Danny & Pork Chop Go Scandinavian Day 6: PART ONE Reptiles & Haunting In the Museum
It’s early. I awake to a silent and beautiful Oslo morning. I picked a great time to visit. I pull the curtains open and am greeted by a familiar grey sky. I love it when the sky is overcast, heavily pregnant with Chubb-like clouds; It makes me feel safe, just like how crawling under a duvet or blanket does when you’re a child. Snow flutters down from the clouds and for a moment it hardly seems real. Now I’ve been to every Scandinavian country. I shower and slurp down a coffee before pulling on my hoodie and collecting my rucksack. Pork Chop and I want to be at the Reptile Park as soon as it opens... I step out of the hotel lobby and out into a flurry-filled morning. The silence is so thick you could cut it with a silver knife…and there’s not another soul in sight. Maybe it’s just the little complex that we’re stood in. Following the directions that I’ve more or less memorised, we head out onto the main road. Still nothing and no one. There are not even footprints in the fresh snow from last night and the early hours of this morning. It’s like we’re in a ghost town. The buildings that line to the road are darkened; even the petrol station on the corner is dark. A haunting feeling creeps up on us. What if all this is just a hallucination? What if I’m still asleep at the hotel and all of this is just a dream? I ignore the thought, clutch Pork Chop tighter to me and continue to shuffle through the snow and slush covered pavement. Christ, these people really need to shovel. Maybe I could get a job working as a shovel boy; I could clean all the pavement around the city centre and outwards. It would be a great workout too.
The first stop on today's agenda is the Oslo Reptile Park. I've been dying to visit here ever since I saw it on an attraction site when I was looking up things to do. Thankfully, it's not that far from the hotel, only 850 metres. I get to the park a little early, so I decide to just wander about, shooting some of the city, filming things for my mates who can't be here. As it draws closer to midmorning a few people start to appear in the snowy streets of the city. Relief washes over me. This isn't a dream...although it does feel like one. The city is beautiful. I need to see what it looks like in the spring/summer when the foliage is in full bloom; that has to be amazing.
I treck back to the reptile park, slipping in the slush that covers the pavement. I keep worrying that I'm gonna slip over and break my head. I kinda need that more than anything else. I make it back in one piece just as a friendly faced young woman is opening the door. "Hello! Come in!" I follow her down into the park. It's insanely warm. I don't know what I was expecting. "Can I take photos?" "Yes, you may. Enjoy yourself!" Does she see the sadness that dwells within me? Brushing off the feeling that she's looking into me I stop at the first tank. A big, thick yellow python snoozes in the corner under his heat lamp. I feel like Harry Potter at the London zoo. I wander around and see this little monkey-like creature hanging from the ceiling in its cage. It jumps down and begins nibbling away on its food dish. It looks up at me, making eye contact and sticks it's tongue out. That little-it's got a cute little face and I can't be angry with it. I wander down a little farther and take in snakes, turtles and frogs. I catch a frog laying down on the sand on the bottom of his tank having an existential crisis. This couldn't be any better. What a funny little bugger! I step in front of another python, only to have it lift its head and stare at me. Am I a wizard? It flicks its tail and slithers into another corner to watch me. It's not big enough to eat me, but I think it might be considering it.
I arrive at the museum 10 minutes before it opens. There’s not a line outside either. I’m still the only one stood there as an employee opens the door and, surprisingly,, greets me in English. He gives me a card to a cabinet where I can store my rucksack and then walks me into the museum shop where you purchase your tickets. A small woman with a bright smile welcomes me to the museum and asks me if I want the student or adult ticket. I nearly burst out laughing; this has been happening all week. Maybe I'm just a young looking fucker. Let's keep it that way, shall we? “It’s been quite some time since I was a student, love, but thank you for humouring me!” Her smile gets wider. “I wasn’t humouring you. One adult then? You can also use this to gain free entrance to the Viking ship museum if you go within the next 48 hours.” “I will have to go if I have the time!” I slide the 100 kroner note across the glass and she slips it into the till. Her hands are soft as she presses the receipt into my hands. “Enjoy the museum!” I store my back in the cabinet and lock it before heading up the grand marble staircase and into the second level of the museum.
