drenched streets & underground beats: oslo’s story told by a captured tourist
the rain here isn’t the crisp drizzle i swore it’d be from photos-this is the full-on sheets through the umbrella. i bought a plastic rain cape like a newbie, and now i’m eye-level with people vomiting in alleyways instead of looking at the architecture. but hey, oil-slick puddles reflect the weirdos under bridges.
the 24-hour brewpub near the main station? liquid courage exists. they’ll fill a growler with hoppy rebellion for €6.50. i tried phoenician mezze at sunrise-hallucinogenic garlic, no thank you. that’s why i’d rather drink beer.
my map glitched again, spit me out by a stained-glass cathedral that looked like a bad shoebox diorama. turns out it was one of those ‘don’t worry, all streets are the same’ kind of cities. i found the train station by following pigeons screaming directions.
neighbors keep staring. not in a mean way. just… what are you? at 3 am with a folder full of songs? i stopped caring. one guy in a crescent-moon hoodie asked if i played drums. i lied. say yes, anyway. tips: bring your music, not your dignity... though both will get soaked here.