Bjorn Superior (Westworld, Winter 2009)
I’ve always wondered what goes on in Norway. It's never in the news - which must mean nothing bad ever happens there. I know it’s where the 80s band A-ha came from. And that all the Norwegian women that I have met in my travels have been mastermind supermodels. I figure any country producing such women must be doing something right and place worth visiting. Also, I know about the Vikings.
The opening line in every guidebook says Norway is beautiful - and expensive. It’s right on both counts. Arriving in Oslo from Dublin hungry and latenight, my girlfriend Heather and I duck into a corner bar for food and drink. Burgers and beer run us 375 Kroner - about $70. I realize that Edvard Munch’s famous painting The Scream (something else Norway is known for) is likely that of a tourist receiving his first bar bill. We decide we’ll have to focus more on Oslo’s beauty.
It really is a place suitable for framing. Wrapped around the north end of a stunning fjord with a backyard full of wilderness, the 1000 yr old city is naturally stunning. Oslo’s architecture reflects a strong, solid, and creative people. The detailed and thoughtful stonework of neo-classical buildings mixes artfully with modernist glass and steel. Structures like the Royal Palace and the imposing Akershus fortress seem built from the blueprints of fairytales, while traditional Lego-like folk buildings and add colour and humour to the Scandinavian haven. Adding further drama to the storybook pages is Oslo’s nickname, Tigerstaden (City of Tigers!) although no one can seem to tell me why it is called so.
If only I were the wealthy prince. But we quickly learn how to stretch our Kroner. We take advantage of our B&Bs, stuffing our backpacks with thick bread and rich cheeses from the breakfast buffets. (Avoid the pickled herring, which doesn’t travel well.) Fueled by free bananas courtesy of finish-line (not Finnish) volunteers at the Oslo Marathon, we explore Thor Heyerdahl’s Kon-Tiki museum. We walk the cobblestone streets our pockets weighed down with stashed hard-boiled eggs.
I figure the high costs (and maybe at one time, the tigers) are all a part of the Norwegian master plan to keep people like me out. Standing barely six-foot with basic brown hair, a measly undergraduate degree and barely capable of one language, I feel like a Sears catalogue reject compared to the GQ worthy Viking models that use Oslo’s streets as a catwalk. (Heather considers dumping me for a cashier at the 7/11 who speaks 5 languages and drove a Saab.) (Although the $5 calzones at 7/11 were deliciously affordable.) With federal oil reserves estimated at $300 billion, Norway is very obviously one of the richest countries in the world, which apparently means free healthcare, education and stylish clothing for everyone.
But I know there must be cracks in the Utopia. Watching Champions’ League football at a hotel bar in the west coast city of Bergen (also ridiculously beautiful) a psychology student named Kjell gives me a few lecture notes on the Norwegian state of mind. He says rates of depression, alcoholism and suicide are high. While many blame the long, dark and cold winters, Kjell’s thesis is “it’s mostly because we are bored because we are so perfect!”
With Maslow’s Hierarchy of Needs (Thanks, Kjell!) so well taken care of, all these well-fed brains and perfect bodies are forced to strive for a higher purpose. It’s no wonder arts and crafts thrive. Forget Ikea. Norwegian design makes neighbouring Sweden’s superstore look like a thrift shop. It’s so good Bergen even has a museum dedicated to it. In the gift shop of the West Norwegian Museum of Decorative Art (their motto: to create debate about taste) Heather maxes out her Visa card on a squid-shaped whisk for her mom, and an intricate device for cracking hard-boiled eggs, suitable for a space shuttle’s kitchen.
Rolling through the rugged high-alpine on the spectacular cross-country train ride from Bergen back to Oslo, warm golden light spills through the cabin windows. It’s like a Christmas movie. I half-expect to spot magical talking polar bears, or maybe a photo-shoot featuring the Norwegian National Women’s Ski Team. Closer to the city, the train slows and I can peer into white picket-fenced backyards. Healthy, happy kids in thick, red reindeer sweaters smile and wave at us. I notice I’m beginning to feel a little taller. I also notice that Norway has a lot of trampolines.