It was a SUPER fun weekend… certainly a great last hoorah for my Norway adventures. It started when I checked into a room on the “ladies floor” of a sweet hotel in Oslo. The rooms of this “ladies floor” were each designed by women and for women. The hotel invited 11 famous Norwegian women (film star, singer, producer, business women, golfer, skier, etc.) to each team up with a professional interior decorator to completely overhaul a hotel room. The hallway was decorated with black and white posters of each lady. Each hotel door was inscribed with the famous lady’s name. It certainly made for a special atmosphere for my girls’ weekend in Oslo!
Flurries had started flying earlier in the day and by nighttime there was a heavy blanket of very wet snow. It provided fun Volkswagen Golf driving and a perfect “welcome to Norway” atmosphere for one of my best friends. We were both very excited to see each other and eager to chat about travel stories and our lives. We didn’t quiet down until sometime past 2am to absorb the needed Zzzzz’s.
Sat morning started with the wake-up-now-or-miss-breakfast alarm at 9:15am. It was a similar breakfast to my Kongsberg hotel breakfast. It provided good fuel for the day’s urban explorations. We headed down the pedestrian-only Stroget to the multi-culture flea market that I had visited on the earlier Oslo trip. There was different stuff yet some recognizable vendors. This seems to be the busiest and most crowded market of them all. We each found some treasures and successfully bargained for them. The slow perusing of junk had chilled our extremities, so a hurried pace returned us to the warm hotel to drop the baggage. It’s an appropriate time to mention that by “warm”, I mean: breaking a sweat after casually using four flights of stairs (regardless of going up or down them), not being able don a coat until well outside the building for prevention of wet pits, eating breakfast in the atrium room instead of the side room for fear of fainting. The hotel was stifling hot.
After dropping my bags, exchanging some clothes & footwear, and wiping my brow from the stairs, my friend and I navigated to the next item on the list… the farmer’s market. Her and I have been known to conquer these food markets together in LA, and were jazzed to see what the local bonders (“farmers” in Norwegian), have been harvesting. There were over a dozen tents of which 40% were meat/fish, 40% cheese, 10% fruit juices (plum and apple), 5% jam/spreads, 5% other (“other” includes veggies). After a careful review (based on tasteful sampling), we settled on 3 cheeses – including a hard goat cheese, a bottle of plum glogg (heated spiced Xmas drink), and a paper cup of hot, fresh, homemade apple cider… delicious. On our return to the hotel, we purchased two breads from a bakery and enjoyed a gourmet picnic spread in the hotel room. The warmth was welcoming after the cold on-and-off rainy, wet weather. The meal was delicious and toasty.
Once reheated and re-fueled , a quick toss of bathing suits and we trudged up more heated stairs to dip into the indoor rooftop treed pool. If I was to describe the features of this spa facility, there would be dandruff on your shoulders from all the scratches on your head. I’m going to skip this opportunity and force you to look at the pictures (if you haven’t already). On a side note, we were not allowed to take these photos, however were not told so until we exited the room and it was too late. My apologies, Mr. Black bathingsuit man… you are now famous to a few souls in the states!
We couldn’t dwaddle in the cool pool, suffocating steamy room, and the desert dry sauna. Next up was a ballet at the Opera House. I was one pair of shoes away from an appropriate Norwegian outfit and my friend was one pants short. Needless to say we did not go without, we just went knowing we’d never see these friendly strangers again. The
ballet had three acts… all impressively athletic and captivating. We opted for the cheap seats ($18 US) and moved to the empty, improved seats. It was a fabulous show, the last act being the best with upbeat music and modern, sometimes comical movements.
By the fourth curtain call (yes, they bow many, many times), it was pouring rain and 8:15pm. It was time to scout out a dinner meal. I’m not quite sure what happened next. All I remember is relentless rain, blurred and foggy vision (glasses are not designed for use in rain), interpreting the food offerings of candlelit dining rooms, endless menus promising mouth watering burgers –which was our #1 rule for not picking eateries. The #2 rule was no Scandanavian food. What overshadows these memory, is the rain drops that started on my hair. Once my hair was thoroughly saturated, these drops drizzled their way down my forehead, leaping on my eyelashes to take the ride down to my cheek. Losing altitude, from my chin they were in freefall to my trench coat turned drenched coat. These wet pests didn’t give up here, oh no. Some would pilfer the final dry spots of my coat, others hurdled off my coat and began a soaking battle on my knees. That’s when I drew the line, and called for an immediate retreat to the stuffy hotel. All was not lost in this wet war. A hairdryer, towel and coat removal rid me of soggy misery.
The hotel restaurant was renowned in the Frommer’s book, so we took the best seat in the house. The menu was small and disappointing. It was obvious in breaking rule #2. Before the waiter returned to the table, we dashed out of the warmth, back into the streets (coatless this time), and literally ran hells bells for the Indian restaurant three blocks away… narrowly escaping the water droplet formations from proliferating past the hair. It was now 10pm. The cuisine did not disappoint. We relished the spices and clinked our glasses to the scrumptious dishes. It was quite an amusing evening thus far, and it was not over. In fact, the standout chapter was yet to come.
The rain finally let-up and a casual stroll was appropriate for digestion. A curious storefront was done in a completely white interior, with a queue of customers at the counter. There was some silver jewelry and less than a dozen white items that decorated the walls. This fascinating business was titled Icebar, by Ice Hotels. Intrigued, we helped ourselves in the door and waited in line. In luck, some folks were no-shows to their Ice Bar reservations. The bouncer dropped a faux-fur hooded poncho over my head, gloves attached, and ushered us through the first door. Once the first door closed, the second door opened and we were inside a metal-floor igloo. Ice was the walls, ceiling, stools, couch, and drinking glasses. My friend and I had a roaring time taking pictures and talking to fellow ice fans. My favorite activity (once the drink was finished) was to find a clinking partner, and do a clink high in the air, so hard that the ice glasses smashed, shattering into an explosion of ice. This was way more entertaining than throwing it on the floor as most others did. This Ice bar opened earlier in the week and is preceded by one in Stockholm, Tokyo, Dubai, and possibly one other major city that I forget. The time was limited to the top of the hour and we were the last group to enjoy it that night. What an unexpected pleasantry.
The walk home was warm, despite being coatless at midnight in Oslo. The bodily functions were still misguided from the Ice bar. It only made for an even hotter illusion once inside the smothering hotel. My friend and I recounted the day’s events with excitement and it took us just before 2am to calm down enough to rest. What a temperature and weather extreme day it had been… some naturally occurring, others some self-induced. It made for fantastic sleeping and even better memories! Thank you fellow Ice Queen!
