Friday 14 June 1996
We were abruptly woken at 6:00 am by the guard. We had arrived at Boden, not too far from the Finnish Border and the northern reaches of the Gulf of Bothnia, where we had to alight the sleeper train and wait for a connection to take us across the northwest of Sweden into Norway. The air was crisp and the light was infused with an icy hue of blue. This was enough to shake off a few cobwebs although we were glad to get onboard the connecting train when it arrived a few minutes later. As we set off west, I noticed that the landscape had changed since last night. It was now rawer and bleaker but there was still no sign of those mountains from the poster. At least that heightened my sense of anticipation for the remainder of the journey. I probably hadn't missed too much on the overnight journey and it looked like the best scenery was still to come. A quick check of my map revealed that we weren't too far away from the Arctic Circle so as the train rolled on I checked off each station on the map to make sure that we wouldn't miss the moment that we could say we'd truly hit the North.

It took a little while but the moment when we crossed the Arctic Circle finally arrived. There really wasn't much to see apart from a few stones and a small sign marking the spot where the invisible line passed but it felt like a significant moment anyway. We were now in midnight sun territory and the landscape was beginning to look like a real wilderness. We passed over a river which featured spectacular rapids and some of the lakes around here were still frozen. We pulled into the town of Gällivare which was overshadowed by big iron ore mines but in the distance were the snow-capped mountains I'd been anxious to get a glimpse of. These were the Kölen Mountains, the range which forms the backbone of Norway. I started snapping away with my camera not realising that as the line progressed, our journey through the mountains would get even more spectacular.

Besides the scenery, the mining town of Kiruna had an interesting statue of four men holding a length of railway line on their shoulders. This line itself was completed in 1902 to service the iron ore industry by providing a link with the North Atlantic. The statue provided a fitting testament to those who built this line in such a forbidding environment. Kiruna itself had the look of a pioneering town, similar to what you mind find in the Canadian rockies or some other remote outpost. What this area lacked in urban sophistication, it made up for in its potential for outdoor activity and as the train climbed the mountains through the Abisko National Park, we noticed skiers, snowboarders and snow-mobilers taking advantage of the still deep snow. I was beginning to wonder how we would survive under canvas in such conditions but I also couldn't help but admire the view. The train stopped at a little station called Abisko Turistation where some hikers boarded wearing winter gear. After that we crossed the border into Norway and the train steadily trundled downhill as we followed the shore of the Rombak Fjord, a fabulous sight which had nearly everyone out of their seats taking photographs of the numerous waterfalls that cascaded down its steep rocky slopes.

Twenty-three hours after leaving Stockholm, we finally arrived in Narvik, a town which really did feel like the end of the line. Railways don't stretch much further north than this and as there was no line south through Norway from here I felt a real sense of remoteness. In Norwegian terms though, we were still a long way from the far north. Outside the station, a connecting bus was waiting to take passengers north up to Tromsø , a place I recalled from Michael Palin's 'Pole to Pole' travel series but that was another five hours drive away. Another bus was heading for the Lofoten Islands which sounded tempting but after travelling for almost a whole day, we were really in need of somewhere to stop for the night. Thankfully the weather here didn't reflect the conditions we'd encountered whilst passing through the mountains although I needed to put on an extra jumper and a waterproof to keep the chilly wind out. The Nordic air was however fresh and clean and as we walked along the E6 Arctic Highway towards the campsite I was in awe of our wild surroundings; snow-capped mountains and waterfalls being clearly visible across the magnificent fjord.

The campsite wasn't too far out of town and although it was sunny when we arrived in Narvik, it was wet, windy and cold by the time we got the campsite. At least we had the run of the site as the only other tent there was one occupied by a couple of cyclists. Nearly everyone else at the site was staying in chalets or in their own luxuriously appointed motorhomes. Although we had a great view from our tent, as the weather closed in we stayed inside it sipping from hastily-prepared mugs of Cupasoup to keep warm. It wasn't exactly Ranulph Fiennes territory but I didn't see too many other people braving the great outdoors up here.

