Syttende Mai

The last of my Oslo posts, coming right up!

While Marlon went home a day early to work, I stayed on for Oslo's big national holiday, Constitution Day, or as the Norwegians call it, Syttende Mai: the 17th of May. We had tickets to the annual parade that passes right in front the Royal Palace.

"Bring something dressy," my sister advised. "People really dress up for the parade." I was a bit dubious but did as I was told. Lo and behold, on the 17th of May, I walked to the bus stop outside my sister's apartment and beheld the truth.

Aside from the snazzy suits and cocktail dresses, what impressed me the most was that Norwegians spend the entire day (from the morning's parade to whatever parties they have going on) in their national costume, the bunad. It's a beautiful garment with a long history behind it.

Bunad are entirely handmade, and are passed down from one generation to the next. Young Norwegians receive their bunad at the age of 14 years, for the rite of confirmation. It's not uncommon for them to wear bunad that are over a hundred of years old! Otherwise, springing for a brand-new bunad can leave you some NOK 40,000 (PhP 323,000 lang naman!) poorer. Ouch!

I didn't have 40,000 kroner in my bank account, nor a Norwegian granny to make a bunad for me, so I dressed up for the parade in a ruffled LBD, my lace-up boots and my BAM! comic-book inspired fascinator.

To get in the spirit of things, I pinned the colors of the Norwegian flag (red, white and blue) to my lapel. I couldn't get how to pin the ribbons in the special way the locals do, though. These ribbons were everywhere that day!

Walking through the Slottsparken to get to the palace, we found ourselves milling with hundreds of dandied-up Osloites on their way to the parade.

The atmosphere was so festive, kind of like a family-friendly, freshly-scrubbed, alcohol-free Queen's Day...

with lots of balloons and other treats for the kids.

It was great seeing everyone dressed up for the event, in costumes with varying degrees of elaborateness.

At the Palace, the locals graciously let Mom through to the front of the barricades so she could watch the parade.

I think it was because they saw how tiny she was! One guy even offered, jokingly, to carry her on his back. So there we were in front with all the kids.

Little people get the best view!

 

We watched for a few hours as what seemed like every school and organization in Norway marched by singing, waving the national flag and chanting "Hip hip hurrah!" or as they say "Hiep hiep hoera!"

Some students even got their Glee on. It was a bit odd, and funny, to see a bunch of aspiring Cheerios after all the elaborate national costumes!

Everyone from the oldest grannies to the littlest babies got in on the fun. It was all very orderly and wholesome! Freshness!



Everyone paraded in front of the palace...

while Norway's royal family waved from the balcony. Love the hats!

Thanks to my sister for insisting that I stay for the parade (even if we were late!). Definitely a facet of Oslo that I enjoyed seeing. Hiep hiep hoera!

A tale of two artists

Norway's two most famous artists, painter/printmaker Edvard Munch and sculptor Gustav Vigeland, were not only contemporaries, but bitter rivals. Munch, whose famous painting The Scream may have given him a leg up over Vigeland in death, was quoted to have forbidden a single cent of the taxes he paid to the state to be used for the construction of Vigelands Park, filled with over 200 sculptures by his nemesis, in 1921.

It was a gloomy, rainy afternoon when Marlon, my sister and I visited the Munch Museum in Oslo. 

It turned out to be perfectly suited to Munch's works. His paintings, and the prints he made of them, are filled with anguish, despair, betrayal, and life's darkest colors. In Munch's world, lovers only leave and betray, and jealousy turns men into hollow-eyed corpses. Pretty heavy stuff for a Sunday afternoon.



Yet amidst the darkness of his worldview, some bright spots stand out intensely and vividly.

"The Seducer"... but who is seducing whom?

We saw some of his most famous works, such as his Madonna...

And The Scream, which was accompanied by his journal entry about the evening that inspired the painting. Munch was what we would today call a multimedia artist: he not only painted, but made prints, took photographs and films, and wrote about his work. "It was a Time during which Life had ripped open my Soul," wrote Munch. "I felt a huge Scream—and I really did hear a huge Scream..." 

Munch's world is definitely not a pretty place. But the powerful ability he has to draw you into it, to mesmerize you with pain and paint, cannot but be admired. 

Consolation and The Death of Marat, my favorites from this museum

In contrast, it was a bright, sunny day when we went to Vigelands Park, a park dedicated to Munch's most bitter rival.

At first, Vigeland seems to be the very antithesis of Munch. His figures play, leap, laugh and run, joy coursing through bones, muscles and veins of bronze. Set against the brilliant blue sky, such displays of boundless energy and happiness were a bit of a relief after Munch, to be honest.



