One day last week we hopped a train to Oslo. The ride is an hour an a half, about $40 round trip per person and blessedly clean and quiet. We snake through mountain passes and wetlands and tiny towns at sunset, bright light flashing between thickly planted pine trees. By the time we arrive in the city center I’m glad for a 20 minute walk between my queasy stomach and our dinner reservation.
The quickest route takes us up Karl Johans Gate past the beautiful Oslo Cathedral, into Glasmagasinet to warm up and stare at Marimekko home goods. In Tennessee when people ask E if he knows another Norwegian person or seeks out Norwegian food he tells them, I didn’t move away from Norway to be more Norwegian. But here among the clean lines, soft colors and Moomin mugs, he admittedly wants to buy everything. I must be Scandinavian after all, he says.
We keep walking toward the Stortinget (parliament building) where protesters are setting up a microphone surrounded by Ukrainian flags— within hours of our disgraceful secretary of defense saying some disgraceful things about Ukraine’s future. I can’t help but marvel at how safe they are. Obviously there are exponentially less guns here, but the city also took measures to protect pedestrians from domestic terrorism in this area long ago; everywhere public space meets road is lined by enormous concrete planters that block vehicles from entering. Even now in the dead of winter, something I don’t recognize is growing in them.
A few blocks over, we reach our destination: Ricksha. It’s a teeny tiny Pakistani restaurant, less than 10 tables. Norway has had a growing Pakistani population since the 1970’s and today it’s close to 40,000 people with 65% concentrated in Oslo, the city’s largest minority. For this reason, I highly suggest you eat Pakistani food if you ever find yourself in Oslo. The other reason of course, is that you’ll likely need a break from cheese and fish and lightly salted potatoes. Lord knows I did.
We order the Ricksha famous samosa chaat, a fried potato-filled pastry doused in yogurt and tamarind and mint chutney, garnished generously with chickpeas, red onion, sev, cilantro and pomegranate seeds. I tell our server I like spicy food and want a Peshwari naan, but am open to suggestion otherwise. His favorite dishes are “chicken hot” and “lamb hot” and when I ask, are those the same thing with different meat? He says, no they’re completely unique. So we get both. The chicken is in a mildly sweet red sauce with onions and peppers, the lamb is tender tender tender, in a darker and spicier sauce. Both come with fragrant basmati rice. I wish I had room in my stomach and time in our schedule to order Gulab Jamun for dessert, but we’re off to a ballet at the Operahuset!
Before you view any modern building like the Opera House, you need to understand this: Norway never had an upper class. It was a rural and poor nation for the bulk of history and ruled by the Danes until 1814— old buildings in larger cities are mimics of Copenhagen. Then the Swedes took over until 1905. There just wasn’t any kind of substantial local wealth here until the mid-20th century, meaning there was little to no precedent for large scale architecture in a defined Norwegian style. Everything built recently is…experimental, a test to see if a certain look will stick.
I’m not going to lie, some of the new construction is hideous *coughTHEMUNCHMUSEUMcough,* but the Opera House is at least interesting. It slopes directly into the harbor and functions as an extremely public place, very reflective of Norway’s ancient allemannsrett culture. Not only do the large windows allow you to see into the lobby from almost every angle, it’s open and free to visitors all day. At night the enormous amount of oak lining its interior the walls is illuminated against the dark water. It’s striking, really. However, if you’re a fan of frilly, intricately decorated theaters, Operahuset may be a shock. The actual stage is surrounded by wood, undulating wood, layers of wood, and more wood. That’s it. That’s the whole thing. Wood.
After the ballet, we walk back through the central train station to Torggata Botaniske, a small bar packed with locals and plants. I’m not sure what’s in the mocktail E orders for me, but it’s soft green and basil-y and crowned with frothy white foam. Which reminds me! Another essential thing to know before a night out: the legal limit is 0.2g/l, basically sober. Unlike the U.S. where driving laws seem to be increasingly more symbolic than enforced, the Norwegian government is absolutely not messing around about their goal of ZERO road traffic deaths by 2050. Get pulled over with blood alcohol over the limit and you will face license withdrawal and/or imprisonment. Sure enough, when we drive home from the train station at 12:30am, E gets pulled over to do a breathalyzer test.
More on Norwegian alcohol culture in my next newsletter, but for now let me simply say: I fell asleep happy as a clam on the train home to E’s house and I can’t wait to eat Pakistani food again.