The length of our overnight train journey must have finally got to us as we ended up falling asleep for a few hours, not exactly a Med-style siesta but a well-earned afternoon rest none-the-less. In the end we woke up at about six o'clock in the afternoon and we decided to revive ourselves with a meal of chilli beanfeast, cheese and bread. By this time the rain clouds had passed over and there were now clear skies all round so this gave us the opportunity to do a bit of sightseeing. According to our guidebook, Narvik didn't have too much to offer the tourist but I didn't really care too much about that. The scenery was fabulous and as we were well north of the Arctic Circle, I couldn't really asked for much more than that.

The town did have a couple of interesting sights though such as the sharp pinnacle-shaped war memorial and the tree-like road sign which showed the distance from here to various places across the globe. Compared to some familiar places on the sign, the North Pole seemed very close indeed. We had earlier grabbed a local tourist information leaflet at the campsite and as we sat for a while taking in the view of the town, I noticed the 'Narvik, Summer City' motif on the leaflet which featured a windsurfer riding along the crest of a wave. A piss-take obviously but I liked the self-deprecating humour. One thing did stand out against the neat rows of houses that lined the slopes of the town and that was the iron-ore terminal down by the harbour, a great tangle of iron girders, railway sidings and conveyer belts. It was an ugly but spectacular sight, something that would have made a great backdrop to a scene from a James Bond film. There weren't many people around roaming the streets but that just heightened the sense of being on top of the world. I tried to imagine everything that lay below us at this single point of time but I couldn't really make much sense of that. A drink was therefore called for but as in Sweden there wasn't much in the way of specific bars here. We did however come across a hotel which had its own basement bar so we sauntered in and ordered a couple of half-litres of the local brew.

The drinks tasted cool and strong but I tried to ignore the price of the round. We found a couple of bench seats in the corner and settled down to watch a bit more football. I was surprised to see the Czech Republic beating Italy 2-1. "Who do you want to win?" someone said behind me. I turned and acknowledged the voice which belonged to a middle-aged man who like us was enjoying his first beer of the evening. He introduced himself and told us that his name was Einor, "an old Viking name". I'd heard that name before, Björk's male vocal counterpart in her former group, the Sugarcubes, was called Einor and I recalled that he was otherwise famous for getting married to another man. That was another story though and this was another country. Despite the cultural links, Iceland was still a fair distance away.

Einor spent some time describing his life story in detail. He spent many years in the merchant navy although circumstances eventually brought him back to his home town. He seemed to be very interested in the war and what it meant to this small place. Narvik saw some serious military action during the war with Norwegian, British and French forces pushing the occupying Germans back to the Swedish border so to prevent iron ore from Kiruna from being exported back to Germany. The allied forces however withdrew after pressures elsewhere in Europe forced a reappraisal of military priorities which allowed the Germans to reoccupy the town.

It was hard to imagine what it must have been like fighting a war in such a place. Einor described the book he was planning to write about all this and what emerged during our conversation was his view on Sweden. He felt that Sweden's neutrality during the war compromised Norway and that their influence over the railway then and now meant that they were the ones who really called the shots around here. The concern was that Swedish Railways would take over the short stretch of track which linked Narvik to the border. The EU was his other main topic of concern. Norway had voted to remain outside the union and being in such a remote place it was easy to see why anyone might look upon the rest of the continent with such trepidation.

Einor said he fancied another beer so he generously bought a round for us. By this time the bar was beginning to warm up and I was informed that Friday night was a good night to be out in Norway. Apparently everyone saved up their cash during the week so that they could indulge in some serious alcohol consumption during the weekend. After a while it became obvious that we were something of an unusual attraction in the bar. An old man who must have been in his eighties (and no doubt had memories of the war) shook our hands like an old friend as he left to go home. For about the second time in my experience of being an Englishman abroad, people reacted really positively to where I was from. The only other place where I'd ever got such a reaction before was the USA.

After a while we got talking to some other people in the bar and we struck up a good conversation with a very pleasant young couple, Therese and Roger. In fact we got on so well with them that we were invited back to their house for a post pub drink. We gladly took up the offer and as we strolled out of the pub at about 2 am, broad daylight hit us, a really strange sensation. Our friends' pad was what we expected, minimal décor tastefully clad in pine. They seemed genuinely pleased that people like us took an interest in their far flung home town but we were glad to be here. Therese was a bit worried that we would hate the Norwegians because of whale-hunting but I had hardly given that matter a second's thought. According to my guidebook, there was a museum in Tromsø which had an exhibition glorifying the activity of seal clubbing so there was some controversy attached to Norway but I wasn't going to hold that against anyone here. Why should I with our tradition of fox-hunting?

