Trollin’ Through Oslo

“Are you sure you know how to get to the airport?” Ryan questions with a note of concern. It’s Friday late-morning and I have a flight leaving from Schipol airport at 3pm. Up to this point, he’s heard my misadventures that frequently feature me getting hopelessly lost despite having a detailed map and GPS on my phone. This time, I am flying to Oslo, Norway to spend the weekend as PhD student-Kayla: the perma-student asking questions, observing, and feeding my curious brain with culture and history.

“Mind now…dare say I’ll manage,” answers silly-Kayla: the overly confident globetrotter already scheming which song to sing over the weekend.

With my trusty OV-chip card in my hand and Lana Del Rey’s latest album crooning  through my headphones, I take off for the airport. Within 45 minutes, I am through security and patiently waiting at my gate. The flight is surprisingly quick and pleasant; after seeing me read F. Scott Fitzgerald’s Tender Is The Night, my seat companion passes our time together by telling me her father attended dance school with my beloved author many years ago. By 5pm when I’m desperately calibrating to my new surroundings, I’m again reminded of how small our world really is; turns out my seatmate has been to L’anse aux Meadows and is visiting Oslo to see the Viking Ship Museum. We laugh that, like the Vikings, we’re also adventurers and explorers. Though we agree that perhaps we’re a little less violent J

Back in June, myself and the Dept of Folklore’s visiting professor, Dr. Michael Lange, headed to the Northern Peninsula to visit LAM and to clue up some fieldwork for my MA thesis. As I’ve noted in an earlier blog post, my PhD research will focus on LAM and how its historical significance has changed the community (both in tangible and intangible ways) in the last fifty years. Mike and I spent the day exploring the site at LAM, myself mainly as a local “seeing” the site through his critical eye. While chatting with my old colleague, Clayton Colbourne, we flipped through an incredible book of photographs taken at the time of the excavations. Clayt explained that the book was gifted by Nicolay Eckhoff, a Norweigan who had worked at the site during four of the Ingstad excavations in the 1960s. Thrilled to learn that Mr. Eckhoff lives in Oslo, I followed Clayt’s advice and got his contact info from Hilary Patey—granddaughter of Lloyd and Madge Decker, a family Nicolay has remained closed to all these years. Nicolay agreed to meet with me upon my arrival in Oslo, and graciously invited me for dinner on my first night in the city.

 

Clayt & I: we first met in 2007 when I was hired at the giftshop in LAM

And so I found myself Friday afternoon taking the subway’s Line 1 to Frognerseteren West to meet Nicolay at his home. I was a little nervous as I walked along his street, as I so often am when meeting an interviewee for the first time. My nerves were certainly misplaced this time, though. As soon as Nicolay opened the door, I was so warmly welcomed that I felt as though there was no other place in Oslo I should have been at that moment. Nicolay and I had an insightful chat for an hour or so, during which he shared some very interesting stories about his time in LAM as well as other information about his life afterwards. It was fascinating to hear about how the community that, during my lifetime, has always been an area of much tourism, was very isolated when Nicolay first arrived in 1963. He has seen firsthand how many of the community’s changes—the introduction of roads, indoor plumbing, the site receiving UNESCO designation and opening to the public, the cod moratorium, etc.—were adapted to. It was also truly lovely to hear Nicolay recount his fondest memories of his time there, particularly his adventures with his new friends, as well as his impressions of the place as an outsider.

My rumbling tummy reminding me that the “savoury snack” I enjoyed on the airplane was hours ago, I was relieved when Nicolay’s beautiful wife, Jessie, invited us to the dinnertable. The rest of the evening was spent pleasantly enjoying the company of my gracious hosts. After dinner, we discussed my plans for my stay in Oslo, and I appreciated their suggestions and advice. By the time I arrived at the Anker Hotel—my modest accommodations for the weekend—I felt prepared to take the city by storm.

Saturday morning, I awoke energized and excited for the day ahead. After talking with Jessie and Nicolay, I decided to buy a 72-hour Oslo Pass which offers free admission to more than 30 museums, free public transport, and discounts.

And Museum it up, I did!