Painted faces on the sarcophaguses of Egyptian mummies stare back at me from their glass homes. I've seen mummies all over the world, but every time it's something new. I love the semi-uniformization of Egyptian mummy exhibits. It's a goal of mine to go to Ciro and see the Pyramids, mummies and explore all that I can there. One day. One day. It's been a dream of mine for a while, always placed on the back burner. It's been replaced by other dreams and new adventures. For the moment I've got my sights set onShanghaii, Singapore, Cape Town, Brisbane, Melbourne and Mongolia. So many places to go, so little money and so little time. I actually want to go to Mongolia for my 30th birthday...that's like 3 and a half years away. o.o It's drawing closer. I've been wanting to do this for 2 years and still haven't gotten off my ass to look into it. Ah shit.
I take photos of the mummies and move onto the coin display. Money has always fascinated me. Interesting how little pieces of metal and paper-cloth and in some cases plastic control the world and ultimately, happiness. Why do things have to be this way? Before I start falling into a hole of existentialism and logic, I move along, filming the coins to show my mates back home.
The museum is dead quiet and I feel uneasy. The empty clothes hang on display feel haunted and the dim lighting does nothing but add to the spook factor. It feels like the clothes are going to come to life and grab me. Fear trickles down my spine as I tiptoe through the exhibits, the only living being around. It feels like I shouldn't be here...that these people don't want their belongings on display. They were the things they lived in and with, objects that are coated with their existences, not something to be ogled. It's the first time I've ever felt this way. It's an odd sensation. I'm not really a believer in the supernatural, but at the moment it doesn't seem too far fetched that there are ghosts hidden in the fabric of these clothes and dwelling within the material of the objects waiting to get me. I look up at the masks that adorn the wall and they stare right through me. They know my secrets. I shuffle along the Asian exhibit, pausing in front of samurai armour. I've always admired the culture of the samurai and loved the aesthetic of their battle armour, but as I gaze into the faceless of the display it doesn't feel right. I half expect the armour to come to life and attack me. What the fuck is going on?
I glance back at the armour to make sure that it's not following me, but it's still asleep in its little glass bedroom. I bend down to look at some of the small sculptures. The craftsmanship is amazing. That's what's missing today. Nobody gives a shit. There's no worth ethic like that anymore, or if there is it's rare. This is part of the problem with society. I gaze at the small figures, admiring the attention to detail in each face. It doesn't feel the same looking at these figures; these were made to be displayed, to tell tales of life and culture during a period in time. It's a showcase. I don't want to think about what the current times are showcasing-fucking kids eating laundry soap, robots controlling everything and people fighting over arbitrary ideas. The thought it is fucking depressing.
I glance back at the armour to make sure that it's not following me, but it's still asleep in its little glass bedroom. I bend down to look at some of the small sculptures. The craftsmanship is amazing. That's what's missing today. Nobody gives a shit. There's no worth ethic like that anymore, or if there is it's rare. This is part of the problem with society. I gaze at the small figures, admiring the attention to detail in each face. It doesn't feel the same looking at these figures; these were made to be displayed, to tell tales of life and culture during a period in time. It's a showcase. I don't want to think about what the current times are showcasing-fucking kids eating laundry soap, robots controlling everything and people fighting over arbitrary ideas. The thought it is fucking depressing.
I head into the next exhibit; It showcases art, clothing and history of several cultures from all over the world. South America and North America jump out at me as I walk in. The rooms are happy and welcoming, the bright cheerful colours almost laughing at me. It's a contrast from the culture of Asia. There's something clean about Asian culture and here with the native tribes, it's more...I don't know, human? It's more lived in. It's not neat, it's messy and celebrates in a different way. The contrast is interesting and thought-provoking. How can the same species be so different? The mind boggles.
