating reindeer. Leslie and I have had reindeer twice on the trip. Once was like chewing on a condom (those two months in prison have served me well), and the other time it was delicate and tender.
I asked Jens about his experience with reindeer. He said it can be tough sometimes, but only if cooked badly. He then said that if we had had a bad experience with reindeer, we should probably avoid moose. “No moose would be best”, he said.
“Ah,” I said “this may be the source of a well know English saying. You say, ‘no moose is good moose’ which of course we adapted during the late 18th century when the death penalty was enforced using hangings, becoming ‘no noose is good noose’, reflecting the fact that, if the executioner happened to turn up without a rope, then the prisoner would be set free. And from there it was one step to ‘no news is good news’ which was about a dream world where there was no Rupert Murdoch.”
Well Jens looked a tad confused. It appears my flawless logic may have overwhelmed him. And possibly Leslie as well. She leant over to me with a smile, and simply whispered “idiot”.
And there’s Day 15. I must move on to Day 16 to get back on top of things. Its 5:34pm, and we plan to have dinner at 7pm. I have a scotch in hand, and a few stories which may do for Day 16. Stay tuned.
And as they say here in Norway, “may your pickled herring always be dripping with mustard sauce”.
Cya
Leslie and Rob
Pickled herring dripping with mustard sauce
Day 16 – 6th March 2023
I’m still in catch-up mode but making some serious headway.
We start Day 16 with a half an acre of breakfast buffet at the Hub Hotel in Oslo. This buffet is HUGE, and it has everything anyone could ever want. I have my usual 8 small portions of a variety of fish - smoked, pickled, in mustard sauce, etc, with a side of cherry tomatoes and cucumber. I bumped into the chef, and he says that they often cater for over 2,000 people for breakfast.
You’ve gotta love a fabulous buffet breakfast, but you know wherever we go, it never ceases to amaze me how much people will eat at a buffet. This particular buffet has fairly small plates - slightly bigger than bread and butter ones. My breakfast fits on one, as does Leslie’s, and I’ll tell you why. Because we don’t want to end up like the blimp who’s sitting next to us this morning.
This guy - let’s call him Friedrich - comes back with three plates overflowing with food. Yes sir, yes sir…three plates full.
Plate number 1 - a fried egg, a poached egg, a boiled egg, and around a dozen pieces of bacon. Plate number 2 - at least 10 slices of Jarlsberg cheese, two rolls, cucumber piled like a stack of chips at a roulette table, half a dozen butters, and 6 or 8 slices of ham. Plate number 3 - now in fairness, this one is the ‘healthy choice’, but NOT if you choose it ON TOP of Plates number 1 and 2. It’s two or three pieces of each of a half a dozen fruits. I think Friedrich may be an architect or an engineer, because this fruit hasn’t been just thrown on the plate. The whole thing has been designed to support 18 interlocking pieces of fruit in a sort of upturned dome shape, into which you can put more fruit. Imagine an upside-down fruit salad igloo and you’re getting the idea.
Had the priest from our church tour of a few days ago seen that massive mixed bag of foods on Friedrich’s three plates, she would no doubt have said that it was a ‘cock-o-fanny of foods’.
And just like that, Friedrich gets stuck in. I’m pretending to be some strange unknown nationality as I talk to Leslie, but I throw in the odd English word aimed at our breakfast bon vivant, “Das flurbel damen di fat bastard hergel dof gruble mitten the greasy haired shustofer humfarkle greedy pig.”
Friedrich is an absolute machine. He relentlessly and rhythmically moves the fork between plate and mouth in his inexorable quest to devour this mountain of food. His last work is to build a towering sandwich from his final bread roll - two packets of butter, 6 slices of cheese, 4 slices of ham, a layer of cucumber, and two strips of bacon. Even Elvis would be impressed.
At this stage, one might think he’d pause for a moment. Maybe even stand up to let gravity do its work in clearing the way. But not our Friedrich. He’s into that sambo like a man possessed. And as Emperor Joseph II from the movie Amadeus would say, “And there it is”….the end. Friedrich is done. I’m not sure whether to applaud or throw up.