The Viking Ship Museum:

Very cool museum located on the Bygdoy Peninsula which holds the world's best preserved Viking ships, as well as artifacts from burial ships unearthed at Oseberg, Gokstad, Tune and Borre near the Oslo Fjord. According to their pamphlet, "Before these ships were drawn ashore and used as burial ships, studies show that they were used as ocean-going vessels. When the ships were buried in the burial mound, the dead were buried in a separate burial chamber in the ship, where they were well-equipped for the afterlife." 

The Oseberg Ship: Built c.820AD. Used in 834AD as a burial ship for two powerful women

Burial chamber and small boats from the Gokstad burial mound

Norsk Folkemuseum:

A fascinating museum, also on the Bygdoy Peninsula, displays how people lived throughout Norway from 1500 to today. Features an open-air museum, large indoor exhibits, with the highlight being the 13th century Stave Church

The Museum of Cultural History:

A faculty under the University of Oslo. Several great collections, including my personal favourite on medieval church art 

Me and me Viking buddy

The National Gallery:

Contains the country's most extensive collections of art, architecture and design, as well as some of the more recognizable works by Norwegian painter Edvard Munch. I spent little time here unfortunately due to my inability to convert the NOK to CAD. At the previous museum, I fell in love with a ring that, in my estimation, would have cost me about 20 euros. Halfway through the National Gallery's impressive Munch collection, I connected to the Museum wifi to discover that the ring had actually cost 200 euros. With my financial advisor's voice in my head, I weighed up what was worth more: my ego or my $300. Finally, I ran back to the Historical Museum, received not one but two lectures about my responsibility to convert to my own currency prior to buying, and finally, got my money back. Phew! Nonetheless, a couple snaps from the National Gallery:

Madonna, 1894-95 

The Scream, 1893. Also, my expression when I realized how much the piece of jewellery had cost me

20 euros vs. 200 euros

The Nobel Peace Centre:

This public showcase of the famous Peace Prize only opened in 2005, despite the fact that the annual ceremony has been held in this city since 1901.

The Kon Tiki Museum:

Thor Heyerdahl gained worldwide fame when he crossed the Pacific Ocean on the balsawood raft Kon-Tiki in 1947. The museum displays the original vessels and exhibits on Heyerdahl's expeditions.

The Fram Museum:

This spot houses one of the world's most famous polar exploration ships. 

Are you as museum-ed out as I am, dear reader? Even spread out over three days, this was an ambitious feat! Of course, I spent a lot of time wandering through the city centre and enjoying the vibe of what is definitely one cool city.

 The view from my mini-cruise 

 The Royal Palace

 Oslo Cathedral

 The National Gallery

 Opera House

Oslo City Hall, where the Nobel Peace Prize is awarded

 The Grand Hotel

"Angry Baby" at Vigeland Park

And, of course, I managed to find the time to embarrass myself by singing into my phone.

Oh, and trolls. Did I mention those?

I felt a bit run down and ragged, not unlike my troll buddy, by the time my short stay in Oslo wound down. One delayed flight later, I was back in Amsterdam on Monday night, physically tired but mentally recharged after engaging with a fascinating historical culture and contemporary city in the core of Scandinavia. Stay tuned!

xo

kc  

Around Amsterdam

Since we arrived in the Netherlands about a month ago, we’ve been trying to get “into” all things Dutch. I mean that mostly figuratively, but at least a little bit literally.

Thankfully these are different clogs

Anyway, despite putting in plenty of miles wandering the canals and museums of Amsterdam, we’ve never let ourselves be led by the hand by someone actually from here, to tell us something about this city. Guided tours are, as far as I’m concerned, hit or miss at the best of times, but when Amber, one of the other UNB students abroad who conveniently lives across the hall from us, suggested that we spend Saturday afternoon on the Sandeman’s New Amsterdam Free Tour, it seemed like a good idea.

The concept of free walking tours of notable cities must be a working business model, because Sandeman’s has tours from here to Tel Aviv, and there are dozens of other companies doing the same thing. We went on a free tour in Dublin last year, and it was a definite highlight of the entire Ireland trip. The idea is that there’s no upfront cost, but that the guide encourages you to provide a tip in the amount of what you thought the tour was worth at the end. My guess is that the individual amounts people fork over are generally less than on those tours with a definite price, but also that more people go on these free tours. When we left, the full group had to be divided into three groups, each with about 35 people, and that was the third tour of the day.