The room to the left has the same dim low lights of the Asian area. Walking away from the warmth of the South American exhibit and into the Eskimo area, I feel that same sick sense of haunting. (If I'm not being PC, don't get pissy.)
The scariest of all is an Eskimo outfit. It's a man sitting up in a boat in full winter gear with some sort of mask on. I know there's not really a person in there, but something is filling out the clothing giving it the appearance of someone inside. The thought 'Waiting inside is someone petrified' comes to mind. Oh, Jesus Christ. What if someone is inside? I stare at the exhibit, almost paralysed by fear. He's going to stab me right here. The scene plays out in my mind and I almost scream. I grip Pork Chop's little hand for support and scurry away from the scary Eskimo man. It's like I'm about to have a bad trip. If this isn't paranoia, I'm not sure what is.
Rather than test my nerves any longer, I move downstairs to the last floor of displays. There's a large room with a few archaeological things, but it's a room filled with all sorts of objects, raising high to the ceiling that really catches my attention. Clothing, phone cases, toys, glassware. The entire display is perplexing and I want to touch it. There's no sign that says that I can't touch the things, but something tells me that I shouldn't. I look around and see two signs on the wall about the display, one in Swedish, the other in English. 'These are possessions of those who've died-'I read that and I'm struck by the thought that I had earlier about the historic relics. This is the same situation, only modern. I continue reading, fireworks exploding in my brain. 'All of the objects in this room were donated by the family members of a deceased person who could not bare to part with an Earthly possession that belonged to a loved one but could not keep them in their homes due to space, emotional pain or logistical problems.'
I almost stop breathing. I've been thinking a lot about things like this since Barb died. It also dawns on me as I sit there, staring into the thousands of lives represented in this room, that I've not moved any of her things. They still sit, the same, preserved. The only difference is that she's not there. I've not moved them because I can't move on, but because I guess, I don't want to forget her. I've got a horrible memory in some aspects and not having a piece of someone makes it hard for me to remember them if I don't have some sort of daily contact with them. People fade away if they're not in my everyday orbit. I've always been like this. If I don't see them, they no longer exist. I don't want to forget her...it's also selfish. I don't want to be forgotten. I wonder often what will happen to my belongings when I die or kill myself. I think of my room, sitting perfectly preserved as if I've just stepped out for the day, but I won't ever return to it.
Usually, I go to museums to turn off my philosophical and emotional questioning, but today it was full steam ahead. I got away because I didn't want to think about this shit and here I am, thousands of miles away from home, stood alone in a massive museum staring it down. There really is no geographical solution for emotional equations. I want to leave, but I can't. I stand for at least 10 minutes or more, thoughts just running through me. I think of Chubb, Abner, Jessica and Philli. The ones I have the most contact with every day. What will happen when I cease to exist for them? Will they move on as I do, unburned by death? Or will the mourn? I don't want them to mourn. I'm really not worth that, yet selfishly, I want something to be different when I die. Goddamn it.
I tear myself away from the room of the dead and wander into the last part of the museum housing medieval history. It's small, but it's enough to drive the thoughts out of my head. It's not as impressive as the museum in Stockholm, but I love the little section. I've found myself feeling more alive recently, getting back into all of my old passions. I might do a blog on some of these passions or something, talk about some of my older goals and how they've influenced who and what I am now. Interesting in many ways, boring in another, but some of you like that kind of thing, so why not. It might be fun.
I'm falling in love with this city. As I head back out into the light snowdrifts of the early afternoon, I already start planning out my next trip to Oslo. Why didn't I think about visiting Norway sooner? I started learning the language years ago but never made it a point to travel. I wonder what the National Gallery has in store for Pork Chop and me.
