Sophie’s World

Oslo and Copenhagen are both in the headlines these days; Oslo for being the venue of the Nobel Peace Prize Ceremony on 10 December, and Copenhagen for hosting the United Nations Climate Conference 09 on 7 - 18 December.

Oslo’s Frogner Park and Copenhagen’s Tivoli

The question is, where will Obama be? In Oslo to receive his Peace Prize? Or in Copenhagen to help fight for the environment?

Earlier this month, Erik Solheim, Norwegian Minister (Secretary) of the Environment, said it’s more important that Obama attend the Copenhagen Conference. (Newspaper article in Norwegian only). Well said, Erik! I agree! If he had to choose one or the other.

Of course, he could easily do both. These two Scandinavian capitals are only a 50-minute-flight apart. Or an environmentally-friendly 7-hour train journey.

Your thoughts?

Meanwhile, in the interest of fairness to both cities, I’ll post a link to the Copenhagen entry on the I Heart My City series on National Geographic’s Intelligent Travel blog (also, my daughter wrote it ) Alexandra’s Copenhagen.

National Geographic’s Intelligent Travel blog hosts a series called I Heart My City. Time to show off Oslo a bit, I think. It’s not all about expensive beer, ya know! You’ll find links to many of the sites on the Nat’l Geo blog post.

Fabulous photo of Oslo Opera House by Nebbdyret on flickr

Oslo is My City.

The first place I take a visitor from out of town is Vigeland Park, taking in Gustav Vigeland’s fabulous nudes amidst the scent of 14000 roses.

When I crave coffee, cake and cool jazz, I always go to Bare Jazz, watering hole and well-stocked record shop.

To escape the crowds on a Saturday afternoon, I sit down under a tree by medieval Akershus Fortress and watch life as it passes by.

If I want to have a beer and people watch, I go to Aker Brygge.

For complete quiet, I can hide away in the Nordmarka Forest, 20 minutes by tram from the city center. Except on Sundays, when everyone else is doing the same.

If you come to my city, get your picture taken next to the Angry Little Boy.

If you have to order one thing off the menu from Grand Café it has to be a huge open shrimp sandwich.

Nomaden is my one-stop shop for everything travel-related, from books to bug spray.

When I’m feeling cash-strapped I go to Fru Hagen Café in the lively Grunerløkka district

For a huge splurge I go to Bagatelle, for its emphasis on local products and modern cooking (and two Michelin stars).

Photo ops in my city include the new Oslo Opera House and the best vantage point is the roof.

If my city were a celebrity it’d be Alfred Nobel of Nobel Prize fame, prosperous and peace-loving.

Considering it’s the world’s most expensive city, the most unexpected thing about my city is the wide range of inexpensive/free activities on offer.

My city has the most tall, blond, athletic men.

My city has the most tall, blond, athletic women.

In Oslo, an active day outdoors involves a long hike in the forest surrounding the city – or sailing on the fjord.

My city’s best museum is the Natural History Museum, where you can meet Ida, the oldest primate fossil ever found. 47 million years old, she’s our oldest relative.

My favorite jogging/walking route is around Bogstad lake.

For a night of live music - heavy metal or jazz - check out Blå.

Onkel Donald is the spot for late-night eats.

To find out what’s going on at night and on the weekends, read visitoslo.com

You can tell a lot about my city by watching people metamorphose with the arrival of spring.

You can tell if someone is from my city if they claim they were born with skis on their feet. They were!

In the spring you should watch the Russ (high school seniors) dressed in red and acting naughty, livening up the city (way too much for some people’s tastes.)

In the summer you should island hop in the Oslo fjord, stopping at Hovedøya to swim and explore medieval monastery ruins.

In the fall you should wade through the rustling leaves and chestnuts along Karl Johan, Oslo’s bustling main street.

In the winter you should rent a pair of skates and dance at Narvisen skating rink in the city center.

A hidden gem in Oslo is Huk beach, where you can wear a swimsuit if you want. Or not.

For a great breakfast joint try any branch of BIT, where you get free croissants with coffee before 10 o’clock.

Don’t miss 17 May – Norwegian national day, when all the schools parade along the streets and the royal family waves for hours from the palace balcony.

Just outside Oslo, a mere 30 minutes away, you can visit river city Drammen, where you can climb Kjøsterudjuvet Canyon or sit on a fountain at Bragernes Square and munch strawberries. Cross pedestrian bridge Ypsilon and listen to the River Harp, a cool sound sculpture reflecting variations in water flow and bridge oscillations.

The best way to see Oslo is on foot.

If my city were a pet it would be a cat, stretching lazily in spring after a long winter nap.

If I didn’t live in a city, I’d live near a glacier by the ocean.