We started at the natural starting point: Dam Square. This is the natural starting point for two reasons. The first is that it’s an iconic, spacious meeting spot in the central part of the city, with the Palace on one end of the cobbled plaza, and the National Monument, recognizing the Second World War, on the other. This is where the crowds stop their bustling and sit down for a few minutes, a converging point for people and pigeons alike.

The second reason is because this is the historic starting point to Amsterdam itself. Before the Red Light District and canal houses, this city was a swamp, sitting below sea level—Netherlands literally translates to “Low Countries,” after all. Still, enough people saw the potential for a city, so they dammed off the River Amstel and streets sprung up from that. It’s not a huge stretch to see how Amstel Dam became Amsterdam, and Dam Square is, well, the site of that dam.

That’s where I met Amber in the mid-afternoon, and where our three-hour tour kicked off, embarking along Warmoesstraat, one of those streets that was around since the beginning. A lot has changed since that time—I doubt you’d be able to find a specialty condom shop like the Condomerie back in the 1200s.

Consecrated in 1306, the Oude Kerk is the oldest building in Amsterdam, a church on the edge of the Red Light District. If that combination seems a bit strange, think about it in practical terms: Amsterdam was a port city, seeing the constant ebb and flow of sailing folk. These were the dudes who frequented the brothels, and the same ones who would be leaving to go God-knows-where on dangerous oceans where anything could happen. The priests had a hearty contingent of sinners, and the sailors could leave on their uncertain sea voyages knowing that their carnal indiscretions weren’t going to keep them out of Heaven. Really, this became a one-stop shop, especially when the church starting absolving sins prior to being committed (for a fee).

Sandeman’s does a tour solely concentrated on the Red Light District, so our guide didn’t say much about this part of the city as we walked through it—which was a bit disappointing, since it’s such an integral part of Amsterdam’s identity and we were there anyway. Still, I can tell a few things about this notorious district.

Prostitution really does go back to the days of sailors—illegal for about a century, but now it’s a fully regulated industry in Amsterdam. Sex workers are unionized, pay taxes, and are not subject to the unsafe, stigma-ridden conditions as in North America. Amber rightly pointed out that walking through these crowded narrow alleyways with women in lingerie behind glass walls made us both a little bit uncomfortable, but it’s still the kind of working conditions that we’re both supporters of for vulnerable women back home.

Here’s a simple truth: short of a seismic ethical shift in humanity, there will always be sex workers. If we keep punishing the women, it’s going to continue being an incredibly dangerous profession.

I haven’t seen anyone “make the deal” with these women (obviously it happens though, enough to make it worthwhile to rent out a window for around 100 euros a shift)—mostly tourists, batting awkward eyes and walking on. A decent number of the sex workers were texting on their phones, which only strikes me as strange because of the disconnect with what I’m used to. I wouldn’t think anything of a bank teller scrolling through Twitter when she doesn’t have a customer lined up, so this isn’t all that different.

Two last points about the Red Light District. No pictures of the women in the windows—probably an obvious point, not just because of the fact that a chunk of the women’s families don’t know they work in the sex industry, but also because these are human beings, not animals in a zoo. Come on, man. Second, despite being a bit seedier and drunker (even in the mid-afternoon) than other parts of Amsterdam, the Red Light District is touristy on into the nights. That means that it’s (maybe counter intuitively) pretty safe.

Out from the underbelly, we stopped at the Waag, once at the edge of the old city and the place where taxation happened. As Amsterdam expanded, however, the building no longer occupied that prime position, so it became a guildhall instead. In its long history, the building also housed an anatomical theatre, and it was here that Rembrandt painted “The Anatomy Lesson of Dr. Nicolaes Tulp” in 1632.

Speaking of Rembrandt, he lived not far from Nieuwmarkt, within the Jodenbuurt, the Jewish Quarter of Amsterdam. If you know your history, you’ll remember that the mid-twentieth century was awful on people living in this area. Mostly abandoned in the Second World War, the neighborhood felt into neglect and now has a facelift that, with a few exceptions, looks completely different.

