Arriving in Oslo

My flight at 6.50 was going to be the tightest squeeze yet to catch as, thanks to my amazing boss, regardless of me coming in 1 1/2 hours early and working most of my lunch hour as well ( and lets for forget its a Friday anyway ) I was allowed to leave at 4.00.

 

Considering that Stanstead Airport is on a tight schedule route of a minimum of 45 minutes away from Liverpool Street and that itself is a few stops away by tube, it was only through the fact that it was delayed in opening up that I managed to even check at all.

 

To their credit, Ryanair realised that there was a bit of a delay and so even opened up an extra two check in desks on the reverse of the original one, which was a big time saver.

 

Waiting at the gate to board the plane we noticed that the luggage handlers were not the gentlest when it came to stowing away our bags and I was glad that I carried nothing fragile with me. Then seconds before we entered, and I am guessing he did it just to break the monotomy, the luggage driver began to circle his little wagon train. It was like something out of a b&w Laurel and Hardy movie, and I was cursing that I had already switched off my camera as certainly it would have been worth filming for a good laugh.

 

The flight left late and was going to be arriving around 10pm in Oslo. There are barely a few things prettier in the world than a deep red sky sunset above the cloud level, where you dont have anything to get in the way from the breathtaking view. I pity all the passengers on the right side of the plane who missed this glorious vista.

 

During my flight I could not help but think of what kind of signal honor I could give to Oslo, being my twentieth country to be visited. quotes like "one small step", "Hereeeeeees Dickon" or dancing a jig all seemed a bit clique, so in the end I made up a funny verse to the tune of "Maybe its because im a londoner" which went something like this.

 

"Maybe it's because I'm from Gillingham,

That I love travelling so.

Maybe it's because I'm from Gillingham,

that i think of her, and just have to go.

I get a sickie feeling inside of me,

just walking up and down.

Oh maybe it's because I'm from Gillingham

that I hate my home town"

 

Maybe not the most original, but then nowadays everything you can possibly think of has been done to death anyway, so you may as well recycle a good idea into something different and put your own spin on it, I always say.

 

Before I landed I realised that Ryanair seem to use out of the way airports in ALL their flights, with Oslo city centre being almost 2 hours away by express bus. Just glad that they held it up due to the late take off or else we would all have been fighting for taxi's at this late hour.

 

When I arrived at Oslo I could hav been forgiven for mistaking that I had landed in some sort of showroom heaven. The bus journey was along many main roads and on either side could be seen massive, glass encased showroom after showroom of all things from campervans, cars, boats, hotels, computers and that was jut the ones I took pains to remember.

 

Everything was well lit, looked modern and clean in a way that even made Sweden look old and made London look just a bunch of semi-modern buildings planted in amidst a crumbling town.

 

The only other thing that I really notices ( apart from the moron sitting behind me who decided that 11.45 in a darkened coach full of tired passengers was the ideal time to listen to his non-personal stereo ) was the huge marina to my left.

 

Row upon row upon row of tightly packed boats, all ranging from single man to maybe a seven man craft, were moored up side my side along the tiny pontoons. I estimated that the rows were at least 15 boats long, both sides and thus there could not have been less than 400 and maybe as many as 1000 or more.

 

Finaly the coach stopped just inside the main station and then I made my way to my hostel.