Story: I loved Norway...but my wallet hated it.

Bergen, Norway could be my second home. I could be ready to move here within seconds. The scenery, the fresh fish, the chilly mornings… I love it. Too bad I would go poor within seconds and then freeze to death.

I should’ve known that Norway would be this expensive. When my friend told me that Seoul topped the list in 2008 as “most expensive city,” I had my reservations and thus had to Google it to find out if she was indeed correct or not. Seoul ranks at #4 in the expensiveness department, whereas Oslo ranked #1. I found that to be extremely surprising, thinking surely London or Tokyo surpassed the European capital of (regrettably) little fame. No one ever mentions Oslo as one of the really expensive ones. Well, I am living proof that Norway, the entire country, is indeed ridiculously expensive. The current exchange rate is about 5.20 Norwegian Kroner (NOK) to 1 US Dollar (USD). Let’s just say my traveling buddy and I got two caffe latte’s and two croissants from a 7-11, and spent a total of 125 NOK, also known as $22-23. And that was in Bergen, a small town that is also Norway’s second largest city. It’s not even that touristy to attract the high prices. Two hot dogs and a coffee on our fjord tour resulted in another 125 NOK. One shared meal of fish and chips (consisting of two fish that resembled egg rolls in both frying technique and size) set us back 83 NOK or roughly $15. I spent 78 NOK buying two souvenir floaty pens for my sister.

Norway is chillingly expensive. And if it were not so, I would move there and be completely satisfied with my rustic frontiersman life.

That’s actually how I describe Norwegian villages – as rustic. A lot of them are situated in forested mountain communities. Their houses are fashioned out of wood and gives off a reminiscent feel of the American wild, wild West. Notable difference is in the colorings. Norwegian houses are painted in a variety of rustic colors, including a muted brick red, forest green, muted sunflower yellow, with an occasional pumpkin orange house. The palette of colors is very reminiscent of American autumns and thanksgiving dinners, and so simultaneously gives me a homey feeling about Norway. I digress though…

We landed in brisk Bergen late at night and took the Flybussen into town. That cost 80 NOK (about $15 USD) per person and it probably ranks as one of the most economical things about Norway. I was afraid that we landed too late for the Flybussen and would therefore have to take a taxi into town, which was estimated at $60 USD. Although the bus driver didn’t speak very much English (and at a very low volume), he managed to point us in the direction of the Bergen YMCA. It proved exceedingly easy to find, and we literally walked for 2 minutes and arrived. “Its fun to stay in the Y M C A…” as the song goes…but not when you share a 6 person dorm room with 4 girls who are asleep by midnight and have the room completely pitch black. (Who sleeps at midnight on vacation?) One girl left at 4 a.m. I’m not even exaggerating. I had my alarm clock in my pocket and when she left that morning, I checked the time. My traveling buddy (abbreviated now to TB) and I woke up at 6:30 to walk around the fish market and Bryggen. When we got back at 8 a.m., the other 3 girls were just getting ready, and I really don’t know why, but one girl burst into tears. It wasn’t silent tears as the ones that I shed for my beloved iPod I when I lost it (RIP iPod I…I love you). It was verbal sobbing and waaahhh-ing. Although I tried not to stare or make eye contact with the sobbing girl or her friends, I’d probably venture a guess that they were in their early to mid twenties. I made assumptions that sobbing girl forgot something at home, and therefore decided to cry about it. Though I don’t know what you could forget that’d make you burst into sobbing, whimpering tears.

We were running late, due to a backpack packing issue, and barely made it to the train station on time. In the haste, I forgot to go online (which was unstable in the YMCA anyway) and fetch my confirmation number for our “Norway in a Nutshell” tour. We arrived at the train station at 8:30, and mind you the train departs for Voss at 8:40. I went to the ticket office and tried to explain my lack of confirmation number to the ticketman. “Why didn’t you get here earlier? The train is about to leave.” “Well,” I replied, “I just got here. There’s nothing I could do about it.” “Yes, but why didn’t come earlier?” he asked again. “I couldn’t. I just got here,” thinking that emphasizing JUST would make sense to him. “Why don’t you have your confirmation number? Why didn’t you come earlier?”

This went on for about 3 minutes when I finally gave up and said, “If there’s nothing you can do, there’s nothing you can do.” And I walked out to the train tracks. I explained the situation to the ticket lady and she let us on. She advised me to talk to the ticket agent at Voss and they would print out my tickets. Good woman.