I asked what life was like during the winter when it was dark most of the time. Roger said that it could get depressing but that was one of the reasons why midsummer's day has always been such a big celebration in Scandinavia. Apparently everyone here strips off and dives straight into the fjord. "Must have been pretty cold" I said but Roger didn't think that was too much of a problem. Maybe if I had a drop of Viking blood in me, I could have handled it myself but with my Anglo-Spanish ancestry, I probably would have had a more adverse reaction.

We eventually said farewell to our friends and walked through the deserted town back to the campsite. By this time it was 3.45 am and we had missed the opportunity to view the midnight sun from a viewpoint high above the town which was our original plan. It was however slightly cloudy so we might not have seen that much anyway but we had instead enjoyed a great night with some interesting and friendly people so things couldn't have worked out better. By the time we reached the campsite I was ready for some proper sleep and despite the daylight, the sound of the nearby stream and the fresh air finished me off for the night in no time.

Saturday 15 June 1996
We woke up to pleasant weather and stretched our legs around the campsite for a while. Our tent was now the only one at the site, the cycling couple having disappeared sometime during the morning. After breakfast, we packed up our tent and checked out of the site.

Once again we followed the Arctic Highway back into town and we then dropped off our luggage at the station. Our plan was to depart Narvik in the afternoon so we booked our tickets for the next leg of our journey, which would mark the start of our long journey back down south. There was a slight feeling of having turned the corner here but we still had some time to kill so we made our way to the local war museum which filled me in on some of the details of what happened during the war. The museum was a powerful tribute to those who fought here. The flags of Norway, France, Britain and Poland were all displayed side-by-side whilst upstairs a simple fountain commemorated those who died. A mock-up of a clandestine radio station and a replica battle placement gave me an idea of wartime life here but it was hard to imagine what fighting a war in such a harsh environment must have really been like.

We ambled around town one more time and then popped into the local Spar store to pick up a few provisions. The bread, cheese, crisps and potato salad which we bought cost a small fortune but hopefully it would be enough to keep us going for the long journey ahead. As there was no railway line connecting Narvik with the south of Norway, our booking included a bus ride to Fauske, some five hours away. We waited a while at the station but I was surprised that there weren't many other passengers waiting there. We did get talking to a rather bizarre collection of backbackers though. They looked like students and I guessed one was South African, one was Australian whilst the other was British. The British man said that they were waiting for a train to take them up to Abisko but the timetable they had was the wrong one so they were stuck here. As they had nowhere to stay, I recommended the campsite but they seemed surprised that we had actually camped here because of the weather. When they said they were planning to hike through the Abisko national park, I warned them that the weather would be a lot worse up there than it was here but they didn't take much notice, even though they didn't seem particularly well prepared or equipped for such a hike.

Talking to these guys however distracted us from the fact that the bus still hadn't arrived and there was no-one else at the station. A quick check of the timetable made us realise that the bus actually departed from a separate bus station (what confused me was the connecting buses waiting at the train station yesterday) so we had to quickly run down the road to catch it. With full backpacks on our backs, it was a lung busting experience! Luckily, we just made it on to the bus as the driver was about to close the doors but once on board we found a couple of seats near the back and sank into them. A close call but we were glad to be on our way.

The drive south followed the craggy contours of the fjord indented coastline. Just outside of Narvik lay the wrecked remains of a German destroyer but after that the natural beauty of this wilderness became the focus of our attention. The road followed the water for as long as possible but occasionally it drilled through long tunnels. After a while the road could go no further so we boarded a ferry to cross a fjord. It was cold outside but it didn't stop us from admiring the expansive view, a collage of steel grey water and white sky which bordered the icy peaks of the distant mountains. I quickly popped into the onboard café where I watched a dry-ski-slope ski-jumping competition on television. It wasn't long though before the ferry reached the other side and we once again jumped on board the bus to continue our journey.

