Morning in Oslo, from my hotel window, I see many roofs
most of them the same design; tidy, I wonder if Oslo employs
roof sweepers. Social democracy in action, cold and efficient
not given to surface passion. Even its homegrown terrorist is
boring, but my god, able in his murderous pursuit for glory.
Streets in Oslo are clean too, so spotless they look somehow
defenseless and slightly obscene. The citizens are restrained,
tolerantly wait at traffic lights to turn green to cross, even if
no cars are coming. But there is another Oslo, especially at
weekends, when people drink enormous amounts of beer and
violence lurks, when fights break out and knives shine in
moonlit nights. A lust for murder that harks back to a shared
cataleptic memory. And you know there is a pent up passion,
in the dark heart of Scandinavia; that given the right order, can
turn compassionate people into vicious Vikings.