Norway is very scenic in every aspect. The train to Voss was amazing. Incidentally, there were a few 40-somethingKorean businessmen sitting directly in front of us, with two Korean women (aged around 22 – 25). I ventured a guess that they were high-class escorts, as is apparently quite popular in Korean culture. On a side note, one of the Korean businessmen looked like what one of my friends would look like in 20 years. I dubbed him “Old Ping” and took a candid snapshot in between the seats of the train. When I eventually emailed “Young Ping” the picture, his response was “I take it you got his permission to take this picture.” But of course. Who doesn’t stop to ask fellow tourists if they can take pictures of their oddities? I know I definitely stopped to ask the older Japanese woman later in the day if I could take a picture of her in full Eskimo regale – i.e. fuzzy hood.

The bus to Myrdal was even better, as we went through mountain ranges and deep valleys – all with great views to keep you entertained. The tricky part about the bus and the train ride is taking pictures of the scenery. You always end up getting a picture of a reflection of yourself taking a picture. Needless to say, the transfer to a ferry from Myrdal to Flam was a relief and it provided us with may picture perfect photo opportunities. We ferried through Sognefjord, which is the largest fjord in Norway (and the second largest in the world). It definitely lives up to the hype. Even though the waters of the fjord aren’t that clear (and are actually a blackish color), the reflection of the mountains onto the water makes for spectacular pictures.

During the 2-hour ferry to Flam TB and I frantically moved around the boat trying to snag the best spot for pictures. In the beginning, everyone had lawn chairs on each of the two decks and had positioned all of them in an impenetrable circle where no one can breach or vacate the circle. It made taking photos extremely difficult, so TB and I gave up in search of a better spot. We made our way to the lower deck at the front of the boat and were extremely pleased to discover that it was empty. Granted there were no lawn chairs there, you could still stand on (or sit on) large bench/bins that housed the life jackets in order to adjust oneself for the perfect picture. The reclusiveness was short-lived and the family that had made the aforementioned impenetrable circle had invaded our picture perfect space.

Flam itself was somewhat unexciting, as we didn’t have enough time to hike around the mountainous region, but had too much time to explore the few tourist shops. (I genuinely believe it would have been exciting had there been ample time to explore the mountainous area either on foot or bicycle). I don’t know what it is about Norway and moose and trolls, as these two items are emblazoned on almost all tourist products concerning the country. Moose I could somewhat understand. Perhaps moose is to Norway as bald eagles are to America. There were tons of moose products, such as the “Super Moose” t-shit and baseball caps. However, the trolls – a mythical figure of the olden days - I don’t understand. Along with random moose paraphernalia, the troll paraphernalia was even more esoteric. Trolls carved out of wood. Troll letter openers. Troll salt and pepper shakers. I don’t get it. Can you imagine presenting your best friend with a small token of your trip abroad? “Matching troll salt and pepper shakers! Surprise!” A hideous gift. Not just a hideous gift, but a hideous looking one at that. (Note: the two aforementioned floaty pens purchased for my sister were very Norway – one moose themed and one troll themed. She loved it, by the way.)

Our few hour layover in Flam went by slowly, as time usually does when you are just standing there trying to kill it. (Though, if you are trying to “kill” time, you would think that time would move frantically and faster. It does not, however, in real life). Out of sheer boredom, we even went into the train museum that highlighted the Flam Express, which was cut through mountains, and lasted 6000 meters and 20 tunnels. The museum wasn’t an exhibition for the train and the railroad building process as much as it was a random showcase for old things. Like an old typewriter. Or what an old room looked like back when Norway was rustic. And at the very end of the tiny museum, there was a train car.

We finally boarded the “Flam Express” and went through our 20-something tunnels. The thing about the tunnels is, once you find something you want to take a picture of it, no matter how lightning quick you are, you are not quick enough to get the shot before you enter the tunnel. And each tunnel varies in size and length. When you let your guard down thinking this is a long tunnel, you are boldly mistaken as you miss yet another photo op. We did, however, stop at a large waterfall in the middle. Everyone got off the train to take pictures. It was strange, though, as midway through everyone taking pictures of the massive waterfall, music started playing and an elf appeared amidst the waterfalls and began dancing. Coordinated with the music, the elf would “disappear” and then “reappear” elsewhere near the waterfall. I find this whole thing to be noteworthy, because it’s a classic tourist trap, but nobody benefits from anything. They don’t receive money for putting on a strange, strange show for us tourists, nor does the train receive any money for it. So what is the motivation? I half expected to see a little stand selling the “one ring to rule the world” or miscellaneous Elvish goods. But no, they didn’t peddle anything to us, which is unheard of in Europe.