But wait. The man’s NOT done yet. He wanders back to the buffet, bringing back an omelette, two pieces of toast, more butter, a large juice and a coffee. Leslie and I have to leave.
The stomach is a flexible organ, but there are limits. Even a rubber band eventually breaks. Can you imagine what it looks like in Friedrich’s tum tum? Go on - I dare you.
But enough about the strange behaviour of humans when confronted with an endless supply of pre‑paid food.
Let’s look at the strange behaviour of humans when tackling things that have little to no chance of success.
Day 16 was a PERFECT winter’s day in Oslo. Clear as a bell. And we had an excellent tour guide take 17 of us to some of the best city sights and sites. It’s now just 17 of us as Alison has had to return to work. She will be sorely missed even though she never exchanged more than two sequential words with any of us across 12 days.
We visited the Holmenkollbakken ski jump, which is far more daunting when you’re standing right next to it, and thinking about the jumpers hitting speeds of over 100km an hour as they launch skyward. Why do we invent these sports?
We also went to the Fram Museum which is built around the original Fram boat which explored the North Pole, and was also the first boat to make it to the South Pole with Roald Amundsen at the helm.
The Fram was purpose built to embed itself in polar ice and ride the currents from east to west with the goal being to be the first to drift across the North Pole. The expedition left on Friday 13th, had 13 men on board, along with 13 huskies, one of which gave birth to 13 puppies during the journey. So many 13’s. So guess what happened.
Well it actually all went very well, if you consider being stuck in drifting polar ice for THREE YEARS, and living on blubber being ‘very well’. Who are these people who do these things?
We also visited the Con Tiki Museum where both the original Con Tiki raft and the original Ra II were displayed. These were the ‘craft’ that Norwegian Thor Heyerdahl captained. The ORIGINALS of both. The story is equally amazing as the Fram. I urge you to investigate online.
But the highlight was the amazing 80-acre Vigeland Sculpture Park as part of the Frogner Park, which houses the 212 granite and bronze statues that Gustav Vigeland designed and created.
Two hundred and twelve! And some are HUGE.
Gustav’s family lived in the Bible Belt of Norway, where his Dad would beat his children every Good Friday to make them realise the pain Jesus went through. Blessed are the children.
Gustav worked on his huge number of sculptures with a team of artisans who followed his designs. They worked in an enclosed building setup in the park to keep them warm as they worked on the granite. But granite which is extracted from the earth is radioactive, and a combination of that and the granite dust saw all these workers die young, and no one even knows who they were.
Again, human achievement at its best and worst all at once.
Stay tuned for Day 17 which will start with the final bit of Day 16.
Cheers
Leslie and Rob
Day 17- 7th March 2023
A left over from Day 16.
Leslie and I ended Day 16 at a restaurant called Den Glade Gris, which translates as The Happy Pig.
As we entered the restaurant we were immediately wrapped in the smell of porcine carnage. It was like Robert Duvall’s character Lieutenant Kilgore said in Apocalypse Now, “I love the smell of crackling in the evening - it smells like…”, (pause to take a deep breath through the nose) “…dinner”.
Suddenly Leslie and I have a superhero’s power of enhanced hearing, spinning in unison as we focus on a diner on the other side of the room who’s just cut a piece of crackling in half.
“We’re in the right place”, says Leslie. I nod, saying, “Pig Heaven”.
We order two pork knuckles with all the trimmings. I can’t even describe the porky feast. Needless to say we made pigs of ourselves.
So, Day 16 ended well for us, although not so well for our little piggy, who was not the ‘Happy Pig’ touted by the restaurant. We saw him outside, heading back to the sty in a little piggy wheelchair. He glanced back at us, and gave us the two cloven hoofed salute.
So Day 17 was when the group finally disbanded, in a wave of hugs and shaken hands after breakfast. Turns out everyone in our group was an unabashed liar, as we all promised to keep in touch, and even to catch-up in the future. As each couple left, I could see their pants on fire.
And so, Leslie and I planned our final day in the fabulous city of Oslo. Our plan today is to visit Oslo’s City Hall (Rådhuset), the National Museum of Norway, the Astrup Fearnley Museum of Modern Art, and, if time allows, the Munch Museum.
