Karl Johan's Revenge on London
One day after the arm of this thankless job has extended its last desperate reach maybe I can look back and appreciate things for what they were. For now I wallow in only the most dramatically morose appreciation. To translate, I'm not sure how much longer I can take these late night hours. Delirium is upon me. And my mood grows sour as each minute passes.
I set down to pay bills today. That is after getting out of work at 2:30 and going straight to the grocery store for shopping despite Danny's grumbling. Everything is being paid late this month with the exception of my credit cards - even my car payment. I'm surprised things haven't been turned off. I didn't intend to pay them late and surely it's not a common practice but I found no other way. Sometimes things simply end up that way. Sometimes you just can't predict the way things will happen.
And in the morning of Wednesday, December 29th 2010, I knew that something was wrong with Marita by the way she appeared. She sat down on the sofa wringing her hands softly. Tom had left earlier during the morning for work. His job at the factory offers crazy hours not dissimilar to our own at Saia though he tends to work mornings certain days mixed with evenings and has large blocks of time off to compensate. "I don't think I'm going to be able to go with you guys to Oslo today. I really don't have any money. I don't know what happened to my money." I knew that she was lying by the sheepish tone in her voice; this has nothing to do with a sudden miscalculation in monetary funding. "But don't worry, I'll still be able to drop you off so that you don't have to take the train to the city. Besides, Thomas will be a much better tour guide than me; I very rarely go to Oslo." She was referring to Thomas Olsen - the Norwegian I met at Lisa's that one time Danny and I stayed in the Port Orleans resort and I had that devilish illness that upon my arrival back home had me miss an entire week of work when I couldn't lift my head off the sofa. This was in April of 2009 if I remember it right.
But this wasn't really what she wanted to tell us. "Tom is really angry about New Years Eve. I think he wanted to spend it with just the two of us. I had forgotten to tell him that you guys would still be here." This made me feel awful -to think that I was ruining someone's plans by staying an extra night. I certainly didn't want to appear a burden. There was an awkward air about the room after she had broken the ice. I half expected Danny to offer some remedy. "You know," he said "We could simply spend another night in the city. It would be closer to the hotel anyway so no one would have to drive us that night hung over." She listening intently but shot his idea down. "I really wanted to spend New Years with you guys. I think he's acting like a big baby. We're not speaking to one another right now. I feel he has no right at all to be angry. It's not as though he's ever let on that he wanted to be alone. This is new to me."
They'd been dating for less than a year so things still have a newness to them like all couples who are still in the process of discovering one another. I felt he was being a bit out of line. I mean, New Years is not exactly the most romantic of holidays. It's not a let's have dinner with friends then slip home and sip wine by the fireplace and fuck kind of jive. But still in all, I felt bad because she felt bad. And I didn't want to cause unnecessary drama between she and her boyfriend. It's not as though we flew a billion miles around the world to shatter hearts.
Marita was true to her word about the ride to Oslo. Danny and I showered, shoveled some bread into our mouths and haphazardly stuffed an overnight bag with clothes and then we were off.
The ride offered a view of snowy roadways and villages until we ascended to Oslo and received pretty breathtaking views of Oslofjorden a fjord that cuts practically into the city. It seems the citizens of the city live centred around this extension of the ocean high atop hills that overlook the body of water like stadium seating at a Roman gladiator event. I had only hoped that during the train ride back I would get a good view of it on the Flip. Little did I know then just how disappointed I would be.
It was around 3pm that we landed outside of the train station in the centre of Oslo's busiest street. "If you walk to that street there and look west past that building, you'll notice Karl Johan. You can't miss it. It's lined with shoppes and and it's pedestrian-only so there will be lots of people on foot. Your hotel will be somewhere down there." She pointed from within the cab of the car.
The sun had started to wane a bit though it shone in the distance above the city casting everything in a warm glow. It was cold out and we were worried only about not finding the Best Western on Karl Johan before nightfall. We thanked Marita for her directions and for taking the time to drive us 40 minutes out of her way and waved goodbye as she sped off leaving us in a strange city alone with only an extra pair of underwear, our cameras and my computer strapped to Danny's back in the backpack we had taken.
"Hold up," I told Danny as we marveled at the sights around us. "This is the perfect opportunity to commence our documentation of Oslo." I snuck out the Flip while he snapped a few photos with the now almost-discarded Powershot. I've taken that camera on so many trips thru the years and snapped thousands of photos that the response time is nearly thirty seconds now. The level of spontaneity has all but completely drained from it's lens. Indeed, he has seen better days and is approaching the end of his life cycle.
