| Oslo 2.98 | ||
 |
||
|
We
catch the T-Bane to Holmenkollen. When it emerges from the city's
tunnels we ride up into the hills through the suburbs. There are
big stately houses that thin out the closer we get to the Nordmarka.
I see a kid bouncing happily on a rubbish bin lid as though it was
a trampoline.
At our stop we walk up, up, up until we round a corner and there is the incredible ski-jump. We walk over to look at banks of seats, and the landing area but it's so dizzyingly steep that we are unable to stand by the edge. I can see Simon leaning backwards, overcompensating for his vertigo lest he accidentally topple over the side, and I'm doing the same. It's obvious but I still have to say it: you would have to be COMPLETELY MAD to ski down this thing. We decide to climb up the tower. There's a lift some of the way and then 114 steps. I get nervous climbing them, imagining how terrified I would be if I had to jump off it on a pair of skis. It's how I imagine a condemned prisoner might feel. The vertigo soon kicks in again and I start getting dizzy, the steps are slippery and rickety which doesn't help. In fact the whole tower seems so flimsy, it's cold, we are so close to the outside, to thin air. I pick my way up slowly, gingerly, clinging onto the rails with an extra grip, ready to plunge to an unknown doom at any moment. The cabin at the top is incredible, you can see the whole of Oslo from it. Sime and I creep around, keeping our bodies low because the idea of standing up and experiencing the full weight of vertigo on this platform, surrounded by thin glass, is intolerable. There is some graffiti but we don't have time to add to it because we can hear a couple of children climbing up, grizzling and whining because the steps are so relentless. We start the descent. It's worse going down because you can see how far you have to fall. |
   
|
|
|
||