Vikingskipshuset.

Viking funeral ship.

Oakland — Oslo — Praha

When choosing which way and how we would fly, we got captivated by the opportunity in the shape of a nine-hour layover in Oslo. Switching planes is always damnable, one spends a lot of time in a chaotic airport; it seemed a good idea to insert something meaningful and interesting. We tried to find ahead of time, what and how to do it, and found a shuttle train from the airport to down-town, and a bus connection to the Viking ship museum, leaving the rest to fate. While flying there, I tried to force myself and the children to sleep at least a few hours, to be able to function after landing in Norway.

Despite Sid's premonitions about September being a winter month in Norway, and how it would be cold and rainy, we landed into a beautiful, sunny day. Disembarking without a problem, we easily found Flytoget terminal, from where a train goes down-town. It was patrolled by a uniformed attendant, who's main job was to organize confused tourists towards ticket machines. One such machine refused to cooperate with our credit card (American cards have no PIN), so she explained that the same card can be directly swiped at a turnstile, and we can ride. I was curious how that would work, but they apparently expect such situation and your card can be used instead a ticket, and soon we sat on the train.

Valkyrie.

Fram is very barrel-shaped.

Central station turned out to be a bit harder nut to crack. We did manage to find a way, eventually, to a place with inter-city buses, instead of the local ones. Yet even there stood a uniformed attendant, who sent us not only to the correct bus stop, but also explained that we should buy our tickets at a tobacco shop and not with the driver, as they are more expensive that way, and he even wrote down on a piece of paper what ticket we should ask for and which one of the mysterious shop names denoted a "tobacco shop". This magically transformed us from confused tourists into old hands, and after twenty minutes worth of bus-ride we emerged in front of the Viking museum. It, again, turned out to be ready for tourists — a shack with lockers stands near the entrance, where one can deposit even considerable luggage — apparently we were not the first ones, who needed to rush through town within one day.

Vikingskipshuset contains Viking funeral ships, approximately thousand years old, and artifacts found in them. The ships were utilized to bury notable personalities, ship being pulled up on shore, equipped with a burial chamber, presents — and built around by a burial mound. Some mounds got robbed over time, or discovered too early, before archaeologists got serious, and so there are still more questions than answers.

Winter storm at high seas.

Polar explorers obviously had to do their own laundry.

We left the Viking museum in the early afternoon, and so we decided to check out yet another attraction — Museum of Fram. The only disappointment in this exposition were lockers that required coins (we did not have), and too small to contain our carry-on luggage. Fortunately, the three-story building had an elevator, and thus we walked all the levels dragging our luggage. Well — we did not cover the whole thing, for we ran out of time and strength, so we just skimmed the Gjoa ship exhibit. But back to Fram. This famous polar exploration vessel is surrounded by three levels of displays about the ship, the polar explorers and their expeditions. You can step on board, below decks and soak in the atmosphere. I was most intrigued by its construction details — a not too elegant, barrel-like shape of Fram succeeded as practical on ice — freezing Northern Sea failed to crush Fram and pushed it up on the top of ice instead. Our children were probably most captivated by an ice cavern with horror themes — a deck swaying in a storm, cold wind, sick seamen in their bunks, and ultimately a hungry polar bear clawing his way though the ice — so much beauty for a sensitive soul of a child!

On top of it, we saw a movie about polar explorers — and as we already needed to run, Lisa noticed that she lost her phone somewhere in the theater. Thus we had to go back and look for it, fortunately another show just ended and the lights turned on, it was under her seat. Then we endured a hassle with the bus going back over a detour and a change to another bus, but the drivers still coped with us, confused tourists, and sent us the right way. A train back to the airport — and we stepped out of another plane in Prague at nine thirty, total tired and touristed.

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Fram floating on ice.

A view at Chuchle.

Czechia

Given the fact that we got to our beds close to midnight, and slept till nine in the morning, I dare to declare that a one-day stop-over with an interesting program works against jet lag. This year, there was none of my usual falling asleep in the middle of sentence, and none of my not-sleeping from three a.m., and thus I have not experienced this trip with a feeling of a permanent, unearned, hang-over (for I practically don't drink). We unpacked our stuff a bit on Thursday, took some presents to my nieces, accompanied grandma picking them up from their after-school club, and took them home. A mild and merciful program.