What Marita said was true. Rounding the corner of the street past the great train station depot was a street brimming with life. Pedestrians scattered everywhere. Busy street cars intersecting taking people to places I'll never go.
Karl Johan was quite beautiful. I walked the street with my camera facing forward looking at the sights from the east and west as Danny and I were scouting out our hotel. At one point I walked past a red traffic light and nearly got killed by a passing car. Well, not really but you'd swear it so; You could hear Danny berating in the video if you listen carefully. The Best Western, which was built in the 19th century, seemed to be nearly at the foot of the street and we were nearly frozen when we walked in. The clerk was polite enough. She'd given us a map and pointed out the area of the city of our current location.
Inside, the hotel seemed small. It was actually only a few levels and it gave the air of a place that was very, very old. The decor looked like something that was out of the 1800s -not a replica meant to appear regal but the actual carpeting and upholstery which gave it an authentic yet slightly homey appeal. There was a huge spiral staircase to the left yet we decided to take the only elevator in the building to the second level where our room was situated. And elderly lady rushed up as the doors were closing but and we scrambled to keep the doors open but our attempt was futile as it closed behind us before she was able to climb in. "Whoops," I said to Danny. "She must have been thinking we're rude Americans but I guess this elevator doesn't have a sensor."
We walked down a narrow hallway which was adorned with gaudy carpeting and beautiful Victorian furniture which of course we snapped photos of later. We noted the head of the stairway and realize at this point just how preposterous it must have appeared when we took the elevator.
We approached the room and immediately heard music in the distance. At first I was concerned that perhaps they had given us the wrong door key or even yet placed us in an occupied room. But we decided to give it a go and went inside despite our reserve. It was dimly lit on the other side of the door and the music was quite loud now. Classical by the sound and quite lovely. It was streaming from the Television which was mounted on the wall opposite the bed. On the screen were printed the words "Welcome Daniel Hope." The music, was not airing because someone had occupied our room, it was airing as a greeting for the current guests. I thought this such an alluring touch.
The room was small but had a European charm about it so that the size didn't really matter. The bathroom was typical - one thing I note about the shower which was similar to Marita's apartment is that it's simply a square in the room covered by a curtain. No tubs. No lips on the floor to keep the water in. A square with a drain in the centre. We unloaded our bags, sat around for a bit, admired the room. There was a step down from the entrance foyer into the actual bed chamber. It was a nice added touch. We got a view of the street and nothing more. But we noted how the windows came completely open. I hadn't seen a hotel do that in ages.
The plan was to meet up with Thomas who lived nearby; this way we wouldn't have to fumble our way about the city. We got showers and then we were off to forage for food. Really we would have liked to have tried something local but we were concerned with the costs. Oslo, as it were, is the 2nd most expensive city to visit in the world. We picked a hell of a vacation. But we were lucky that the hotel was moderately priced. Considering we were staying only one night the $200 asking price wasn't so bad once you split it. And hey, it's not everyday one is in Oslo [unless you live there of course.]
We decided that maybe today it would be best to stick to this area and perhaps something more familiar until we spoke with Thomas. We figured the next day he could take us to some place with good, cheap local food if such a place existed. We were also a little concerned with the fact that he's a vegetarian. This is not a bad thing but he's a member of Peta and goes thru great lengths to post things about animal mutilation on his Facebook wall so that if I ordered noodles with chicken I wouldn't want to get the angry eye.
We walked Karl Johan past the hotel and noticed a few American chains. TGI Fridays seemed packed and I really wanted to see the interior of the Hard Rock Cafe if those were our two choices. Inside it seemed a bit more posh than typical of the Hard Rock's I'd seen. We walked up a flight of stairs, the hostess greeted us and said it would take about twenty minutes.
I grabbed the timer and we waited in a patio area outside of the building by the entrance doors.
It was very, very cold out. Below freezing for sure. And across the street young adults and children were ice skating in a huge square rink in the middle of the city. American music was broadcasting from some radio with large speakers and you could hear the squeaks and squawks from the children having a blast with the winter. Danny sat across from me on his iPhone which is what he was doing from the time we had gotten to Oslo much to my annoyance. One thing we noted is that free wifi was available just about everywhere in the city.
"You need to find a pretty boy to talk to," Danny said from above his Grindr application. "I already have a Norwegian boyfriend." "No thanks," I told him.
The meal was noteworthy for one thing only. We were seated in the Bowie section. There was a Takamine guitar that had been signed by the man himself above Danny's head and a gold record of Aladdin Sane which I didn't even realize went gold. I couldn't really read anything because it was dark but I did snap photos.
