HD6: Oslo, Norway

8.11.12 To milk the most out of our time in Norway, our tour bus planned to leave at 7:30AM. Although it was an ungodly hour, I awoke to a continental breakfast of eggs, toast, veggies, sausage, fruit, yogurt, and cereal with decent-tasting milk (Russian milk is…weird; who knows what they do to their cows). However, the cereal seemed stale, so my favorite part about breakfast was a plateful of delicious fruity yogurt, mixed nuts, and dried fruit stirred together. I think the best part of part, however, was that it was free: Scandinavian prices are staggering; I’ll just warn you now. And, apparently, Norway was the most expensive of them all. Too soon (I could have eaten forever), we boarded the bus and I instantly felt carsick. For whatever reason, motion sickness has been a regular visitor of mine while overseas. However, I quickly forgot about my stomach as the sun began to rise and the Norwegian landscape unfolded before my eyes: rocky, snow-covered cliffs and frosted hillsides rose out of a lake of glass and a gentle snow fell from a sky of swirling grey clouds; the horizon was kissed by the soft pinkish rays of the rising sun. I felt like I had, in fact, never woken up that morning: surely, this was a dream, just a scene from some fairytale. If I had ever any doubts that God existed, this sight would have set me right: this was what heaven must look like. Norway, without debate, has the most stunning landscape I’ve ever seen—especially during sunrise. I think sunrises are particularly beautiful and make anything more attractive, but I’m usually too lazy to see many of them; I’m extremely grateful, however, to have been able to see Oslo at sunrise. Our first stop was the world-famous Vigeland Sculpture Arrangement in Frogner Park. Gustav Vigeland designed the arrangement and its 212 sculptures, all depicting scenes from everyday life and death. The sculptures are of adults and children in everyday situations: some are laughing, others crying; some are hugging each other, jumping for joy, dancing, juggling babies (don’t ask—I don’t understand, either), kissing, sitting, crawling, strutting what their mama gave them, etc. Every statue in the park is naked, to continue the theme of being in a natural state. The giant fountain in the middle of the arrangement is covered with the skeletons of children and adults in trees, suggesting that death brings new life. The main attraction is a towering monolith covered in bodies that entwine and tangle with each other; it was quite a sight. Between the bridge of sculptures and the monolith was a rose garden; the world was covered in snow, but somehow the roses had survived and were still colourful and soft—in Norway, roses do bloom in winter. This thriving rose garden combined with the soft yellow and pink sunrise, the quaint park benches, the snow covered trees of Frogner Park, and Vigeland’s masterpieces, caused an absolutely breathtaking sight. Far too soon, it was time to board the bus. Our next stop was the old Oslo fortress, the inside of which we would not have time to explore, though the outside of which was stunning enough: the fortress sat on the edge of the bay, with an overlook of the harbour and the distant islands. The water was as still as glass and reflected the sunrise and partly overcast sky like a mirror. A small sailboat opportunely glided past the fortress, painting a picture worthy of Johan Christian Dahl, who is considered the first great romantic painter in Norway, the founder of the "golden age" of Norwegian painting, and one of the great European artists of all time. I could have stayed right there for the rest of our time in Norway, and longer even. However, the tour had to go on: while most of Moscow 1 decided to explore downtown Oslo, my girls and I opted to go to the Viking Ship Museum on Museum Island. It’s a small museum, but was well worth it: it boasted three original Viking burial ships and artifacts from the 9th century, all of which were discovered preserved in the thick Norwegian fjord mire. The artifacts included dishware, silverware, pots and pans, crates, chests, shoes, coins, jewelry, and even bits of cloth from clothing. Uncovered with the ships were also skeletons in ornate sleighs, or coffins, proving that these were burial ships for their leaders (the skeletons were not displayed at the museum, unfortunately). I thoroughly enjoyed learning more about Norwegian history and seeing it come alive before my eyes. We returned to the downtown and headed to the Norwegian National Gallery, where we saw original Monet, Picaso, Cezanne, Peder Balke, Manet, J.C. Dahl, and others—including the museum’s main attraction, an original Edvard Munch’s The Scream. We even saw a casting of Rudin’s The Thinker, though I just discovered it’s not an original but, alas, a posthumous casting. In any case, it was an incredible museum and I’m glad we went. Unfortunately, a lifetime too soon, it was time to board yet another cruise liner—this time, to Copenhagen, Denmark. Shelley and I went to the sun deck for one last glance of Oslo—it was stunning even at night, with all the lights reflecting in the water. Gosh, what an incredible place. I’m sure it’s miserable in January and February, but I can’t even begin to imagine how gorgeous it must be in the summer. We found our room for the night, which happened to be on the lowest floor—even lower than the parking garage level. Yep, we were in steerage. The doors were a tacky pastel pink that clashed with the carpet and the room, though clean, was tiny: two bunk beds with hardly a foot in between them, a small bathroom, and a puny vanity and closet. Although it was awkward to get cleaned up in together, we actually wouldn’t be spending much time in our room that night. Soon after entering the discotheque, we met a few Norwegian men who started to chat us up. One of them, Maurice and I chatted about pretty much anything possible: Obama, Romney, the election, Norwegian government and socialism, food, travelling, alcohol, dancing (I taught him how to waltz—to hip hop), relationships, and even Mormonism (when Romney was mentioned, I admitted to being Mormon). We had a gospel discussion, actually: I clarified his misconceptions of the Church and explained to him various gospel principles, like polygamy, moral standards (no sex , no drinking, no smoking, etc.) and even the New Jerusalem and how Christ will come to reign in North America (that was a first for me—no one’s ever asked me about it before, and I was surprised he’d even heard about it). In all of our discussions, he was the utmost gentleman—I never felt pressured or persecuted for my opinions and beliefs. In fact, he even confided in me that he was jealous of my faith and the hope and drive it gave me; he wished he could believe in something as powerful as faith. I told him that a desire was the first step and maybe even hinted that he should keep searching and asking questions throughout his life. This whole experience was pretty incredible; I felt like I had met a kindred spirit. I hope I was able to improve his opinion on Mormons.