I'd set off on a 8 week Scandi Baltic adventure. I'd been fretting over where to go for this free 8 week period, with so many European countries still untrodden and unexplored to me. I'd not considered Scandinavia as an option due to its reputation for being incredibly expensive. But time works against me, I couldn't keep saying I can go there another time, extended trips away will likely become less and less frequent as I get older.
I’d taken the Eurostar to Amsterdam and wandered the streets of Haarlem, then Copenhagen before arriving in Gothenburg and again flitted about the city and quickly realised I'd done it again. My first week away since the Balkans and I'd slipped back into the role of meandering tourist floating between parks and museums depending what took my fancy. What's wrong with that? Nothing, I might be the main character in my head but from a town or cities perspective I'm definitely an extra in a scene that gets edited out of the movie. I can’t expect things to just happen to me as if I'm the protagonist. Walking around is great for feeling out the vibe of a place but leaves me with a sense of missing out on its true character.
I rely heavily on recommendations from the people I meet along the way, and I love a hostel with a wall plastered with Things To Do. These are my crutches to travel smart and with as little research as possible, wheat from the chaff and all that. Northern Europe saw my crutches and kicked them out from under me while making me pay for the experience. Queue the violins, I would have to do my own research.
I sat myself down in the hostel which had the aesthetic of an old school undergoing renovations and they had started teaching the children in portacabins. Here I sat where I would create the most epic fly by adventure in Norway. I had not contended with two problems; during the day there was some construction where they were literally using explosives to blow up a cliff face and that after thirty minutes of frantic googling and swiping causes hand cramps. But this was the cross I had to bear (I think I can still hear the violins).
Through the noise that not even my headphones could mask and the pain in my hands, I crafted an itinerary that would see me hiking and sightseeing, then getting the hell out of there. A day in Oslo, the cheapest hostel was £70 a night, unacceptable! Night Train to Staravanger for £30, yes please, accommodation and transport for half the price bargain! I continued to queue up my buses, trains, ferries trying to be moving when I was “sleeping”. There was slight hope when I saw that the hostel prices in Bergen were slightly more reasonably priced at £25-£30 a night.
I cracked my knuckles and wiped the sweat from my brow. I'd planned, perfected and budgeted an 8 day trip to Norway, one of the most expensive countries I will ever visit.
I smuggly got off my flixbus in Oslo. Smile faltering at the thought of the amount of night transport I’d booked and how little quality sleep I’d be having over the next week. I stashed my bags in at a train station locker and scrunched the receipt into my pocket. I was ready for a mosey around Oslo on a brisk grey autumn day killing time before my train at 10pm. I'd prepared for my 12 hours in Oslo by watching the comedy travel show Travel Man 48 hours in … Oslo. Truly the transformation from the unprepared backpacker to this meticulous regimented research based guy was astounding.
I walked around the city and parks for several hours enjoying the architecture and public art. But with just a warm yellow hoodie the cold started to sink into my bones and without a base I needed a cheap place to warm up. My first stop was the cinema and bought a ticket to see Bullet Train at a cost cheaper than the UK. The ticket office warned me it was a parent baby friendly showing, all good from me as long as it's warm and I greedily helped myself to the free tea and coffee despite having no taste for the stuff.
I walked around Vigelandsparken enjoying the sculptures and the start of autumn with trees beginning to change the colour of their leaves. Making my way along the coastal edge and briefly thought of getting into a floating sauna. I'm a big advocate of doing stuff on your own, but it felt like the sort of thing that would be more fun with friends and I resolved I’d drag someone here with me in the future.
My strategy so far in the northern foods was heading to Lidl twice a day for lunch and dinner, but Lidl never made it to Norway and I made do with the local equivalent. I did treat myself to a hotdog from a famous and traditional kiosk, a discovery courtesy of my Travel Man research.
Day turned to dusk and the temperature dropped further. I took cover in the public library, but this was the M&S of libraries with its own art installations, amazing views across and comfortable reading areas. I parked myself here relaxing waiting for my train.
I walked over to the train station with 40 minutes to spare, this new me is punctual and prepared for all eventualities. I found the lockers deep in the station hidden away in the basement. I looked at the rows of identical lockers and briefly paled as I tried to remember which row I was. I looked in my phone because I usually take a photo of the locker, finding nothing. The morning's smugness must have jolted me out of my usual pattern of thinking. Despite this I find what I believe is the correct locker and begin jabbing in my customary pin, and get a message saying invalid pin length. Ah shit. I remembered receiving a receipt which must have had the generated pin on it. I started fishing through my pockets and finding nothing. A horrible memory surfaced of me standing outside the cinema throwing away what I thought was only the cinema ticket into the bin.
I raced to the customer service counter to find it locked up at the late hour and cursed the Scandinavians and their progressive work life balance policies. I wandered into the ticket hall and found everything closed with only the odd cleaner and security guard. My heart sank, all my planning scuppered by a piece of paper. I dejectedly walked to the nearest and cheapest hostel, I brewed over my failure and then braced myself for the sting as the receptionist charged me £75. They were friendly and improved my mood. I told them how the train station lockers thwarted my best laid plans and how I couldn't find anyone to help. Unfortunately they informed me that out of hours security guards can help with retrieving things from the lockers. Bug eyed I stared at my watch, the time too late to do anything and then back to the receptionist and only managed a “oh is that right” as I took the key and shuffled like a zombie to my dorm.
The next day Oslo wasn't quite done playing with me as I returned to the station and asked a security guard to help me open my locker which he acquiesced with a short game of guess what's in the locker before I open it. I bought my second ticket to Staravanger and held it tightfisted with rage as it cost £90, three times the price of the nighttrain. It turned out there were significant savings buying your ticket a few days prior and travelling off peak.
I’m not sure what the lesson is here, perhaps my biggest regret is that I gave up too easily. The night before I saw the cleaner and security guard, I thought about asking them for help but some deep character flaw told me I would just be bothering them and it wouldn't be their job. If travelling taught me anything is the kindness of strangers and how most people are willing to go the extra mile to help someone in need. But if you don't ask, you don't get!
