Norwegian kroner have holes in them. *Cool.*

I'm in Oslo! I'm in the Tiniest Hotel Room Ever! I have a twin bed, a v. comfortable chair, and a bathroom where the toilet is essentially in the shower (do not try and fool me with your "shower curtain;" if I turned the shower on while perched on the toilet, my feet would get wet), but I'm pretty much okay with that, because the floor is heated!

The travel was super, super easy, for values of "easy" involving "actually waking up with the alarm at six am after less than five hours' sleep for the second night in a row, having just enough time before the cab arrived to wheedle a tiny teacup of espresso out of the closed kitchen while checking out of my hotel, having a lovely conversation in half French, half English with my cab driver, avoiding long lines at the airport because I totally win for checking in online last night, getting an extra discount on my duty-free camera bag because I am traveling to Norway (??? - but I'm not complaining), getting a smoothie for breakfast that is apple, strawberry, mint, ginseng, guarana, and yoghurt (OMGYUM), being mildly vexed at Brussels' airport's refusal to post gate assignments until actual boarding time (no, really, WTF), having a whole row of three to myself on a v. pleasant flight, racking up booze at the duty free store, realizing to my chagrin that I didn't actually need my passport to get into Oslo, because I was arriving from a fellow Schengen country, arriving just in time to catch the express train to downtown, and my room being ready when I arrived at my hotel only two blocks from the train (albeit a long two blocks when wheeling a suitcase over construction and cobblestones."

So, yeah. Easy.

I rolled in around 1:30 and was back on the streets by 2, desperate for food. (The smoothie, she is not an all-day meal.) Grabbed a dubious calzone from a little deli thing, which redeemed itself by having v. comfortable cushy chairs for eating and relaxing. The weather is heartbreakingly gorgeous here, blue skies and right around forty degrees, which is practically balmy if the locals' activities are any indication (hordes of people everywhere, packed sidewalk cafes, and more outdoor ice cream consumption than you can shake a stick at).

Unfortunately, my feet remain deeply jacked up, and my one afternoon to walk around is being hampered by the whole "walking around" bit. I saw the old fort; I saw several v. old and v. scenic buildings; I found the yarn store and fondled Dale of Norway sweaters (OMG I'm in a country where stranded knitting is a national souvenir), and now I'm kind of done.

I'mma call my mom and squee/whine at her (Oslo! :D Feet! D:) for a little while, and I'll probably venture out for food (again) later on, but I'm not going to kill myself here. Doing my best impression of the original little mermaid story does no one any good, even if this is my last big day of walking for a little bit, I think.

Norwegian food: 3. Emily: 0.

First there was the slight miscommunication/differing expectations as to what exactly constitutes "pepperoni" in a calzone. (I would have called it salami.)

Then there was what was admittedly my own fault, in that I am accustomed to Bruxellois dining times so therefore left my hotel a little after eight for dinner, only to find that the restaurants within a four-block radius that didn't close at eight were the ones that closed at seven. Except for, of course, the McDonalds, the Burger King, and Dennis's 24 Hour Kebabs.

Okay, I said then, let's be all adventurous and whatnot, and let's go for the kebabs. You like kebabs. You like pita. Mmmm, shish taouk-y kind of things. Except for how there was more sauce than substance, and the meat(?) that was on the normal rotate-y kebab thing sort of looked like a leg of Spam that had been shoved on a skewer and tasted about as appealing.

Luckily the kiosk across from the hotel was still open, so now I have a bar of kinder and a bag of potet skruer, which Google Translations tells me are potato screws. They look (and taste) kind of like rotini made out of vague potatoey substance. Still, it's food, and I will take it at this point.

I'm a bit sad, though. Two of the restaurants I sought out around my hotel were sushi, and they looked really good. Especially the salmon.

(Side note: Tiniest Hotel Room Ever also has Thinnest Walls and Floors Ever. I'm directly above the kitchen. There is no point at which I have been in THRE that someone has not been chopping something.)

ETA: wait wait wait! I forgot my first food (for a loose definition of food) encounter in Norway, and it was totally a win: duty-free liquor! I have a bottle of really nice Barolo from Italy and a frickin' litre of Jamesons, for less than twenty dollars each! Let me repeat: a litre of Jamesons. Eighteen bucks. That's, like. Half price? Or less? Dude.