On to Oslo

We made it through the night, no problem, not the least bit cold with the three of us packed in. I didn't even wake up when Rebecca slid out of the bed to get her headphones to block out my snoring (!). We all got plenty of sleep and now R. feels bad, after the fact, that she gave the Airbnb host a 4 instead of a 5. I say a 5 has to mean something, and if we found ourselves a little inconvenienced by wearing our down jackets in our bedroom, then a 4 seems like a good enough ranking.

The good news is that the sun came out today.  The sky was clear and there were shadows and light and everything.  So beautiful. Of course the sun at its height is just a few degrees over the horizon so it comes straight in the windshield.  Jon had to scrape the ice off with his thumbs since we didn't have a scraper, but there was no way we could have made it out of the driveway without that rudimentary effort.

In the south of Sweden, there are huge rocky outcrops, soft and round, everywhere.  Green grass, valleys, coastline, water, big white swans, farms with solid wooden houses and barns.  We went on a main highway that took us from one island to the next.  Very scenic and picture book-y.  Every single road sign and town name is like an IKEA word -- they all seem made up and unpronounce-able. The IKEA people will never run out of words to use because the rest of us have no idea whether they are real or made up.

Requisite Picture of Turbines for Charles.

We stopped in a coast town that looks like it would be very popular in the summer.  By chance we went to a local restaurant that was busy, and most of the patrons seemed to be elderly and very comfortable with the system.  The system:  every day has two special dishes (and that is IT) for lunch, then there is a soup and salad bar and a bread basket and tea and coffee.  All the waiter has to do is take your drink order and find out which of the two specials you want. We should have noticed that everyone was ordering the fish and almost no one was ordering the "stroganoff." But we ordered one of each, of course, and Becca just had the truly delicious mushroom soup.  The fish was a white fish with egg and potatoes in a white sauce.  They do not have a lot of ingredients to play with here.  The stroganoff was a creme fraiche sauce with sausages (much like hot dogs, really) on rice.  The reason no one ordered that one was that it was unbelievably salty.  Jon ate enough of it to seem appreciative.

Requisite picture of the restaurant in honor of Leon.

Harbor of the town with picture of our rental car.

So, we have concluded that this is a fine trip for one or another of us to be not interested in eating at any given time.  The food is not what this trip is about.  We are having just as much fun shopping at supermarkets and having Jon cook for us on tiny little kitchen appliances -- more fun, really, than eating eggs and potatoes and sauce in various iterations. They do have pizza everywhere but that just doesn't seem worth it. Who goes to Scandinavia to eat pizza? Perhaps the real question is: should we continue to try to find something local and good to eat here?

We got to Oslo at sunset: a sky-filled red sunset that we could still see between the buildings.  Our host met us and walked us up the 60-some steps (third floor = fourth floor in the US, remember) to his apartment.  Again, a big old apartment building with renovations that make everything feel very comfortable. High ceilings, wood floors, thick walls (deep windows), white paint, a fair amount of art and interesting objects tastefully displayed on the walls and shelves. He told us he uses these Airbnb times to motivate him to clean up, and he goes to his girlfriend's place to stay.  I could never clean up this much. Unlike our most recent locations, his pantry is well stocked with all the sauces and oils a cook could ever want.

Jon and I went back down the stairs to go out and see where we are. We moved the car to a parking garage so we won't have to worry about all the arcane rules about being on the street, paying for these particular hours (the sign says 09 - 20 and then it says that again in parentheses...we deciphered this to mean that between 9 AM and 8 PM you have to pay, whether it is a weekday or a weekend). We walked around the area near the parking garage/train station and found all kinds of shopping and eating and people watching. It was the time of day when people are shopping for dinner, and there was a very busy store with all its vegetables displayed outside (like Magruders, only less overflowing).  People were all over those vegetables, shopping with great focus and speed.  Many different languages and ethnicities, not so many Scandinavian types. Jon went in to pay for the bok choy and green onions and was blown away by the walls and walls of Asian sauces and olive oil.  This was his kind of store except that it was crowded and the signs were in Norwegian.

In Europe you apparently are not allowed to take pictures of people without their permission
so the pictures we take are purposely empty of people, as much as possible.

We don't really know where we are yet, but it feels active and alive in this neighborhood.  Like New York maybe.  We could have kabobs or burgers or pizza right on this block.  Maybe we will.

There are so many things to de-code.  Jon is already impaired when it comes to reading symbols and icons. He has just wrestled the washing machine into action, with R's help. The drying rack is all set up and ready to go. One of us is going to have to start reading about Oslo, and it looks like that will be me.