Danny sat practically ignoring me for the company of his phone and it was looking like this night was already going to end up a bit of a waste for me.
Back at the hotel we waited for Thomas who came shortly after with his friend, a very polite and handsome black guy who's name completely escapes me at this point.
He took us to a place out on the street which was just below our window called Ett Glass. It was the perfect kind of place. A multiple level bar with booths and tables put about, dimly lit with candles where people simply sat around, drank alcohol and talked. If only we had places like this back in Atlanta. People have lost the art of conversation so they fill the void with mindless beats and move their feet instead of their tongues. This is so exhausting for me and as a result I feel there no place "out" there that really suits my style. I'm wondering if it's simply a big city thing because New York held the same appeal.
We approached the back of the bar and sat next to a guy who offered Danny a peculiar look. In a fitting state of irony, it just so happened to be the guy he was speaking to on Grindr. They didn't say anything to one another and for the rest of the evening I tried to pretend like I was interested in anything Thomas or his friend had to say. Thomas is a nice guy but he's one of those people who seem to study you with his eyes and judge you immediately. Not judge in a cynical bad way that most of us are aware. But in a way that makes you feel as though he's searching for some invisible connection.
Danny ordered a pitcher of beer and we sipped on expensive beer that tasted like piss for a couple of hours. The conversations mostly didn't interest me. "Would you do this person or that." "Where's the craziest place you've had sex." And it's not like I'm a total prude but I don't fit the level of promiscuity that Thomas and his friends (which were now three) seemed to enjoy. It, like mindless drinking, are two things now that I think are such a bore. It makes gay men appear as though they have a disease of the mind which makes them fuck anything with legs but the kitchen table.
At one point we went downstairs to find the toilets and while I was in the bathroom Danny was chewed out by one of the girls in Norwegian while he waited for me to finish up. "I don't know what she just told me," he told her tall, blond friend. "She just told you that the urinals are in that room," she giggled. The room was a square and centered around the square were four or five small chambers. Each containing either toilets or urinals. She was mad that she had to wait for him to get out of the toilet room while the urinals were free.
Back upstairs Thomas and the others laughed it off saying "She was just being a cunt. There's no rule that you can't use the toilet."
Before long they were gone. And Danny and his new friend, Hakon, had broken the ice. "Do you mind if I speak to that guy," he asked. With a gesture of the hand I indicated that I didn't care.
We pushed our tables together and little did we know then that Hakon and his friend would provide the most memorable time spent here in Oslo. We spoke for a bit at the table about things that I cared about. "Okay, what's your absolute favourite show," he said. Not missing a beat, I said "Six Feet Under" to which his eyes lit up.
We spoke about music and movies and good television and oddly enough it seemed I had more in common with him than Danny. When Danny had left for the bathroom Hakon asked me, "So what did he tell you about me? We've been speaking for the past two days and the connection is there man. It's so weird." I just gave him a blank stare that must have said "Are you high?" because he retracted as I said nothing not even an awkward smile. "Oh god, nevermind." he said sheepishly. "I must be sounding soo stupid." Still I said nothing. Just that weird stare.
And what was there to say? "Well Hakon, whatever connection you feel you've drawn is obviously only between your ears because when it comes to meeting people Danny is the most shallow person in the world. You should just put your dick on the table here and let him fiddle about with it for a bit and then go home with a smile because if -you're- thinking that -he's- drawn the same deep connection then you'll be more hurt than a grade school girl who's fallen off the monkey bars. What you should realize is that I'm his only recurring jilly and that's simply because he can't quite seem to get rid of me. So don't be hurt if he forgets about you tomorrow. And if you're persistent enough to let on that you feel this deep connection, he'll be polite enough to smile at your words but will run for the next available train labeling you some crazed freak in the morning."
But I kept my mouth shut. You've got to be kidding, this guy is certainly a bleeding heart if he's expecting to find true love and deep connections on something as shallow as Grindr. But I felt better knowing that this guy was genuinely nice and was at least into quality entertainment. "Oh look, Danny's back."
So as this place closed, he decided to take us to a seedy dancy-type club down the street called "London". Hakon and his friend, who was a very nice man himself took us on the grande tour of this place. Here's the bar. This is the room where people have sex on the sofas. Here's the pool table where all of the twinky Asian boys play trying to hook up with daddies. And then we went upstairs to where the music was thumping and old wrinkly men with obvious coke habits wearing baby shirts were dancing around some shoddy dance floor trying to impress ugly young men. It was entertaining. THIS is where we needed to be. We sat at a window seat and admired the view. A man that resembled my dad, only about 200 pounds lighter, was flailing erratically around the dance floor with his shirt unbuttoned and open in the front in an attempt to look sexy. He finally crashed on a nearby sofa and Hakon snapped a photo of him.