The best book about Oslo is Knut Hamsun’s Hunger.

When I think about my city, the song that comes to mind is Fairytale by Alexander Rybak, combining traditional Norwegian folk music and modern pop (and winner of the 2009 Eurovision Song Contest.)

If you have kids, you won’t want to miss Bygdøy with Viking ships, Thor Heyerdahl’s Kon-Tiki raft and the Polar ship Fram, used by Roald Amundsen for the 1911 race to the South Pole. He won!

Allemannsretten could only happen here; meaning that anyone has access to uncultivated land, including mountains, forests and beaches – regardless of ownership.

My city should be featured on your cover/site because it’s home of the Nobel Peace Prize, recently famous for being somewhat controversially awarded to Barack Obama.

It’s early evening in the village surrounding Qala’at al-Bahrain. The creatively decorated houses remind me of pictues in fairy-tales, especially through the filter of the setting sun. Five horsemen appear out of the dusk in front of the cool silhouette of a large 16th century Portuguese fort. This is the home of Iranians, says Aziz, my guide for the evening. This is a shia village.

On UNESCOs World Heritage List since 2005, Qala’at al-Bahrain has been inhabited for 4 500 years – apparent through 12 metres of layers. The tell has been partially excavated and various types of buildings have appeared: houses, shops, churches, military installations. This Arabian/Persian Gulf port city was capital of the Dilmun civilization, trading partner of ancient Mesopotamia.

On top of the tell (mound) is the Portuguese fort, the qala’a. As darkness descends, the old battlements seems a bit eerie. I notice I’m drawn to the areas that are lit-up. Aziz used to work as a guard here at the fort. After locking the heavy wooden doors, he would often be the only one about during the night. Must have been a veritable feasting ground for the imagination. Although he appears to be a very sensible, no nonsense type of guy.

There is a good museum on the site, which we barely make before closing time. After the slightly oppressive heat, it’s pleasant to enter the cool stone building.

Inside are artifacts from the various layers of human habitation.

An unusual practice in Dilmum was sacrificing snakes. In this area, snakes were associated with fertility, long life and divine protection. See the snake in the bowl above?

Bahrain National Museum

For an even closer look at Bahraini history, I’ll warmly recommend Bahrain National Museum. Located in a large building by the waterfront, it’s high-ceilinged, light and airy and has wonderful exhibits of daily life in Bahrain through the ages. The “people” are life-like; colourfully dressed women and some of the men slightly scary-looking ;). There are wedding scenes, a souk and a great outline of pearl fishing history.

Back from Kuwait, Bahrain felt a bit like coming home. I had an early morning flight, so I checked into the Mövenpick Bahrain on Muharraq Island. The Mövenpick is beautiful; very rare for an airport hotel.

On the down side, everything cost extra, incl. use of wifi. Even breakfast is extra. A hefty 7 BD. Hadn’t my flight been so early, I would have sprung for that, though - to get my last fill of haloumi, yogurt, mint tea, hummus, Arabic bread, lebneh… yum!

On Muharraq Island, my trusty guide book told me, I had to see the traditional houses, reminding me I was in the Middle East, and not in some futuristic version of London or New York. I asked the concierge how long a walk it was. “Half an hour, at least,” he said. “And it’s much too hot. I will get you a taxi.” He proceeded to call over a driver, eagerly waiting nearby. To his disappointment, I insisted on walking; for me an essential part of travelling.

Setting off for the houses, I found them 10 minutes later (so much for ‘at least half an hour’…) It was a nice, toasty 40 degrees C and after ambling around for an hour, I longed for shade and a place to sit. Finally finding a ledge, I dug out a tattered blue notebook and a bottle of tepid water while I considered the old Noel Coward song. It should probably be amended: “Mad dogs, Englishmen and Vikings go out in the noonday sun.”

No one was in sight, except for a haughty Bahraini cat, whose ledge I must have pinched judging by the look she gave me. I began jotting down notes, random thoughts. (In my note book, I had actually stopped mid-sentence, mid-word, even. I have written “for me an essen…”.)

You see, as I was sitting there writing, two young men from a large house across the street approached. “My name is Yousef,” said the tallest. “I would like to invite you to my home. This is Hassan, my cousin. We are having a family gathering. Please come in and join us.”

I hesitated. A single woman, going inside a house with two complete strangers? Hm… Handsome strangers, it must be said, but still…

What the hell. Curiosity got the better of me. I got up from the ledge (Haughty promptly reclaimed it) and went with them. Inside the house, I was welcomed by the entire family - about 20 of them, mostly women.

They had just finished lunch. Had I already had lunch or should they set a small table for me? I said no, afraid of imposing (silly me for turning down a no doubt fabulous meal). Instead, I joined them for coffee.

