Frogner Creek Valley: upstream to the waterfall.

Vigeland Park: statues at the Monolith.

Ever since I know Sid, he's been raving about Norway, where he'd gone in '91 with his foxhunt (radio orienteering) friends, fresh out of college, during a summer Expedition (during which a peculiar written and photographic journal was made; note: Czech only). This close after the [Czech, Velvet] Revolution, all trips beyond the ex-Iron Curtain were very formative — with no money and support, we embarked into the world and discovered the unfathomable — like that even across the Iron Curtain, there are quite normal people, different from us only by living under NORMAL conditions, un-deformed by the totality.

Norway therefore was on our list of places where we certainly wish to visit, but conditions were not right for a long time — we did not have the finances, time, logistics. Only this year all got together — both of us work, kids are out at the University and can take over our homestead for a time longer than a weekend, and so on. We began to to plan for real. This consisted mostly of Sid contacting Soňa — a member of the historic Expedition, who in the end stayed to live in Norway and whom we began to quiz regarding what we should prepare for. What was our surprise, when Soňa mentioned that she was also organizing vacation for the core of the original Expedition this year, and that they'd be reserving cabins for ten people. We considered joining them, but then we reckoned that it would be better to stay independent — they would arrive in their respective cars, carrying supplies, and besides, we were afraid that their program would be substantially more athletic than we felt up to. We also thought it too complicated, trying to meet somewhere in the middle of Norway, when we would fly in, while we must adjust our flights to not coincide with vacations and work schedule of our offspring, consider momentary variability in ticket prices and other factors. Sid finds it strange that it all worked out for us (I will disclose that eventually we got together with these friends) — but I'm not surprised at all — after having met with Pavel and Vendula from California, in Prague, twice, without having planned it so, I know that someone up there is very well organized.

Vigeland Park: a wrought iron gate with girls.

Vigeland Park: The Monolith and tourists.

We had to get over the summer airline ticket prices — but both Sid and Soňa insisted that summer in Norway is an affair pegged on July, and if we're lucky, it would not snow and we get rained on only for a half of our vacation. Buying tickets was complicated — from Denver to Oslo via Frankfurt, back from Oslo to Munich to Vicky, and then Sid going home and me taking a train to Prague, flying later. We included Munich, because in the last few years, I had good experience with direct flights by Lufthansa between Munich and Denver — it considerably shortens travel (if you switch planes somewhere, it extends your travel time by the second leg and a time reserve for the switch) and reduces general hassle. Alas, this year we found flights from Munich to be horribly pricey even with our attitude that it was our first vacation without kids after twenty two years, and that we deserve some splurge. Eventually we found reasonable prices with Aer Lingus and resolved to try it.

I was not keeping up before our vacation; I tried to finish all the work on our property so that it would be ready to be smoothly taken over by our kids, I wrote long instruction regarding goat, chicken, and cat care, hoping that it would work out somehow. Lisa was just returning from her own vacation as we were leaving, Tom had a week off (we flew out on Independence Day, and many institutions were closed, quite a few for the whole week), so he took us to the airport. He stayed home till Monday, then Lisa took over goat care on weekdays (commuting to Laramie), while Tom cruised with his job all over Wyoming, attending the weekends — and then again the whole week of Sid's return. Well, should anybody need logistics organization for something like Invasion in Normandy, let me know, I should have the experience now.

Vigeland Park: statues and reliefs in The Fountain.

Frogner Park: Wild Wench.

Our first flight was with Lufthansa and I have to say, what they added on price, they took off on space in the plane. I'm not an awfully large person, but there was only so much room in the cattle-class seat that my knees were jammed into the upholstery of the seat in front of me. After those ten hours I was disembarking with the feeling that my legs had been subject to the breaking wheel, after which I was forced to kneel down on peas — a feeling that my knees were bruised and compressed into deep blues. Poor Sid, who is a head taller, had been sitting bent into the window cavity, with knees wedged into gaps between the forward seats, and seat and plane wall, respectively.

Yet Lufthansa apparently strives to provide their stiff passengers with motion recovery around the airport — when we landed in Frankfurt, an orienteering run awaited us for a long distance across the airport. It was embellished with security checkpoints — and officials — where one such orderly yelled at us that for passport control we must ascend to the next level, and importantly rearranged his elastic bans prohibiting entry. After getting up one level, we met orderlies who were a bit more pleasant, who relaxed around an airport cart and leisurely informed us that we can't go to a passport checkpoint at this level, and that we must go back down again. So we — together with more or less the rest of the plane — embarked on a journey back downstairs, passing the tail of the passengers in the opposite direction at the escalator, who were still ascending. The lower orderly got all apoplectic that we would return despite his having told us clearly we must go up. When it looked like a general orderly lynching was about to commence, he re-evaluated the situation and with a hurt expression he allowed us to go to the passport control.

