From Bergen I took the aforementioned 14 hour, over-night bus
ride to Trondheim. I was a total mess when I was dropped off at 6:30 in the
morning in the rain, after only having dozed for about an hour. With no map
and no clue where the hostel was located, I grabbed the first cab to shuttle
me there. I chose the “dormitory” room in Trondheim for two reasons.
One, I absolutely had to cut corners, what with all the travel costs
adding up on my trek north. Two, I was getting sick of eating dinner alone
and the best way to meet people is in the multi-bunk bed rooms.
Sure as schiznit, I acquired a friend from Switzerland later
in the day and seeing as how it was Saturday night, we decided to paint the
town red together. The nightlife in Trondheim was much like every other Norwegian
city. Since drinking is almost prohibitively pricey, when the Norwegians decide
that they’re going to tie one on, they really cut loose. Everyone
was arriving at the clubs stinking drunk. People that drunk are usually turned
away at the door at clubs in most other countries, but everyone understands
the drill in Norway, so people are encouraged to limp in (after paying the
huge cover charge, of course) and let the insanity unfold.
Trondheim is overrun with the usual hoards of gorgeous women
and statues. The big attraction, and I mean really big, is the Nidaros
Cathedral. This is one big effing church. Even with my camera’s photo
stitching to assist me, I could not get the whole thing into one frame. A
huge, poorly placed line of trees kept me from backing far away enough to
fit the whole thing into one picture. Construction of the cathedral began
in 1070, but after having burned several times and being rebuilt over and
over, the oldest surviving part of the cathedral is only from the
middle of the 12th century.
After having purged myself of partaking in a shameless tourist
trap, I moved on to bond with the locals. Trondheim was sunny and in the low
seventies each day and the place to be in this weather was the huge grassy
knoll down by Nidelva River, where young people go to sun themselves, play
soccer and check each other out. I spent a lot of time in knoll.
While wandering around the neighborhood near my hostel, I ran
across a large group of people playing a game I had never seen before. It
appeared to be a cross between bowling and horse shoes. Each player had the
opportunity to throw three round, flat metal discs at a set of three pegs
standing lengthwise on the other side of a long sandbox. Points were accumulated
depending on how many pegs one could knock down in his or her three tries.
It looked damn hard and just like in horse shoes, the old guys were always
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