The coach had the usual odd selection of passengers, in particular one man who was carrying a cat inside a travelling basket. On a couple of occasions he let the cat out of the basket (literally) although he managed to hang onto him by a lead. This didn't stop the cat disappearing under the seats for a while and although the man managed to haul him back in a couple of times, the journey was obviously a bit traumatic for the poor moggie. Inevitably it wasn't long before the cat decided it was time to relieve himself and he deposited a very smelly sample on the floor of the coach much to the disdain of the rest of the passengers. The man did at least clean up the mess and the cat eventually settled down after that.

Luckily I had the scenery to distract myself and some of it was simply breathtaking. At one point the cloud draping over two rocky pinnacles created a vision of a giant twin-horned Viking helmet. It was almost as if we were on our way to Valhalla itself. Our final destination however wasn't quite so interesting but when we arrived at Fauske, we hopped onto the train and continued our southward journey. Linking with Norway's main railway network made us seem a little closer to a more familiar world but this was still a remote place.

Our carriage was fairly empty although the few people on it seemed to spend most of their time puffing away on roll-your-own ciggies. Luckily I had plenty of Samson left so at least I was in good company. The view outside however held an endless fascination. The train must have risen some way into the mountains as at one point we had a panoramic view of a huge glacier whilst down below, clear, icy streams ran through the valleys. Eventually we came across a globe shaped monument which signified us leaving the land of the midnight sun. Crossing the Arctic Circle was a sad moment as for a brief time I felt on top of the world. I tried to imagine all the humanity that lay beneath us and how this one railway line would feed into another and another until there were hundreds of them forming the European rail network. I wondered whether I would ever come so far north again but Lorraine told me how this brief sojourn made her want to visit North Cape so we vowed that one day we would do just that.

The first town we came to south of the Circle was the exotically named port of Mo-i-Rana and as we pulled in, there was a touch of darkness in the sky. It was therefore time to grab a bit of sleep. The seats provided plenty of legroom so I had no problem stretching out my legs and dozing off for a while.

Sunday 16 June 1996
By the time I woke up the scenery had dramatically changed. We were now passing through lush green fields and there were even a few farm animals around which made me realise how harsh the terrain was further north. Norway however is a vast country and our glimpse of farmland seemed like an illusion as the landscape soon reverted back to its rugged archetype.

Our plan was to get off at Trondheim and see if we could find somewhere to stop the night there. As we pulled into the town, the weather took a turn for the worse but we got off the train anyway as the guidebook mentioned a campsite which was a short bus-ride away. Unfortunately there weren't any buses at the train station (probably because it was a Sunday morning) so we decided to look for the local bus-station which was situated a little way across town. We walked for a while along the clean streets glancing in the windows of the expensive shops along the way. We also came across the striking medieval cathedral whose angular design closely resembled some of its British counterparts, Rochester Cathedral immediately sprang to mind as well pictures I'd seen of St Magnus' in the Orkneys, which was hardly surprising given the Norse heritage of those Scottish islands.

By the time we found the bus station we discovered it had closed and moved back to the railway station so we went back there but as there was an early morning train to Oslo due in at the station, we decided to hop on it and head straight for the capital rather than spend any more time here. As we pulled out of the station, I noticed the old canalside waterfront warehouses which the guidebook noted as a main site of the town. I therefore felt reasonably satisfied that we'd at least caught a glimpse of Trondheim's main attractions so we could now re-focus our efforts on our southward journey.

The train wound its way through central Norway and as we continued, the sun illuminated most of the route. We passed through the 1994 Winter Olympics venue of Lillehammer but it was the sport of football that was upper most in my mind. I caught a glimpse of someone's newspaper which had a picture of Paul Gascoigne on the front. England had beaten Scotland 2-0 and this was front page news in Norway. I recalled what Roger had told us back in Narvik about everyone in Norway being mad on English football with most people affiliating themselves with an English club although sadly that club usually tended to be Manchester United. At least the locals appeared to be backing England as well as their own team although I got the impression that they also resided like most other people in the 'anyone but Germany' camp! It was great news though about the England result even if we did miss the game.

The further south we travelled the more pastoral the view became but some of the place names such as Hamar were quite evocative of Viking culture. There was also a pagan feel to the name Oslo and indeed the city reverted to that name in 1925 after being known as Christiania for over 300 years, King Christian IV having named the city after himself way back in 1624. After hundreds of miles of travelling through raw Nordic landscapes, passing through the leafy suburbs of the capital came as something of a relief although it did signify the end of Arctic leg of our adventure. Still there was plenty more to see and the hot weather acted as a reminder that we were still on our summer holiday. We finally got off the train and then caught a bus to the Ekeberg campsite, about a ten minute ride away.

