The cab took us to Holmenkollen, where there is a ski museum and ski jump. In the museum, we saw skis from about 990 A.D. We saw short skis, long skis, furry skis, wood skis, fiberglass skis, and medal-winning skis. Let me just say that I am truly thankful for modern technology and bindings that release. T. gravitated toward the displays of hunting on skis (in the days when a person carried only one ski pole, the end that didn’t stick in the ground could have a cup at the end, a fancy carved knob, or a spear head with which to attack fauna) and ski warfare. The father of the current king of Norway was an avid skier and much beloved because of it; I found it amusing to see the pictures of him throughout his life from tiny boy to old man on skis.
We took the lift to the top of the ski jump and enjoyed looking out over the spectacular view. T. says he would go down the jump if he could go in a sled. I will be making sure he has no contact with sleds while we are here. After we came down, naturally we had to go in the ski jump simulator, which is only half-accurately named. The first part of the simulation is of jumping from the very ski jump we had just visited; if ski jumping is really like that, the only issue I have with it is, you know, the part where you have to land without shattering your legs. The second part was downhill skiing at 135 kmh. I found myself skiing along during the first part, trying to make the turns. The second part of the run seemed steeper and the movie part had angles that began to make me a little green. T. loved it (it meaning the simulation, but he also liked me being green).
T. found plenty of adventure himself, as you can see in the pictures:
T. figured we could walk to our next stop and I agreed, not feeling ready to attempt another assault on the T-Bahn. The way was downhill, so how bad could it be? I got us somewhat lost and had to cave in and use the magic blue dot on my phone to get us unlost. We did eventually end up where we were going, Vigeland Park. It’s a gorgeous garden place with about ten zillion statues by Gustav Vigeland. I’m not sure I can even describe what his work is like beyond saying that he likes to make figures of nudes of all ages and in various conjunctions, except that sounds more pornographic than it is.
After a reviving lunch of open-faced sandwiches (T. had shrimp, egg, and dill and I had paté, bacon, and pickle) and apple cake, we proceeded to get lost again. I love the blue dot. I really do love it. (Sorry about the roaming bill, Brent, but it was important to get unlost.) Eventually, we got found again and T. is doing his now habitual crash.
Forgot to mention: I am the champion at ping-pong, ahead 6 games to 4 against T.R., with me playing left-handed. He wants everyone to know, however, that he did beat me in one game 12 to 2. Did I mention I was playing left-handed?