We arrived at the Oslo train station late at night and hailed a cab to our guesthouse. The meter in the taxi cab rose at an exponential rate, and while I don’t remember the actual exorbitant amount, I’d venture a guess at nearing $50. Our guesthouse was small but nice enough. The innkeeper was an old Norwegian woman that was so short and shriveled that you automatically assumed her to be a “sweet, old woman.” That assumption is only partially correct, as she was indeed an old woman. I don’t know what makes me assume that short older women tend to be friendly. This woman was no-nonsense, business only. Check out was at 11, and considering how late we arrived, we decided to take full advantage of the late checkout.

So the aforementioned description of Norwegian houses and color palettes really only applies to everywhere other than Oslo. Oslo, on the other hand, is a beautiful mix of light colors and fantastic architecture. Granted, I only saw about a 2-mile radius around the Royal Palace (and the view from a ferry leaving Oslo), but it was beautiful nonetheless. The strangest thing about Norwegian architecture would probably be the American embassy. Located directly to the left of the Royal Palace (and directly in front of a Norwegian police outlook-post-treehouse), the American embassy is a daunting black building with tinted windows. It was very angular and uninviting and actually made me feel like Norway was an enemy of the state or something. That’s the feel that the American embassy in Oslo gave us anyway.

I digress.

Me and TB only had a few hours in Oslo before our ferry took off for Copenhagen, and even though I had a pretty good itinerary that I wanted to stick to, I underestimated the convenience of Oslo. Granted, I didn’t partake in the public transportation, however, the Vigeland Sculpture Park was in the complete northwest of the city, the Viking Ship Museum was on a nearby ISLAND, and the Munch museum (famous for Munch’s “Scream” painting) was on the very east side. The Royal Palace (and near where we were staying) is in the middle, next to Oslo University and the National Theater, and the docks were to the south. So pretty much all we did with our time was roam around the 2-mile block around the Royal Palace and watch the changing of the guards at 1:30. In my travel book, it noted that the Norwegian changing of the guards was comical. I didn’t understand it until I saw it. It was a strange ceremony involving shouting commands, which (as perceived from the soldiers motions) meant “stand at attention! [put your legs together], at ease! [legs apart], stand at attention! [put your legs together], turn your head to the right! Legs apart! Head facing forward! Legs together! Affix sword onto bayonet!” It was kind of comical, and I guess a lot of the other tourists found it more hilarious than I, for they actually were giggling out loud. My comical relief was the silent variety. Three men left the formation to completely flank a guard in his guard hut and relieve him from duty. The guard huts have telephones on the inside by the way. It’s the wave of the future.

Having seen the changing of the guards in Athens, as well, (though regrettably and somewhat bitterly, I didn’t get to see it in London), I consider myself a mini-expert on the matter of guard changing. In Athens, the head guard was so serious. Like in Oslo, Athenian guards have a poof of fake hair in a ponytail affixed to their helmet. However, in Athens, the head guard went so far as to straighten the strands of ceremonial fake hair and their guard uniforms before the ceremony went full fledged. So at the very least, everyone was in tip top shape when the actual “changing” took place. The head guard in Oslo, though he carried a sword when everyone else did not, he didn’t assert that same power over his guards. Many uniforms were not tucked into the pants properly and many a ceremonial hair was run amuck. And I guess another criticism would be the comic relief. I’d assume that changing guards that protect your royal family is somewhat of a serious matter. But hey, what do I know?

Speaking of the royal family, there were tours of the royal palace that people can partake in. Since time was an obvious factor in our shortened Oslo itinerary, we couldn’t partake in the tour. However, I did read the signs about the tour and one requirement stuck out at me: “All guests must wear plastic bags on their shoes.”

The Norwegian Royal Palace suffers from something very similar to Versailles feet, however, to a lesser extent. There are pink pebbles surrounding the grounds and in the park that the royal palace sits in, the pebbles mark the walking paths. So while it wasn’t so terribly dusty that my feet turned pink (although how cool would that be?) we still kicked up a bunch of dust.

So the last thing I noticed about Oslo is that, like London, they too enjoy the occasional statue or commemorative bust. And actually, I’m sure the houses surrounding the royal palace are aristocratic houses but, a lot of people have statues in their yard – a random large head on the lawn, a girl holding a swan, a dancer on two different houses’ lawns, an anchor and some cannonballs (probably in preparation to go to war with the American embassy), etc. However, in case Norway does decide to go to war with the American embassy, if their comical palace guards fail to defend the nation, I’m sure the trolls and moose would oblige.