Friday, July 11, 2008

Norwegian Scenarios: Oslo, Part Three

Norwegian Scenarios: Oslo, Part Three

"Can you smell something?"

I breathe in deeply.

"What's cooking?" I ask as the smell of burning fills my nose.

"What's burning in a wooden building?" History Boy proffers, which is probably, all told, a more pertinent question.

Clearly there is only one way to find out. History Boy climbs into the hut and I follow. Not that I am sure what I will do should we find a proper fire given that, between the two of us, we have half a bottle of water and no grasp of the Norwegian language. Marshall an evacuation of the site, maybe.

"Ah..." I hear.

I walk into the main room of the hut, darkness and smoke clinging to my vision. I can see enough, however, to be able to tell that the fire is firmly under control and there for demonstration purposes. Ye Olde Norwegian had to cook when they weren't making up stories about trolls, after all.

"And you thought there was a proper fire" I say, dipping my words with as much mockery as I can muster and gently forgetting the fact that I had harboured similar ideas too.

History Boy takes a fool-proof approach to getting me to be quiet and picks up his camera. I immediately disappear out of shot.

When I arrive back, blinking, into the outside light it seems warmer than when I went in. At this rate I shall be slightly pinkish by the end of the holiday.

"This way!" History Boy says.

I know immediately what is going to happen. He is going to make me climb a hill.

I take a deep breath and prepare myself for the inevitable indignity. I am wearing a white skirt, after all.

I fumble my way up the path that isn't really a path.

"If I die..."

It is only mildly melodramatic given the likelihood of my tripping on one of the many exposed roots and plummeting down the slight incline.

"I'll continue to the Church".

It is nice to know that I shall be mourned.

This continues for a couple of minutes, my stopping the melodrama only because I need to concentrate on not losing my footing. Eventually, when this off-roading malarkey has almost passed its sell-by-date, the trees clear.

The Stave Church rises in front of me and it is as if we have suddenly been hurtled backwards.

I open my mouth to say something, but, somehow, the words fall away.

1 comment:

Val said...

He's a brave man, to make you walk up a hill!

It looks gorgeous though, you're reminding me I really want to go to Scandanavia