VISIT:
Reptile Park: https://www.reptilpark.no/
Historical Museum: http://www.khm.uio.no/english/visit-us/historical-museum/
The room to the left has the same dim low lights of the Asian area. Walking away from the warmth of the South American exhibit and into the Eskimo area, I feel that same sick sense of haunting. (If I'm not being PC, don't get pissy.)
The scariest of all is an Eskimo outfit. It's a man sitting up in a boat in full winter gear with some sort of mask on. I know there's not really a person in there, but something is filling out the clothing giving it the appearance of someone inside. The thought 'Waiting inside is someone petrified' comes to mind. Oh, Jesus Christ. What if someone is inside? I stare at the exhibit, almost paralysed by fear. He's going to stab me right here. The scene plays out in my mind and I almost scream. I grip Pork Chop's little hand for support and scurry away from the scary Eskimo man. It's like I'm about to have a bad trip. If this isn't paranoia, I'm not sure what is.
Rather than test my nerves any longer, I move downstairs to the last floor of displays. There's a large room with a few archaeological things, but it's a room filled with all sorts of objects, raising high to the ceiling that really catches my attention. Clothing, phone cases, toys, glassware. The entire display is perplexing and I want to touch it. There's no sign that says that I can't touch the things, but something tells me that I shouldn't. I look around and see two signs on the wall about the display, one in Swedish, the other in English. 'These are possessions of those who've died-'I read that and I'm struck by the thought that I had earlier about the historic relics. This is the same situation, only modern. I continue reading, fireworks exploding in my brain. 'All of the objects in this room were donated by the family members of a deceased person who could not bare to part with an Earthly possession that belonged to a loved one but could not keep them in their homes due to space, emotional pain or logistical problems.'
I almost stop breathing. I've been thinking a lot about things like this since Barb died. It also dawns on me as I sit there, staring into the thousands of lives represented in this room, that I've not moved any of her things. They still sit, the same, preserved. The only difference is that she's not there. I've not moved them because I can't move on, but because I guess, I don't want to forget her. I've got a horrible memory in some aspects and not having a piece of someone makes it hard for me to remember them if I don't have some sort of daily contact with them. People fade away if they're not in my everyday orbit. I've always been like this. If I don't see them, they no longer exist. I don't want to forget her...it's also selfish. I don't want to be forgotten. I wonder often what will happen to my belongings when I die or kill myself. I think of my room, sitting perfectly preserved as if I've just stepped out for the day, but I won't ever return to it.
Usually, I go to museums to turn off my philosophical and emotional questioning, but today it was full steam ahead. I got away because I didn't want to think about this shit and here I am, thousands of miles away from home, stood alone in a massive museum staring it down. There really is no geographical solution for emotional equations. I want to leave, but I can't. I stand for at least 10 minutes or more, thoughts just running through me. I think of Chubb, Abner, Jessica and Philli. The ones I have the most contact with every day. What will happen when I cease to exist for them? Will they move on as I do, unburned by death? Or will the mourn? I don't want them to mourn. I'm really not worth that, yet selfishly, I want something to be different when I die. Goddamn it.
I tear myself away from the room of the dead and wander into the last part of the museum housing medieval history. It's small, but it's enough to drive the thoughts out of my head. It's not as impressive as the museum in Stockholm, but I love the little section. I've found myself feeling more alive recently, getting back into all of my old passions. I might do a blog on some of these passions or something, talk about some of my older goals and how they've influenced who and what I am now. Interesting in many ways, boring in another, but some of you like that kind of thing, so why not. It might be fun.
I'm falling in love with this city. As I head back out into the light snowdrifts of the early afternoon, I already start planning out my next trip to Oslo. Why didn't I think about visiting Norway sooner? I started learning the language years ago but never made it a point to travel. I wonder what the National Gallery has in store for Pork Chop and me.
VISIT:
Reptile Park: https://www.reptilpark.no/
Historical Museum: http://www.khm.uio.no/english/visit-us/historical-museum/
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