The site was situated in a hillside park that overlooked the city. We pitched our tent and enjoyed the panoramic view of the city from our pitch. Across the city I could see the Oslo Olympic ski jump whilst in the distance, craggy slopes formed a natural bowl within which the city neatly lay. After having to make do with onboard picnics on the trains, Lorraine cooked a soul-reviving lentil curry. The Dutch cycling couple camping next to us were having less luck on the food front though as they couldn't light their multi-fuel stove in the increasing wind. I eventually settled for a vodka and watched the sun set over the hills at about 11 pm. Taking advantage of the couple of hour's semi-darkness that came with the sunset I then settled down to bed and quickly fell asleep.

Monday 17 June 1996
All the travelling over the previous few days must have caught up on us as we didn't wake up until 1 pm! At least at this time the shower blocks were empty so I took the opportunity to have a long hot soak.

A quick visit to the toilets revealed graffiti which would probably keep archaeologists of the future busy for years. What would they make of the late-twentieth century slice of Northern European anthropology laid out in front of me? "Rember Curt Cobain" (sic) read one scrawl on the wall whilst the door was emblazoned with a huge Iron Maiden logo. I didn't think people were still into them. Underneath that was the obligatory reproduction of a prick, some tits and a hairy vagina. Unfortunately it wasn't exactly clear from the drawing whether all these body-parts belonged to the same person!

The weather had started off clear and sunny but by the time I got back to the tent a strong wind had picked up and the sky had clouded over. Within minutes it was raining hard and the prospects of doing any sightseeing today were looking grim. We were still quite tired though so we elected to stop inside the tent and listen to the radio and read our books. There wasn't really much else to do apart from that but we were glad for a break from the tourist trail.

The local radio stations didn't offer too much in the way of interesting music and most of them seemed to play a loop of George Michael, Bryan Adams and the increasingly irritating Mark Morrison track, 'Return of the Mack', a number which was obviously a big hit all over Scandinavia as I'd heard it everywhere we had visited. At times like this it was always good to have the trusty BBC World Service to fall back on. There was however some big news from home. The IRA had bombed Manchester city centre which left over 200 injured. It seemed strange hearing such news in Oslo, the city where the Nobel Peace Prize is presented each year. It made me wonder whether conferring such an award ever did the world any good but at least it showed that someone cared. With such sobering thoughts in mind, I took another swig of vodka and settled into my sleeping bag for the night.

Tuesday 18 June 1996
After our one day break at the campsite, we decided to get back into sightseeing mode with a vengeance today. At least the weather had cleared up after the almost continuous rainfall of yesterday afternoon and evening.

We caught the bus back to Central Station where we booked a reservation for the next leg of our journey to Voss in the west of Norway but that journey wasn't until tomorrow so we still had the rest of today to see the sights. The best way of doing that was by buying an Oslo Card which entitled us to unlimited rides on the city public transport system as well as free entry to the main museums. When it came to museums, there were plenty to choose from so the prospects of enjoying a culture-enriched day looked good.

The first thing we did was catch a bus to the Bygdøy peninsula where many of the recommended museums were located. The peninsula itself was scenically located across the fjord from the city centre and it was the ideal spot for the first museum we visited, the Norwegian Folk Museum. This extensive outdoor site consisted of dozens of old buildings which had been gathered from all over the country and reconstructed here. I just hoped that they'd asked the permission of the owners before they moved the buildings here. The atmosphere felt semi-rural and it wasn't too difficult to imagine what life might have been like for the starving peasantry during endless dark freezing winters in this country. Luckily the sun was shining so we were spared a more authentic taste of the good old days but there were some guides around dressed in period costume who were happy to demonstrate traditional crafts to anyone who was interested. The buildings themselves represented a curious assortment of farmyard barns and family abodes but of particular interest were the stilted storehouses with roofs made from thick layers of turf. The highlight of the collection though was the eleventh century stave church, a stunning wooden building which looked like a cross between a Chinese pagoda and an upturned Viking longship.

