Saturday in Oslo: Dreadlocks and Opera

Saturday morning was also sunny (in case you wanted a weather report).
I woke up a little earlier than my usual routine, which means I opened my eyes before 10:30am.
This means the drunk Italians were still around. They offered me some coffee au gratis, but I had hesitations accepting their offer. One of my social rules is: don’t accept coffee from people who put dental floss down the toilet.
‘Nough said.
Anyway, it was an even brighter and sunnier day in beautiful Norway, so I picked a new direction and walked. What I found was the Oslo equivalent of the Brighton Laines, which, for those of you that don’t know, is practically bohemian central. Second hand stores, gluten free bakeries, quirky cafés, and dreadlocks in concentrated numbers. It was very fun. While I was slouching at the entrance of a baby store, off to the side of the walk, surreptitiously eating my gluten free sjokolade muffin (chocolate) from a local bakery (which was SO delicious), two elderly ladies slowly making their way up the uneven path with their canes and long grey overcoats paused in front of me. They looked desperately at the road. Some people impatiently passed them. The two ladies breathed from their mouths and their eyes sort of bugged out in that way that people’s eyes do when they are in distress. One couple walking by them stopped and asked, what I could gather with my limited understanding of Norwegian, “Do you need help with something?”
The ladies replied, “We are trying to cross the road, but the ice is dangerous.”
The couple replied, “Let us help you.”
And they proceeded to help the ladies across the street. The elderly ladies faces lit up like the sky on the 4th of July and they looked so happy that someone had taken the time to help them.
It was just a nice gesture. And it made me happy to see it.
I popped into a second hand store and found a nice scarf that I liked. It has Egyptian hieroglyphics on it, and is a deep lapis blue. The lady who ran the shop was very kind.
So, after I walked around Hausmann’s Gate (where the Oslo Laines were), I took a tour near the station. When I was coming back through one of the squares off… I forget the name of the street, there were “FREE HUG” people standing by the fountain. How could I not?
I got a “FREE HUG”.
It was getting a little late, so I went by the shopping center and picked up a new suitcase and back pack to replace my awkward and somewhat dilapidated original luggage. At the luggage store I got through my first interaction sans English. I was somewhat proud of myself, but store settings aren’t terribly hard to understand anyway. “Do you want a bag?”; “It costs this much.”; “Do you need any help?”; etc. All requiring very little input from the other end of the conversation.
So, I took them back to the hostel and repacked my luggage. Then, I showered and got dressed for “Lulu” the Opera. I walked to the Operahus and found my ticket, and my seat. I sat next to a very kind, talkative older gentleman with whom I discussed theatre and art, Norwegian and English. After the first act we discussed how we didn’t like the Opera very much. And after the second act intermission, he started browsing the internet on his iPhone.
I can’t really blame him.
Technical-wise, it was a very beautiful Opera. The sets were lovely, the costumes were lovely and cohesive, and visually, everything worked like a diamond. Musically, it was not fun. Unless you simply like the tuneless cacophony of dissonance and discord. But personally, I enjoy a good melody, so the music was hard to enjoy, as much as I respected the technical difficulty I’m sure it took in order for the singers to perform it.
Story wise, it was terrible. It revolved around a fatherless and motherless girl, whose father it was assumed was the devil himself, and everyone that fell in love with her and married her (and all of them assumed marriage was the only answer?) either died, or she had them killed. I kept expecting there to be a story. There was no story, and I was reminded of the “Cruelty of Theatre” movement, and especially the exemplar play of the movement: “Spurt of Blood”, in which nothing makes sense and there is mindless violence, sex, blood, disturbing visuals, and whatever else is possible to barrage the senses with a relentless fist of the darker parts of the human mind. I call it the “Nasty Side of Surrealism”. To sum up.
It’s true I’ve never seen anything like it. And I wouldn’t mind seeing something else like it, because of the technical aspects, but I definitely never want to have to sit through listening to something like it again. A taste for modern music is not my forte. And I’m not the only one. Some people left after the first act. And several people left after the second act. Most people didn’t stick around to finish out the unenthusiastic applause. Although some people were very excited about the lead singer. She is a very famous opera singer, so it is understandable.
Anyway, the design was the strongest element of the entire production. And design, in Opera, is important, and the music, I’m sure, was difficult to memorize and sing. But I really didn’t care for it.
At the first act intermission, though, I walked to the top of the Operahus roof (it’s the only opera house in the world where you can do so), which was very cold, but beautiful. The stars were out, and the city was glowing.
After the Opera, I walked back to my hostel and met with Seth in the lobby. We talked for about an hour and then I went to bed to a different kind of cacophony: the snores of drunk Italians with a cough.
Overall, it was a good day.