I was a complete failure at conquering jet lag, basically sleeping only from nine to midnight. The kids did much better. At four I rose, dressed quietly, put some things together in my backpack, and went down to the hotel lounge on the floor below, where I set up the Newton and typed travel notes.
At six I went back and managed to sleep for another couple of hours before waking with a start. Eventually the rest of the family roused themselves; we showered, and went down for the buffet breakfast included in the price of the room. This took place in a cafe on the second floor; besides the usual cereal, bread, jams, cheese, sliced meats, and juices, there were also fried potatoes, scrambled eggs, and sausages. N appreciated the potatoes; she does not typically eat a big breakfast, but had pledged to do so. The kids appreciated the sausages, which were basically tiny hot dogs, and they ate remarkably well. A watched me prepare my coffee. "Daddy, you said you only put cream and sugar in bad coffee. Is this bad?" I told her it wasn't terrible, but it certainly wasn't as good as what I regularly drank at home.
We packed up and walked down to the harbour again, to catch the ferry to the Bygdoy peninsula. It was a short ride on a small boat with benches inside a low cabin; the temperature was moderate, it was sunny with a scattering of clouds in the sky, and the kids were thrilled to be on the ocean again for the first time since Venice. From the boat, one could see the ski-jump to the west, looking like a giant white newt perched on the hill, and one could also get a sense of how spread out and forested Oslo city was.
Eschewing the rather undignified trolley-train waiting to take tourists up the hill, we hiked the brief distance along a residential street to the Viking Ships Museum. This was a simple building housing three Viking burial vessels and a small selection of artifacts found with them, including tools, sledges, and even a pair of leather shoes. The unornamented displays caught the imagination of the children, as did the corner-mounted terraces up which one could climb to view the boats from above.
We walked further along the road almost to the second ferry stop, where there were three more museums. Of these, we chose to go only to the Kon-Tiki museum. This contained not only the original balsawood raft that Thor Heyerdahl and crew had sailed across the South Pacific in 1947 (I had read his book several times as a child) but the papyrus Ra II which sailed from Morocco to the Caribbean in the '70's. The place was basically a shrine to Heyerdahl, but it was not too over the top, and the kids enjoyed the exhibits (though even they found the diorama built around the underside of the raft with ancient models of fish and sharks rather cheesy).
We briefly investigated the terrace cafe at the Norwegian Maritime Museum, but didn't feel like paying NOK 100 for a hamburger plate, so we caught the ferry back across the harbour and walked through Aker Brygge. It being Sunday, the stores were closed, though some of the food stalls were open. Nothing seemed too appetizing, so we settled for some pastries (which turned out to be essentially cardamom-flavoured white bread formed into spirals), tucking into them on a second-floor bench inside one of the buildings just as the skies opened up and the first floor filled with tourists seeking shelter from the rain.
We rested a while on our bench, but there wasn't much in the complex to hold our interest, so after a while we braved the last of the rain, intending to walk back to the hotel and fetch rain gear. But by the time we had made it to the nearby tram stop, the rain had stopped entirely. We had purchased day passes valid on all city transport, so after a brief family consultation we agreed to continue to the Munch Museum to the east of the city centre.
We took the tram (another high point as far as the kids were concerned) to the stop in front of the railway station, and walked through it and down to the subway line (Tunnelbane or T-bane). There were no turnstiles; the honour system was in effect. The ride was only two stops east, and a five-minute walk brought us to the modern-looking Munchmuseet.
We had been exposed to a sampling of Edvard Munch's work through the travelling exhibition which visited the Vancouver Art Gallery in 1997, but this was another level of excellence: much more varied and enjoyable. Besides the famous Shrik or "The Scream" (which exists in several painted versions plus some lithographs), there were multiple versions of some of his other themes, such as The Sick Child, Death in the Sickroom, Madonna, and Death of Marat. The children looked at each painting, read the accompanying cards, and ran back and forth comparing versions or dragging one parent or the other to favourites.
We walked back to the T-bane station and took the train three stops west, emerging just beside our hotel. The children were pleased when we decided to take them out for a sit-down meal. We chose a relatively inexpensive place, Brasserie 45, a Continental-styled restaurant located on Karl Johans Gate a couple of blocks from our hotel. Though it was quite early, they told us that the nonsmoking section was fully booked and we would have to be seated in smoking. "This is turning out to be the all-smoking trip," N muttered. Fortunately, almost no one was smoking, and as only a portion of the restaurant was in service at the time, the atmosphere was quiet.
They gave us English menus, which for once I did not mind. Z scanned the menu and quickly chose catfish with white wine sauce; A, after first inquiring about the fusilli with "chillisauce" (we assured her that she could eat any chili sauce they threw at her in Scandinavia, but suggested that fish might be more special than pasta) opted for the same preparation but with salmon. N and I both chose grilled salmon and catfish (steinebit, with a stronger taste than the farm-raised catfish we could get at home, so perhaps it was an ocean version) with herb butter. The dinners came with a scoop of rice, a salad of chopped iceberg lettuce with Thousand Island dressing, and in our case a couple of spears of broccoli -- not extravagant considering the quantity of fish, but certainly not more than a basic meal.
It was barely six when we finished, so we decided to catch the tram and head out to Frognerparken to the west, to see the Vigeland sculptures. Frogner turned out to be somewhat more upscale than the neighbourhoods we had been frequenting to that point, though still relatively modest. The park had a scattering of tourists, young couples, and some rollerbladers and skateboarders.
The kids were quite taken with the bronze sculptures lining the wide bridge across the lake, done in a simple, clean style and featuring stylized naked men, women, and children in symbolic poses. Beyond that was a monumental fountain, water pouring out of a great bowl held aloft by a half-dozen figures, and then a set of stairs leading up to a granite monolith of stacked and climbing figures, flanked by more bronzes of people in all stages of life. It was perhaps a bit monochromatic in style, but certainly pleasant.
We walked back through the park and caught the tram just outside; it took us back on a more southerly route, through the harbour; we got off a few blocks south of our hotel and walked up.
That was to be the end of the day, but as we walked, we could hear sounds of cheering and TV commentary from bars and cafes. The EuroCup 2000 final, featuring France and Italy, was on. Back in the hotel room, we turned the TV on. With no commercials and commentary in incomprehensible Norwegian, it seemed the ideal introduction to the sport, particularly as A had just completed her first season of recreational soccer. We watched about twenty minutes of the regular game plus some sudden-death overtime. As a result, the children went to bed at ten-thirty.