The Trip to Oslo
Leaving the flatlands of Denmark and
southern Sweden behind is a gentle and uneventful experience and you don’t
notice much until you near Oslo. I had developed
a habit of taking pictures of the train stations like Kornsjo to record where I
was and, besides, they are perfect places for photo opportunities of the
locals. By this time in September, it
was apparent that the second haying season was ending in the lowlands. I assume sheep and cattle were still up on
the mountain slopes; I do not remember seeing either except for one small herd. After mowing, the farmers probably brought
them down to the stubble and winter forage areas.
I saw my first characteristic round
Norwegian hills about this time and I didn’t notice the sea because the train ran
inland until it approached the Olsofjorden at Moss. Prior to that as I neared Fredrikstad, there
appeared forests of pine trees and small ships docked in the oddest locations
receiving their loads of cut wood. Sawmills
leave their sawdust stacked in huge piles near the docks. The Beatle's song, Norwegian Wood was very fitting.
At first I thought the ships I saw ran on the rivers until I looked
closely at my pictures many years later, but the sea on the horizon was a dead
giveaway. Heavy industry also pops up along
these inlets just like in the Alps with the help of hydroelectric power.
Ferries make their runs from Britain
and elsewhere gliding into Oslo harbor past public housing that reminds me of
the rectangular chips on a computer’s Mother Board. I suppose it’s the same way elsewhere in
Scandinavia until you near the older parts of towns that have traditional architecture. That’s the new price of socialism, but in
fairness, their public housing is far superior to ours – clean and well
maintained. At the conclusion of my
Scandinavia adventures, I’ll show some of the most beautiful houses I saw and
they aren’t remotely like the straight line cubist wonders that have sprung on
the outskirts of most Scandinavian cities.
Leaving the flatlands of Denmark and
southern Sweden behind is a gentle and uneventful experience and you don’t
notice much until you near Oslo. I had developed
a habit of taking pictures of the train stations like Kornsjo to record where I
was and, besides, they are perfect places for photo opportunities of the
locals. By this time in September, it
was apparent that the second haying season was ending in the lowlands. I assume sheep and cattle were still up on
the mountain slopes; I do not remember seeing either except for one small herd. After mowing, the farmers probably brought
them down to the stubble and winter forage areas.
I saw my first characteristic round
Norwegian hills about this time and I didn’t notice the sea because the train ran
inland until it approached the Olsofjorden at Moss. Prior to that as I neared Fredrikstad, there
appeared forests of pine trees and small ships docked in the oddest locations
receiving their loads of cut wood. Sawmills
leave their sawdust stacked in huge piles near the docks. The Beatle's song, Norwegian Wood was very fitting.
At first I thought the ships I saw ran on the rivers until I looked
closely at my pictures many years later, but the sea on the horizon was a dead
giveaway. Heavy industry also pops up along
these inlets just like in the Alps with the help of hydroelectric power. 
Ferries make their runs from Britain
and elsewhere gliding into Oslo harbor past public housing that reminds me of
the rectangular chips on a computer’s Mother Board. I suppose it’s the same way elsewhere in
Scandinavia until you near the older parts of towns that have traditional architecture. That’s the new price of socialism, but in
fairness, their public housing is far superior to ours – clean and well
maintained. At the conclusion of my
Scandinavia adventures, I’ll show some of the most beautiful houses I saw and
they aren’t remotely like the straight line cubist wonders that have sprung on
the outskirts of most Scandinavian cities.