Every Friday, the extended family meets for a long lunch, I was told. Everyone brings dishes. They insisted I try everything: pancakes, bakhlava, creme caramel, sweets, fruits, nuts. Along with delicious Arabic coffee.

I jotted down the recipe, spilling a bit as I went. Another stain. I can be very clumsy. On the other hand, it nicely matches the squashed bug blood on the opposite page.

After having made sure I wrote it down properly, one of the women went into the kitchen. She returned a few minutes later with a jar containing some coffee and a bag of accompanying spices: cloves, cardamom and saffron. “Take this home with you,” she said. “Of course, with Arabic coffee you must have this,” she continued - and produced a large bag of ripe dates.

After a while, afraid to outstay my welcome, I got up to leave. But by then it was time for tea. I stayed for nearly two hours, made new friends, learned heaps and had a great afternoon. (Probably gained a few kilos as well - but worth it.)

Arab hospitality is legendary. I don’t know where else people would ask a total stranger into their home like that. Certainly not in my part of the world. Sadly, Scandinavians, like many other Westerners, are much too sceptical of strangers.

Oh, and the dates? Didn’t take them home. Ate them all. Instead of dinner. Ambrosial.

In enchanting Hay-on-Wye, opposite the town clock, the Seven Stars offers something quite unusual for a British B&B: a heated swimming pool and a sauna. My daughters enjoyed it so much, they refused to get out of the pool in the morning and I had to have breakfast by myself. Their loss. Russell Sime, owner and award-winning chef, serves up a delicious Full Welsh breakfast: eggs, bacon, sausage, beans, smoked haddock, tea, toast, fruit compote, the lot.

The Seven Stars

Just a few hours’ drive from London, Hay-on-Wye makes a great weekend destination. Skirting the border between England and Wales, this little town is perhaps best known for being the world’s first book town and member of the International Book Towns Movement. Quirky book shops and shelves abound and books are often sold on a trust system. Along the walls of 12th century Hay Castle, brightly coloured books enliven the mysterious Norman citadel. Every year in May - June, the town hosts the Hay Festival of Literature & Arts.

The Seven Stars B&B is in the centre of town, well-placed for the Castle, the book shops, tea rooms and pubs. We liked The Granary Cafe, right across the street, with its cheerful staff and comprehensive menu (including creative vegetarian fare). Next door to the B&B is a large old-fashioned toy shop, where my 7-year-old spent most of her holiday money.

We stayed in a huge bright airy suite: a sitting room and two bedrooms, with brick walls, oak beams and creaky floors. It’s as if history is alive in the walls of the 16th century house. This B&B has a soul.

Prices from GBP 39.95 per person double occupancy or GBP 94 for the suite, including breakfast and free use of the pool.

The Seven Stars
11 Broad Street
Hay-on-Wye
Herefordshire
HR3 5DB
Tel + 44 1497 820886
e-mail: bookings@theseven-stars.co.uk

Photo credits: Anne-Sophie Redisch

Casolare di Remignoli

Located in the hills about 5 kilometres from San Gimignano, Casolare Remignoli is an ideal base for exploring Tuscany. Florence, Siena, Vinci, Monteriggioni and Volterra are all less than ½ hour away.

Italian country roads, especially the small, unpaved ones, aren’t always clearly marked. As a result, I got lost a few times and had some difficulty finding it in the dark. But even though we arrived after midnight (much later than planned), we were greeted warmly. My two daughters and I enjoyed every moment of our 5-day-stay.

A large renovated ancient farmhouse, its rooms are spacious with beautiful terracotta floors, wooden ceiling beams and wrought iron beds. Outside, surrounded by olive trees and grapevines, is a nice swimming pool overlooking Chianti and the towers of San Gimignano. It’s the perfect place to watch the sun set after a busy day of sightseeing. Especially with a glass of the local white wine, Vernaccia di San Gimignano. My girls (a seven-year-old and a teen) were perfectly happy to play with the cat, in the pool or at the ping-pong table. Casolare di Remignoli had all we needed.

View towards San Gimignano

With prices from EUR 80 for a double room (we paid nothing for the extra bed), the Casolare di Remignoli is affordable and family-friendly. In summer, continental breakfast is served outside on a pretty covered patio: cappuccino and delicious Tuscan bread with a fabulous view.

Here, as in most of Tuscany, you’ll need a bicycle or a car to make the most of your stay. The B&B has free parking (often next to a Lamborghini tractor).

Address:
Casolare di Remignoli
Remignoli 26
53037 San Gimignano
Siena (SI) Toscana
Tel. + 39 348 6615984
Fax + 39 057 7094618
info@remignoli.com

photo credit: Anne-Sophie Redisch

After dropping me off at the Kuwait House of National Memorial Museum, Assis, my taxi driver for the day, makes sure I see the Iraqi tank displayed outside.