Along the canals, our guide pointed out the former site of the Dutch East India Company. This company occupies no small space in the history of the Netherlands—it’s considered to be the first multinational corporation in the world, the first company to offer stock, and it made a lot of people in Amsterdam very, very rich. You send a ship to Indonesia for goods, and you resell it in Europe for four times what you paid for it. Suddenly, you’re very rich—assuming that you didn’t run into pirates or disease or mutiny or weather, or any of the other dozen plights that could befall a ship adrift without iMessage. These trips were a big risk for investors, but the Dutch East India Company got into the practice of sending 20 ships at a time, dividing stock evenly between them—not only was it safer, travelling in such a convoy, but if a ship sank on its return, the merchant stood to lose 5% of their wares. If you’re getting four times the return on 95% of a shipload of cargo, you’re still doing alright, and all of a sudden it makes sense why the early settlers thought it was a decent idea to build a city on the swamp. Amsterdam during the Dutch Golden Age was the trading capital of the world.

After a snack break near the Equestrian Statue of Queen Wilhelmina (the Netherland’s longest-reigning monarch, whose rule include both World Wars), we continued on, the sun still shining but the shady spots getting a bit cooler. I don’t know what it is about Amsterdam—it’s hard to pinpoint its essence, other than to say that a stroll along the canals on an autumn afternoon is a really beautiful way to spend time.

Taking a contemplative moment to pass through the Begijnhof, the quiet, semi-concealed square for religious women, we passed through the throughway of the Amsterdam Museum and had a gawk at the façade stones, taken from old homes in the city. This was something like a primitive house numbering system, back from a time where most people couldn’t read, but could easily recognize the elaborate pictures on the stones.

Remember how Amsterdam got rich because of the Dutch East India Company? Well, the other side of that coin is one that speaks of colonialism and abuses in what is now Indonesia, and Multatuli was the writer to expose all of that in Max Havelaar. Today, he’s regarded as something of a hero in Indonesia, and a giant statue of his head sits on the widest bridge in Amsterdam.

The width of the stone bridge over the Singel canal is contrasted with the narrowest canal house in Amsterdam. Don’t let your eyes skim, or you’ll miss it.

Actually, there are quite a few narrow houses in Amsterdam, so it depends on how you define it—it’s safe to say, though, that Singel 7 does have the narrowest façade (even though apparently this is the backside of the house, and the front is wider). Back in the day, houses were taxed on their frontage, so the tighter you could cram it, the less you paid. Having maneuvered a bed up the stairs in a couple of the narrow houses in St. John’s, I can only assume that these Dutch folks don’t replace their Queen-sized beds every few years.

Our daytrip ended just outside the Anne Frank House, and the massive queue waiting to explore the infamous attic (more than 1,000,000 people visit each year). I won’t say much more about Anne Frank, because of the fact that we have every intention to climb the stairs ourselves and view the diary that brought a startling human aspect to German-occupied Amsterdam—more on that then.

It’s been said that there isn’t a whole lot to say about Dutch cuisine. Foodies need not apply, in other words. That might be true, but I still I’d be remiss if I didn’t celebrate the pancake a little bit.

I’m not talking about the fluffy things we have for breakfast, drowning in maple syrup. I’m talking about thin, stretchy dough that, with the right toppings, doubles as a full evening meal. We went to the aptly named Pancakes Amsterdam for supper, and let me paint a picture of this savoury delicacy (stop here if you haven’t eaten for a while): spinach along the edges, pine pits throughout to give the thing a bit of a crunch. Then, drizzled over the whole thing is an oily garlic sauce, and a wheel of goat cheese in the middle, just starting to melt and easy to spread. I kind of want another one right now.

To top things off, we wandered back to the tram stop and popped into one of the brown cafés along the Spui. Brown cafés are pubs, but of a certain variety: old, with wooden paneling (stained brown because of years and years of smoke), and a cozy feeling. We ended up at Café Hoppe, with the claim to fame of being here since 1670, and still being a popular watering hole on a Saturday night.

After a day like that, there wasn’t much tossing and turning trying to get to sleep. In between catching up on school readings for tomorrow and hanging laundry out on the line (a rare break in the rain!), I’m starting to map out what other things we’ve got planned for the next few months—and what gaps still need to be filled in. Plenty more to come, that’s for sure.

Cheers,
rb