For the subsequent seven days, we stayed in Prague and its surroundings, mostly with our family. Weekdays had to accommodate school — albeit a virtual class can be attended from anywhere, a nine hours of time difference meant that our children had to find themselves online by five in the afternoon. Our visit there included a holiday falling on Friday, and so we had spent our first weekend doing trips with the nieces. On Saturday, I could send grandma on a trip with all the children, and see Gabka, house-warming their new home. Then I discovered Cameroon goats at a mini-zoo in Chuchle Grove, and I could scratch a goatie who looked almost like our Licky, and keep my animal withdrawal symptoms at bay.

On a cross-roads.

Cameroon Goat.

For Tuesday, granddad and I had planned a concert of Cappella Mariana at Simon and Jude. I took our kids along, promising them a completely exceptional experience that we would not be likely able to repeat. Taking place in a desecrated church, a performance of renaissance chorals, a kind of time travel to the past. I'm not sure how much it got to the kids, but twenty-four-way choral is quite impressive.

During the week Tom and I visited a few official outlets, and also various friends and associates, both virtual ones and the "old fashion" kind. It's always refreshing, especial how some relationships can pick up after a year or more.

Children agreed that they were too big for a traditional ZOO, and so we wondered with my sister and grandma, what to do to entertain juniors in range from seven to fifteen years of age. Due to bad weather we discounted Mirakulum, and instead selected Ocean World. I have to say that it was a huge disappointment. Pretty fishes, great architecture — but that was the end of the good stuff. Boring official signs, practically zero interactive displays that would captivate layman (young) public. It was a great waste — so much money and work invested — yes we know how much work it is to keep even a small aquarium with five fishes — but the girls stayed interested for about twenty minutes. Admission fee is extortionate, so you would not just "stop by" the way we used to do at Seymour Marine Center in Santa Cruz, which has comparably far fewer exhibits and interests, but where our kids lasted in play for one or two hours, and stayed engaged.

A mill.

Beautiful exhibits of Ocean World.

Our second weekend was dedicated to our country cottage, with grandpa and my nieces. I rented a car from the Gas Company on Friday, catching a lunch with Zuzka in time, and we sped off to the Highlands in the evening. We did not visit any castle this year, but went on a trip to St. Catherine, where they build a modern kromlech — a ring of standing stones. I must say that it's located in a very interesting place, and would not be surprised if the strange plateau in the midst of rolling hills were artificial. Kids, of course, perceived no genius loci, and proceeded to chase each other around the stones as is their nature.

A high-point of the trip was to be ice cream in Počátky, but the sweets shop was closed and stayed closed during our second attempt on Sunday. I did not mind as I had arranged to see Pepe in Telč in the afternoon, and we made it big by ordering fried cheese and beer on a deck of a local restaurant, and we really did not miss any ice cream. I still consider it my great luck that Pepe is willing to see me in an afternoon, coming all the way from Vienna — some friendships last across the span of many years and thousands of miles.

Entrance to kromlech at St. Catherine.

Telč.

Traditionally, we had to go mushroom-hunting on Sunday. We were lucky that grandpa has a dehydrator, and we were able to liquidate (or rather, evaporate) our harvest in time for our Tuesday departure. I must say that the flight back was very stressful and not just Norwegian, but any other airline, has not made me as mad for many years now. I get it, a low budget operation saves on extras, but they demanded of us to pay up-front for the luxury of being allowed to have carry-ons, receive food, and reserve our seats. Then they failed to deliver on two of those three "services" with no refund, no recourse. That really made me mad. We had to endure a five-hour stop-over in Copenhagen, one of the least comfortable airports I know — mostly because there is absolutely no place to sit down — an occasional bench cannot possibly handle thousands of travelers streaming through the terminals — even at gates, there's only seating for four to six people, and it's an outrage.

Still we had arrived at home, only during our car ride from the airport Sid told us sad news: one of Tom's fishes had died. Alas, one cannot take a fish to a vet, bandage its wounds or brew a tea for it. A fish has to make it, or not. But we were home at last and Tom could take over the care of his remaining fishes.