Frogner Park: Parenthood Struggle.

Frogner Park: Angry Little Boy.

Having boarded the flight to Oslo, we were already properly stiff (as we really could not sleep or somehow rest inside the Iron Maiden of the trans-oceanic plane, one just suffered pains and cramps) — and to our surprise this smaller plane for a short hop provided much more room. I think that even the plane was sent hither and tither around the airport by the orderlies' orders, for we gained almost an hour of delay. It was all the same to us, but people with connections got quite nervous — and here I'm talking about Norwegians, who don't get out of kilter that easily.

At the Oslo airport, I could show off, for I had been there once before — in the year 2018 I and the kids had spent in Oslo eight hours of our vacation — during which we managed to visit Viking and Fram Museums. Thus I knew that one needs not buy tickets for the train to the city, you just slap your credit card on the machine, push the label of your destination, and all is done. On our way we ran into a chap who flew with us all the way from Denver — he trotted uncertainly on a spot and said that he was supposed to get picked up by his hotel shuttle, but thanks to the delay he missed the transport. He was quite surprised that for twenty five dollars he could comfortably go on a train (mentioning that a cab cost over a hundred). How he solved it, we don't know, for we hurried to catch our train, to get soonest to our hotels and take a shower and fall in bed.

Akershus: a fortress with a tower and a courtyard.

Akershus: ramparts.

We had reserved Scandic Hotel, near Skøyen train station — we wanted something in Oslo, but outside the downtown, and close to the trains, to be able to drag our luggage. This had succeeded and soon we stood at the front desk. The room surprised me at first by being spartan, but on a second glance it all made sense — vinyl floor is certainly better than some muck-ground-in carpets. A rod instead of a cabinet seems better too — all well aired and in sight, giving you less chance to forget it at the room. And then came the luxury of two beds (i.e., two individual mattresses, so we don't roll together in our sleep like marbles in a bowl) and properly long covers — even Hippo's feet did not stick out! The only thing I found absent in Norway overall, and at hotels in particular, was a clock. Or an alarm, or SOMETHING, which would remind a disoriented tourist with a jet lag, where and when she actually is. Especially in Norway in summer — you get "white nights" — the sun sets around eleven, dusk commences — but it never gets truly dark — and by three a dawn begins. We had notice a sushi place across from the hotel — though we had hoped for something "Nordic", there does not seem to be a Norwegian cuisine — pizza, burger, kebab or sushi everywhere.

On the other hand, breakfasts made us happy — me with the choice of yogurts and seeds and fruits or at least various jams and marmalades, cheeses (including Norwegian Brown), salamis and ham. Hippo rejoiced over plates of smoked salmon, pickled herring caviar and whatever else more (me, I can't stand fish in the morning). Furthermore we frequently met with smoothies — in the form of freshly pulped fruits and vegetables. This was very important for us — we intended to establish breakfast and dinner as main meals and waste little time lunching at noon, to allow use to pack our schedule.

Akershus: gate.

Solliplass: tram in the fountain.

We sacrificed Oslo's museums, some of which both of us had seen, instead we also aimed at recovering from jet lag and rather spending the day outside in daylight. From our hotel, it was just a little distance to Frognerbekkdalen Park, where we followed the creek upstream to an artificial waterfall and behind it, Vigeland Park with famous sculptures, the Monolith, and fountain. The gulch along the creek was beautiful; we encountered only a few locals — either joggers or dog and toddler walkers. At Vigeland Park, it got worse by buses of various nationalities. Then we wanted to hop on a subway to the downtown, to the Royal Palace — but the subway entrance was barred and we were told the station was closed. It gave us an opportunity to test our prowess in mastering the surface mass transit system — over the summer enhanced with various detours and closures, but we asked directions only three times and soon we stood in front of the Royal Palace — again surrounded by tourists. Hence we moved to Akerhus Fortress, where there were FEWER crowds and we could walk through many corners. It also offered a view to Oslofjorden, various islets and the harbor. And also a brutalist City Hall — which at least sported a CLOCK.

Oslo Harbor and City Hall.

