On one hand, it's incredibly laid back. Which is great, don't get me wrong. I walked around for hours today while every store was closed and the city, which is usually fairly empty, was in fact empty as expected. But that's because everybody prefers doing adorable outdoorsy things like ... gardening in the biggest community gardens you've ever seen ...
... or strolling in the biggest, most well-kept public cemeteries you've ever seen ...
And if you weren't gardening, or remembering the dead, then maybe you were at the parks sunbathing in all kinds of shameless positions.
Norwegians love free time. They can't get enough of it. In fact, the completely respectable, normal working day here is only 10a-4p. Don't think I'm exaggerating. At the opera house, we'll be in the middle of a crucial scenic moment with someone's life on the line, and then the clock strikes four and the entire stage crew start looking around like dogs at afternoon walk time. Woe to the opera director who tries to arbitrate for an earlier start time to the Norwegian working day, or for a later end time. Double woe to the director who dares interfere with the regularity of the 2 1/2 carefully-spaced tea breaks surrounding lunch time.
But the culture of laid back has a strange other side to it. Because if you weren't hanging out outside today, you might also have been here:
Can you read that? The largest hotel in the city, the Radisson SAS Hotel, was having a "House of Pain" tattoo conference in its ballroom. Hm, House of Pain. Does that go with sunbathing and gardens? Well, let's think about what we know about Norway. (Mmm ... it's close to Sweden?) Norway is the home of artists who have hit real rock-bottom. Think about Ibsen's Peer Gynt, that bizarre, horrible boy who goes off into the craggeldy Norwegian mountains after abusing his poor mother and marries a troll princess. Or death-by-icy Hedda Gabler. Remember her? Egad! Or maybe you remember that Munch lived and worked in Norway. Remember Munch?
The Scream? Come On! Where's the laid back in that? What about this, whatever the hell it is?
And oh my God!
Vigeland! Rabid babies? Who came up with that? Who is this guy? Did he ever sleep? I'm sorry, but I just don't see how the country that produced this guy ...
... also produced this guy ...
What a catastrophe. But there you have it.
I know I've avoided talking about opera almost entirely so far. I have a lot to say. But I've only been here a week. I'm still getting warmed up.
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