Before that I want to tell you just a couple of things about the Nordic countries.
I believe I’ve mentioned that most people in Finland and Norway don’t like the Swedes. And to top it off, the Norwegians really don’t like the Danes either. It was often presented as a bit of a joke, like Maria, our Day 2 tour guide, who said that Finland doesn’t have to be the best in the world, “we just have to be better than Sweden”.
Everyone doesn’t like someone.
Since the 1300’s Finland was ruled by the Swedes and then the Russians before declaring independence in 1917 - truly excellent timing as the Russians had their own ‘issues’ distracting them in 1917.
Norway was variously ruled by both Sweden and Denmark for some hundreds of years. And then by Germany during WWII. The Germans were particularly nice when they left - burning everything on their path back home. Well, to be accurate they offered homeowners a choice: you burn your house down, OR…and this now became a tough choice….we kill you and your whole family, and then WE burn your house down with you all in it.
And Denmark lost land to both Sweden and Germany, but hey, they also won some land from Norway.
It’s all the sort of mess of which my Dad would have said, “You don’t know who’s up who and who hasn’t paid.”
One last thing to mention about this area - and I apologise if I’ve mentioned this before - Scandinavia does not include Finland. In fact let’s assume some ignorant traveller happened to say to his Finnish guide on the second day of his trip that it was great to be in Scandinavia, it’s likely said guide may get a bit miffed. Or so I’ve heard from a ‘friend’.
But wait, Iceland isn’t part of Scandinavia either. “Are you mad?”, I hear you say. Scandinavia is just Norway, Sweden and Denmark. Add Finland and Iceland and you have ‘the Nordic Countries’. The whole thing is a complete debacle.
But, as Sean Connery’s character Jim Malone said in The Untouchables, “Here endeth the lesson”.
So back to Day 17. Now, a visit to City Hall may sound a bit tedious, and it probably would be in Australia. But we’re in Scandiwegia. They do stuff differently here. This city hall has a series of MASSIVE murals tracing the history of Norway. Huge murals showing the Nazi occupation, the Norwegian underground, farming, fishing and so much more. Every wall tells a story, with some murals being 5 metres high, and 30 metres long.
If City Hall was ‘excellent’, then the National Museum was at another level altogether. There are 86 rooms taking you through the ages from ancient Rome and Egypt, right up to modern times, and covering all aspects of art and design. There are two rooms dedicated to Edvard Munch including one of the versions of his painting, ‘The Scream’.
We were lucky enough to be there during an exhibition of some Grayson Perry works as well.
I don’t have time to cover all that we saw - we were there for over three hours. But I will include a photo of one painting that gave me reason to pause. It’s a 1670 painting by Lorenzo Pasinelli called ‘Roman Charity’, and I’ve included it below. To me charity is primarily about donating cash, but I guess it can also be sharing other things, including food, which is generally a lovely idea.
Roman Charity by Lorenzo Pasinelli
The painting depicts a daughter breast feeding her Dad, who’s been condemned to death by starvation. Look I love a milk drink as much as the next guy - but in this case, ‘the next guy’ was actually his daughter’s son who was due for a feed in about an hour.
It’s all a bit like Harvey Pincher, one of David Walliams’ characters in Little Britain. Henry is an adult in all senses of the word, aside from the fact that no matter who’s there and what’s going on, out of the blue he’ll ask his Mum for breast milk – or what he refers to as ‘bitty’. His mother initially refuses, but in the end, she gives him bitty.
The difficulty with the story of the Pasinelli painting is that, if Dad’s facing death by starvation, does his daughter have to pop back multiple times a day to be sure he gets his three squares? And after a month goes by, and Dad’s stacking on the weight, and likely teething also, surely one of the guards is going to put two and two together and say, “Hang on, is this another daughter breast feeding Daddy situation?”
Anyway, to ponder.
Day 18 follows.
Cheers
Leslie and Rob
And so ends our time in Norway. For the Icelandic chapter of our trip, click here.
Leslie and Rob’s Adventures in the Nordic Countries and London (holiday travel)
Written by Rob Landsberry, with photos by Rob Landsberry and Leslie Jolley, last updated 12 August 2023