Dinner a Deux

I shrug off the strain of another’s day lecturing and, iPod clamped to my ears, walk away from the main office block heading towards Torshov.  That’s Norwegian for “Wait here while your tram gets delayed.”

I stop at the 7-11 on the corner to get a new ticket and find a suitable tram waiting for me when I get out.  I clamber aboard and join the dozen or so passengers as we rattle and swing our way into the heart of Oslo.

An hour or so later, I am refreshed having showered, changed and identified a suitable restaurant for the evening.  It is in an area called Grünerløkka which is supposed to be as pleasant as it is unpronouncable.  I hop back on to a north-bound tram and it shudders its way through Oslo, the twilight giving the shops and buildings a rather eerie look.

Oslo Bay in the evening

Presently, we arrive.  I disembark at the appropriate stop and, clutching the map in hand, walk across to the appropriate corner.  There, I can see the warmth emanating from what is described as the best Italian restaurant in town, as a perfect scene of happy families eating joyfully together presents itself.

Knocking on the door attracts the attention of the main waiter who listens to me as I explain that I only need a table for one and looks around the place with a feigned look of sorrow.  I notice that they are rather busy and am just about to make my excuses when he tells me that he has a place for me.

We walk the entire length of the dining area.  Garlic, pesto, tomato and basil aromas try to seduce my nose as I zig-zag between the tables that leave very little space to zig-zag between.  Seen from the front door, the head waiter and I must seem to be performing an unusual Norwegian dance of sorts.

“Here we go, sir. A table just for you.”

The table sulks at me as if it does not approve being used by only one human at a time.

Urban Skyline at Dusk

I sit down and blink as the menu is waved at me impatiently.  Just as I am about to drown in a verbal sea of pasta and pizza, I notice that my table is about half a foot away from the wall (to my right) and another table (on my left).  I ignore the amorous couple on my left and turn right.

There, staring at me, is the expressionless face of God’s Rottweiller himself, Pope Benedict XVI.  Noticing my interest, the waiter re-appears and, with a flourish, says,

“Some light for you?”

He switches something on and the Pope’s face lights up.

I spend the rest of the evening being watched by an electric green Pope.

Was the Pope as quiet when you dined with him? Leave a comment and tell us all about his Holiness.

 

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~ by unexpectedtraveller on October 15, 2009.