Norway day 1; Oslo

It’s been a long day.

We were up at 5.30 this morning and in the airport shuttle by 6.45.  We master the technology of the modern day air-traveller; on-line check-in, on-line baggage check, printing our own boarding passes.   So far so good.  

Gatwick is heaving;  Anniemay wonders if it’s always this busy.  Screaming children, quite put-out teenagers and a lot of resigned parents doing their best.  I eventually twig - not only is it a bank holiday - it’s half term as well.  So in spite of our efforts above, we still end up sitting for ages, waiting to board. 

The flight is good and not too long.  We catch the express train to Oslo city centre and arrive about lunch time (they’re an hour ahead.).  We have a few hours to kill before we can check in to our hotel.  And it’s very, very warm.  So we leave our cases at the station.  

We have a long leisurely lunch in the sun, then collect an ‘Oslo Pass’ which gives us free access to museums/galleries and free public transport, before eventually making our way to the hotel.  It’s gone 4.00pm by the time we arrive.  We crash for a couple of hours before heading out for supper.

Our hotel is set in a hipster part of Oslo; derelict factories and iron works have been converted into trendy bars and restaurants.  I promise Anniemay a treat at a place I found online.  The door is locked and although my Norwegian is non-existent, I can work out that the unfamiliar words mean ‘closed on Mondays’.

 She’s hungry and disappointed.  I am too.  

There’s a place opposite - The Lucky Bird.  That sounds nice, I say.  It’s only after we’ve got  a table and a drink, that I realise the bird in question may not be so lucky after all.  Every dish features chicken.  Anniemay despairs; “even the macaroni cheese has got chicken in it.  Am I going to have eat chicken?”  

We explain to the waitress about not realising there were no vegetarian options - the pictures of chickens which decorate the walls of the restaurant having failed to hammer home the message.  The waitress asks the chef to pick the bits of chicken out of the macaroni cheese and we get our meal.

On the way back to the hotel, I blipped this dog house.  It seemed appropriate.

ps; 
in case any dog owners are distraught at the prospect of dogs sitting in tin sheds when it's 29C outside, I can reassure them that they're temperature controlled and ventilated.