Entering, I pay 1 KD and get a personal guide, Sakina. She starts by reeling off names of former sheikhs; the earliest ones are names on plaques, the later ones have their paintings displayed. Then follows a section devoted to the discovery of oil and the early days of prosperity.

While I wait for Sakina to get the new, modern, bi-lingual audio-system ready, I stroll through to the front yard; drawn by a model of a house being torpedoed. The name Saddam is painted on the torpedo. Flags of the nations that helped Kuwait in its hour of need, surround the monument.

The rest of the museum is about the Gulf War and its consequences. Which is what I came here to see.

The horrors of the war are told while I walk through a dark corridor. Models of houses, people, war planes, tanks are illuminated and timed with smoke and sound effects. Planes wiz by, bombs are dropped, houses set on fire, machine guns rattle, people shout. It all seems very realistic - and tells the story through Kuwaiti eyes.

Read the rest of this entry »

I was going to cover my visit to Kuwait in one post, but too many things just leaped out and demanded their own space. So first out: Kuwait Towers.

30-year-old Kuwait Towers is probably the best known landmark on the Arabian Penisula. Outside Dubai, that is. Designed by Scandinavians, and comprising two large spheres and a spike, the towers are surely Kuwait’s top attraction.

Read the rest of this entry »

Oslo may be the world’s most expensive city, but it is possible to enjoy this beautiful Scandinavian capital on a budget - even free. Have a look at NileGuide’s Family-friendly Oslo - on a budget.

Oslo Opera House

It’s 18:30 and I’m in Moda Mall, Bahrain World Trade Centre, wondering where all the people are.

Moda is a huge shopping centre with high-end boutiques. Just from where I now sit, I see Louis Vuitton, Dior, Emporio Armani, Versace and Fendi. And where I sit is in a purple velvet chair; one of many comfortable, yet elegant chairs and sofas in a large hall. From the high ceiling posters encourage me to “shop to win weekly vouchers up to BD 45,000″. In the middle of the hall are displayed two smart Boxster sports cars, one blue and one white, all tied up in red ribbons.

Occasionally, a group of two or three veiled black-clad women walk by. Bahraini women can be very striking. Slender, with high heels and hair piled high under their head gear, they look mysterious and beautiful, gliding across the shining marble floors.

Shopkeepers hang about in their doorways, happy to see me. They invite me in, smiling hopefully but not being pushy. How do they survive in these large, dazzling, empty halls? Earlier today, I was in Harbour Mall for a while to get out of the heat. Free wifi and being waited on hand and foot was nice - but it was a bit boring being the only one about. Too early, I was told. Everyone goes to the malls at six. Well, it’s past six now. I ask a guard - the one who just told me I couldn’t take pictures inside the mall - if Tuesday perhaps is a slow day.

“No,” he replies. “It’s always like this. Not many people.” And yet Cartier is just about to open a shop here. As is South African diamond giant De Beers. They must see potential that I don’t.

Another group walks by, comprising a well-fed man in white garb and Yassir Arafat head gear - and four women. Well inside, one of the women rips off her head scarf, revealing a face that is 12 at most. They all enter Versace.

Next to my plush velvet chairs is a red and black bedouin tent, with a Persian carpet, pretty lanterns, large cushions and sofas. A man dressed in a white dishdasha has taken off his shoes and is having a lie-down on one of the sofas. For a few minutes, he and I are the only ones in sight. He snores lightly, disturbing the melancholic French song playing on the surround system.

I’m eager to snap some pix of the snoring man in the tent, but the guard must have read my mind. He keeps looking at me, smiling knowingly. Not that there is much else for him to look at. Nothing that breathes anyway.

Another family walks by. A man, four women in black with faces uncovered and two young children. They look like brothers and sisters, all chatting and laughing. The women look pretty and gay, but in this group, the man is the striking one: tall, slim, with a strong nose, a beard, warm brown eyes and extraordinarily beautiful features. Shamelessly, I try to sneak a photo, but who looks around the corner just then but the omnipresent guard, tut-tutting and shaking his head. I consider following them into Burberry instead, then stop myself before I become a stalker.

Les feuilles mortes is now playing. The large empty hall creates a slightly surreal echoing effect. It’s a haunting, beautiful song: my father’s favourite, I’ve been told - last popular in the 60s, right before he died. Left. For a long time, I’m lost in thought; in another world.

A woman in black comes up to my neighbour in the tent, his wife presumably, and shakes him gently. He wakes, stretches and farts, bringing me back to earth.

Time to go out into the hot Bahraini night.