His friend parted ways with us and it wasn't long before we were out as well. "Hakon wants us to spend the night with him." "So basically you're saying we just pissed 200 dollars away on a hotel room that we won't even use?" I was irritated in more ways than one. I didn't want to play the third party to some cheap tryst but I certainly didn't want to stay in that creepy hotel alone. Hakon seemed nice enough but he was a stranger still and we were a long, long way from home. Danny and I argued a bit upstairs while Hakon hailed a cab downstairs. Finally I caved and we were whisked away. Hakon couldn't have been happier if he wet himself in the pool and I was just hoping he wouldn't kill us.
We stopped at the 7 Eleven. He wanted to get us the American equivalent of trash box pizza. And then we walked to his place. It was only a few city blocks from the hotel and I felt better because of that. But I was still a bit leery.
His apartment was nice but nothing fancy. A long, white hallway divided the rooms. He had roommates, two it seemed, but they were away on holiday. Either that or their bodies were hidden in a closet somewhere. It seemed normal enough though, Norwegians go on "holiday" because most people have off of work this time of year.
It still seemed safe enough though and Hakon managed to make us feel very comfortable. He lead us to his living room which had a wraparound sofa and a lounge chair. Danny and I took the sofa while he grabbed the lounge seat. He offered us beer and sodas and put the pizza in the oven. His Macbook was hooked up to large speakers and he dimmed the lights while we listened to ambient, thought-provoking music until the late, early hours of the morning. It was so nice not to hear booty club jams which is the only thing our friends back at home want streaming from the speakers on any given Saturday night.
He told us he was a contestant in a Norwegian TV show similar to Survivor or Fear Factor back in the states where you have to do sporty things in order to win prizes. He even showed us a snippet of it and the moment he lost.
It was actually, despite my initial reserve, a very lovely evening. Here we were in the middle of a strange city thousands of miles from home in a stranger's apartment who we had met only hours before eating Norwegian pizza, sipping beers and listening to the sounds of Madrugada, Glasvegas, Susanne Sundfor, Anthony & the Johnsons, Al Green, Lamontagne & Melody Gardot. But I think the song that stuck out the most for me that night. The song that resonated thru my ears and swirled around the apartment was Sia's "Breathe me" from the Six Feet Under soundtrack. I had heard the song before, of course, but it was so beautiful this particular night and so fit the mood in a way that no song ever has. I looked out of the window. There was a high rise apartment building with rows and rows of balconies. It was cold looking with snow and ice and a dreary appeal- a stark contrast to the warm enveloping appeal of Hakon's living room. I forget what we spoke about that night. Probably politics. Probably American pizza. And movies and music. and life. He said he nearly killed himself a few months ago. He said never gets visitors and that's he's lonely more often than not. And he thanked us a million times for offering our company this evening.
What he didn't realize was that he actually made the stay in Oslo worthwhile for us. We experienced Oslo, as we did Moss, not as tourists but as spectators who observed the city the way it stood for people who move about it on a daily basis taking it completely for granted.
Yes, Hakon was a tragic soul. A very sad person to listen to. And he did a lot of talking. I feel I connected with him on a much deeper level than Danny. But I wasn't into him in a sexual way. And he was all about Danny. I think Danny was starting to bore of his dreary music and tales of death and woe. He just wanted to get into a Norwegian boys pants before the ride back to America. A conquest of sorts before the carriage becomes a pumpkin.
But it wouldn't be this guy. Around six in the morning he lead me to my bedroom - one of his roommate's rooms. And then gave Danny a choice between his own bedroom or sleeping with one of us. Danny and I were left along for a bit. "please. would you mind? You and i are practically married! And I just wanted to make out with him. I'll probably never see him again," He pleaded like a child begging for a new kitten.
"Just go," I said. "I don't care what you do." And so I lay on some strangers bed resting my head on their strange pillow while I heard Hakon in the next room. "No, I don't want to be some guy who you slept with in Oslo. I want you to remember me much deeper than that." And then there were no more sounds. And my eyes rolled slowly in the back of my head knowing that in the morning things would be the same as I left them. Knowing that the sounds of Breathe Me would make it everything work out. And realizing that Olso, though I had enjoyed it immensely, had left me with a sinking feeling in my heart that I'm consistently told I have no right at all to feel.