Stockholm to Trondheim (via Karlstad and Oslo)

I left Stockholm for Karlstad on a fairly old, rickety train in a second-class seat. The seats weren’t marked as free or reserved and I didn’t have a reservation so I just picked a nice looking seat and sat down. I’d just congratulated myself on getting to the train OK (it’s the little things) when an elderly gentleman appeared.

“Trgbaaven flavin staj kli” he said. My Swedish isn’t what you’d call fluent so I used my best English to ask what the devil he was talking about. It turned out I was sat in his seat, so with a million apologies I left, leaving him to spend a good five minutes brushing off his seat as if I were a moulting cat. I never understand why people do this, whatever imaginary things you’re too good to sit on is totally fine to get on your hand? I was tempted to cough up a furball in his direction.

Anyway, after that the journey was brilliant. Travel through the Swedish countryside is great, you’ll be rushing through a pine forest and all of a sudden there’ll be a giant lake surrounded by trees or a perfect little cabin with white lintels. I spent the entire journey with my nose to the window.

Eventually I arrived at Karlstad and I couldn’t really remember why I’d wanted to be there. It was the last place I’d booked while still in the UK and I think it was in part because it’s halfway to the Norwegian border, and also I got a good deal on the hotel room (my very own shower! Decadent luxury!). I didn’t quite realise when booking that it’s directly above an undertakers.

I’m rather afraid that kind of set the tone for Karlstad. It’s a quiet, smallish city (population 86,000ish compared to York’s 200,000ish + million tourists) in the middle of Sweden with little to do. I wandered through all the streets, went to the parks, drank a lot of coffee and wondered if this is what it’s like to be in a coma.

I also played my favourite travel game of “laugh at words in a different language that mean something quite different in English”. The best one I could find was “bra priser”, Swedish for “good price”, but in English it’s obviously a marital aid for a middle-aged couple in a passionate-less marriage (“no, sorry my love, it’s just not coming off, I need to get my bra priser. I think it’s in the loft — or did I lend it to Gary?”)

I’m probably being a little harsh, I mean what should one expect from a small town in the middle of Sweden? I’d certainly booked the room for too long, I could have done with being there for just a night or two rather than the four.

Regardless, I was very happy to be on the train to Oslo — my second country on my trip! Woohoo!

Again, the train ride was breathtaking, I’d love to see the forests in spring or summer. I have to say though, the character of the scenery changed in Norway, where it became less picturesque and more rugged frontierland, it looked like it would be hard living there.

On arrival I immediately took the wrong turn out of the station, as is my wont, and ended up in such a sketchy area. It’s been a while since I felt so unsafe anywhere. I was acutely aware I was on my own, obviously not a local and with a bag of heavy things on my back. I was very happy to eventually make it to the hostel, and then a bit sad because it was definitely a step down in hostels. It was an 8 person room, I was in a top bunk which I’ve taken a real dislike to and the staff were reasonably rude.

I needed to do some laundry (times were grim, I was down to my least favourite pair of socks) and while the hostel did have a laundry room it was reached by following a series of arrows in an underground car park. The receptionist didn’t tell me I needed to follow the arrows so I got very lost. There’s a time in life when you’re lost in an underground car park carrying a bag of laundry and a cup of washing powder that you start to question if your life has become some sort of cruel reality TV show (if it is then I have some suggestions to make, Herr Direkktor). The car park and laundry room seemed like Murder Central so as soon as my clothes were dryish I fled.

I had company that weekend in the form of Oli and Helen which was great. I hadn’t seen them for ages and it was good to catch up. They also introduced me to the free walking tour which I hadn’t even known existed and we spent an enjoyable day taking in the sights. In return I introduced Helen to the concept of getting lost and did my own free walking tour of Oslo’s Construction Sites, of which there seems to be an awful lot. We also went out in the evening, and I learned that I’m not drinking for a bit, the hangover is just not worth it anymore and generally I don’t like being drunk.

Hangover dealt with, we had an expensive and not very good meal and I said goodbye to my company, and got ready to say goodbye to Oslo. I struggled to like Oslo, I did feel really uncomfortable in the sketchy area near the station and I never really lost that, and I failed to get a grasp on where I was geographically in the city which is fun for a bit but does get frustrating.

I’d booked an overnight train from Oslo to Trondheim on the basis that I’d not have to pay for a nights accommodation and would have 2 full days free in each place, plus I could sleep on the train! A brilliant plan I felt, one that immediately fell apart when the guy who was to sit next to me showed up.

He was an old guy and I’m not sure if he was drunk or crazy or both but he muttered to himself in Norwegian, just quietly enough for me to hear, continually for about 3 hours when he switched to the equally annoying tactic of gently elbowing me in the ribs, waking me up each time I was falling asleep. A good nights sleep it was not. The train was also late getting in and required changing to a bus, but all of the trials were worth it, because I really love Trondheim.

Formerly the capital of Norway, if you ask me they should restore it. There are beautiful harbours, the old town is gorgeous and the cathedral is amazing. When I went to the cathedral it was raining, there were no sounds other than the oddly spooky rhythmic sweeping of a brush and the caws of the birds above. It was the sort of place one might expect to bid Eric Draven a good morning, freshly risen from his grave. It was only as I left I realised it was also Halloween.

I don’t know if it was the lack of sleep, the rain or the quietness of where I was but it all seemed so strange. Once I saw a dog wearing people clothes and thought to myself that things are Not Right here, before its owner showed up a beat later. I loved it all — I was tired, soaked and hungry but I was very happy. Progress indeed, usually at this point I’d be hurling people off bridges.

I also took a walk out to Dora I, one of the sites from which Dönitz launched his U-boats to wreak havoc in the Atlantic. I’m a bit of a history nerd (ladies, please — form an orderly queue!) and this was the first time I’ve seen an actual Second World War building of the Axis, so the sheer scale of it took some getting used to. Tragic really, the effort used to satisfy the demands of some misguided people. One couldn’t help wondering what the world would be like if all that effort were used for kinder, more compassionate means. I stood there and thought for a bit, before cheering myself up with my hourly coffee infusion and a wander round the old town.

On that note we’ll leave Trondheim. I’m editing this after the fact and I now have a charger for my laptop so the subsequent entries will be a bit longer or more frequent and cover fewer places, it’s much easier to write on a laptop than a phone! Written on November 7th, 2017 by David Seddon