The clock reminded us that it was long past lunchtime, and we endeavored to check out offerings of the city. We began with coffee, but in the tourist downtown we were impressed by neither the choices nor the prices of food. We ended up, for a change, in another Japanese spot — ordering chicken katsu. The restaurant was near an intersection with a fountain — in the middle of a roundabout, jets sprayed skyward amongst tram rails. Whenever a tram got near, the fountain turned down to a bubble. Still, I would like to know how often they have to fish out a car, which cuts it short across the roundabout, out of that fountain.

Mandal: Sjøsanden: Aspholmen.

On Monday we had to pack again and return to the airport, where we had reserved a car — it sounds complicated, but we actually chose not to drive in a foreign country right out of the airplane, and instead we wanted to have a day to recover. In my case it did not succeed, I almost could not sleep and was totally moribund. Right in the moment we left the hotel, a rain started. We put on our rain jackets and towed all our luggage to the Flytoget train to the airport. A lady at the rental place merrily announced that they upgraded us into a hybrid. That was a nasty surprise — we went out of our way to secure a gas vehicle, for we intended to DRIVE in Norway, not wait for lengthy charging. When the lady saw our long faces, she switched to reassuring us that the car did not require charging, but would drive with gas, and we are to return it with a full tank, but the battery can stay empty. This relaxed us a bit and I will disclose that in the end we were happy with it — going down some steep switchbacks, we could shift to battery mode, and the car would beautifully brake recuperating the energy (quite minimally, but it worked well to slow us downhill). The upgrade included navigation — in a foreign country in unfamiliar localities with unpronounceable local names, it came really handy. The only incredibly annoying thing was, the car titled rear-view mirrors downward whenever in reverse — so one could see the ground around rear wheels, but lost overall view of what was behind — some of it covered by the backing camera, but many times we were in a situation where we just needed to see the rear side of the car — during close passing on narrow roads, it would be useful to see walls and rails and mileposts, or cars approaching us from behind and getting beside us.

Mandal: a speedboat by Sjøsanden.

Tidy Mandal downtown.

Soňa had tried to spook us saying that they drive really slowly in Norway, thus taking long to get anywhere — but we're Silicon Valley refugees, where the posted speed limits are higher than in Norway, but it makes no difference when the road becomes a parking lot. Thus we coasted along E39 and outside Oslo itself and one subsequent construction spot, things were quite moving — if you consider 50 mph "moving". In defense of Norwegians, I would like to mention that in a landscape full of cliffs and fjords, even a reasonably straight road is hard to build, freeway being much harder. We got rained on while on our way a few times, but reached our destination of the day — Mandal — in full sunshine. We had booked Hald Bed and Breakfast, in seventeenth century house. The house itself is very pretty and the lounge and breakfast hall are furnished in a period style and very impressive. Much less impressive was our little room in something that resembled a prison block corridor — including an industrial gray paint. If the house was a trip to the 17th century, the room was a memory loop through the socialist state pensions of the seventies — two narrow (still quite long and duvet-equipped) beds, one night table between them, and an old creaky cabinet in a corner. Yet the little room had its en suite and window into a hillside, so we could keep it open — no city racket. The bathroom lacked shampoo and conditioner, and the receptionist after my query pointed to the hand soap at the washbasin. Consequently, I had to wash my hair with hand soap.

Mandal: Marna River.

Mandal: historic Hald Hotel dining hall.

Mandal: Hald Hotel: søppel.

We decided to treat our room depression by a trip to Sjøsanden Beach. To reach it, one must walk through a rather horrid campground — packed full, tents practically touching, caravans parked next to each other — but the beach offers a great view of the (North) sea with various islets and half-islets. Some eager souls were swimming in the sea, I waded in only ankle-deep. A rugged path along a hillside was nicer, leading to rocks on a point. We went to get dinner in town — they promised me gluten-free pizza, but more importantly — beer. The combination of rocky shore, the atmosphere of summer holidays, cold ocean and a beautiful small town reminisced of California's Monterey. After dinner, our solitary room looked friendlier, and I think that we had slept better there than in a more luxurious hotel in Oslo — because it was quiet and we could keep our window open. In the morning, breakfast awaited us in the historic dining hall — though much less opulent than at Scandic, it still met our basic definition of good food. We were thus leaving much happier than we would have expected on first glance. We quickly took a snapshot of strange trailer with what seemed an advertisement sign SØPPEL, which happens to resemble the Czech word sopel, meaning "snot" — while we were to discover that søppel is a very common Norwegian word. We shall leave that, however, for later.