But walk deeper into the park and happiness slowly begins to acquire a darker, deeper tinge. Mingling  with loving embraces and tender gazes...



are scenes of frustration, punishment...

... even desperation.

By filling the park with 212 statues, Vigeland is able to show so much of life's nuances and subtleties, at every stage of life from birth to death.

With so many sculptures, every visitor is bound to find something that speaks to him or her intimately.



For me, what I noticed most were the sculptures of babies. Maybe it's because of where I am right now in life: having a baby has been on my mind a lot these days, and while I'm not 100% ready for it, I am looking forward to that next chapter of my life. At first, it would seem Vigeland does not provide encouragement to would-be parents.

Scary, right? I found the sculpture of the baby gagging his mother with her hair particularly disturbing. Overwhelmed and overrun, these parents echo the stories my mom friends have told me about the early days of motherhood, and I can't help but feel apprehensive.

But then with one piece, Vigeland wiped that all away. This one piece, with all its tenderness and strength, told me to go for it anyway. That maybe, in the midst of all my questions and apprehensions, I would find something that would make it all worth it. 

I can't help but think that Munch speaks to my gaga-for-love days of yore, while Vigelands speaks to who I am now, and maybe who I am about to become. These rivals may have been at odds in their own lives, but somehow, set against the lives of those of us who behold their work, they have found a way to complement one other. 

An evening at the opera

When my sister and I were planning this Oslo trip last year, I was thrilled to learn that the dates of our visit coincided with the one-night-only concert of one of the greatest performers in opera today... the awesome Cecilia Bartoli. I had to see her. I'm the only one in my family who is into this stuff but I managed to drag them all with me.

It was a gloomy, rainy evening when we went to the Operaen, Norway's multimillion-euro opera and ballet house. Rising out of the gray and the mist, the Operaen seemed like some mythical fortress of snow and ice. So Nordic!

But really, I was awestruck. This is easily the most stunning concert hall I have ever seen in my life.

Though I was happy to have a wide-angle lens to capture it all, the pictures don't do it justice. It was really hard to choose photos for this post!

Built to the tune of € 500 million (PhP 30.7 BILLION, just to boggle your mind), this is nothing less than a modern-day temple to culture and the arts. Spending that kind of public money on a concert hall makes a powerful endorsement of music that musicians all over the world, particularly in a country like ours, would kill for. 

Everything from the curving walls of clean blond wood... 

... to practical considerations such as the coatroom and cocktail tables... 

... even the bathroom, spoke of everything Scandinavian design is famous for, and makes a statement about the value this society places on culture and art. If it isn't obvious, I'm completely envious and could not want this for the Philippines bad enough.

Everything announces the importance of the experience you are just about to have: the experience of music. No usher could ever bring you as graciously or ecstatically to your seat, in anticipation of a wonderful evening, as this building can.

Which brings us to Cecilia.

I've always found early music to be a bit of a bore, to be honest. But not the way Cecilia Bartoli sings it. She brings such mastery, genius and spirit to early, lesser-known works, that you literally sit up on the edge of your seat and hold your breath listening to her.

She sang pieces from her Grammy-winning album, Sacrificium, which features works originally written for castrati, prepubescent boys castrated for the sole purpose of performing some of the most difficult pieces ever written for the human voice. 

And the costumes! Her knee-high leather boots, billowing pirate-type blouse, swirling cape, scarlet taffeta bustle, and giant red feathers added drama and flair to a bravura performance. Brava Cecilia!

I was so glad that my mom, who's not the biggest fan of opera, really enjoyed it. 

Operaen is the only concert hall in the world where you can, and in fact are meant to, walk all over the building, and all the way up to the roof from the ground floor.

So after the concert, that's just what we did. With the sunset sky in the background, it was absolutely perfect.

It's a wonderful, welcoming space to walk, sit, play and see the city, bringing a new dimension to arts that are seen as dull and exclusive. Plus it's photogenic with a million angles and planes to play with. Camwhores will pee all over themselves with delight. We almost did!

Marlon posed for his Fortune 500/Time Man of the Year cover.

My sights are set a bit lower. Hanggang level lang ng Lookbook and Chictopia, haha.

We took the coolest family photo ever: Marlon and I outside, and Mom and my sister inside.

And my sister took this photo of us kissing. Aww.

I feel so lucky to have been able to watch Cecilia Bartoli in such a gorgeous space. Truly the highlight of the whole trip.