The next leg of our itinerary continued the longship theme as we walked the short distance to the Viking Ship Museum. Along the way I got talking to a couple of female pastors from New Jersey who came across like a consecrated version of Cagney & Lacey! They described the tour they were making through Scandinavia, a bit like ours except in reverse and of course they had the convenience of coach travel and hotels throughout. They seemed genuinely impressed by the way we had covered similar ground by train and tent but then again backpacking in Scandinavia so far had been a hassle-free experience for us.

The pastors mentioned previous trips they'd made to Europe. "London's not one of my favourite places" one of them said. "I got mugged as soon as I arrived at Victoria Station, the first day I ever spent in England."

"It really isn't such a bad place" I tried to explain but they were having none of that so I gave up trying to justify my home town. The thought did however enter my mind that New Jersey may not offer the visitor such a great welcome either but the unassuming friendliness of the pair helped to dispel that notion.

The Viking Ship Museum didn't consist of much apart from three Viking ships but they really were quite a sight. The boats were all perfectly preserved and were deceptively simple in design; their sleek curves rising to form graceful wooden scrolls. Whilst decoration was kept to a minimum, the ships did feature resolute carvings of dragons to ward off the evil spirits of the sea. The broad bases of the ships gave the impression of stability, an essential requirement when plying the northern seas over one thousand years ago. I imagined Lucky Lief Erickson sailing to North America in one of these ships, a chilly trip I assumed!

Our next stop on the museum trail involved sailing craft of a different kind. This was the Kon-Tiki Museum which charted the high seas adventures of local explorer Thor Heyerdal. On display were the Kon-Tiki raft and the Ra II. The Kon-Tiki was made of balsa wood and Heyerdal sailed it from Peru to Polynesia in 1947. The Ra II was made from papyrus reeds and he sailed it across the Atlantic in 1970. Not the most the sensible journeys in the world but they were made to prove the point that wanderlust is ingrained in man and that our ancestors had the means to be able to fulfil this. Maybe these were extreme lengths to go to prove such a point (the model of a whale-shark and other marine predators under the raft vividly demonstrated the dangers) but at least this museum allowed us to appreciate what he achieved.

The theme of extreme journeys continued as we stepped across the way to the Polarship Fram Museum. The Fram was the boat used by explorers Fridtjof Nansen and Roald Amundsen on their historic expeditions to the North and South Poles. According to the museum literature, this was the strongest ship in the world and had sailed further north and south than any other vessel in history. The museum offered us the opportunity to go inside the ship and get a flavour of what life must have been like on board. The inside of the ship was defined by the bulbous round curves of the hull. This was designed so that when the ice contracted around the ship it was simply squeezed above the ice rather than crushed by it. Despite everything else we had seen today, the Fram offered the most interest. Somehow, the stories of those explorers who sailed this ship offered a glimpse of what is best about the human spirit. The monochrome photos of the icy wastes belayed all romantic notions about travelling through such extremities which accentuated the bravery of these remarkable explorers. Captain Scott may have made the 'worst journey in the world' to the South Pole but Amundsen came back on this very ship to tell the tale.

Visiting the Fram Museum made our day in the tent yesterday seem totally insignificant by comparison but it strengthened our appetite to see more things today. We however first needed to satisfy our appetite for food. A quick check in the guidebook revealed a veggie restaurant back in town called the Vegeta Vertshus. We caught a ferry taxi across the water, got off outside the sleek 1930's modernist Rådhus (city hall) and then we walked the short distance to this small backstreet restaurant. The restaurant wasn't cheap by UK standards but it did offer a one-visit, eat-yerself-sick buffet. I decided to choose a big plate and stacked it up with pizza, samosas, spring-rolls, Chinese stir-fry and salad, a tasty if eclectic selection, but one which was much appreciated after the many bread and cheese meals we'd had on this trip. It was interesting watching the strategies of other customers as they went up to the buffet for their one and only permitted visit. One guy managed to construct a beautifully layered pyramid of food which included a little bit of everything from the spread. As he gingerly walked back to his table he had to negotiate an obstacle course of shopping bags, protruding limbs and randomly arranged tables and chairs. At one point the whole towering edifice looked on the verge of collapse but somehow he managed to dock his plate on the table, a manoeuvre of such deft precision that he made it look like a slow motion replay of a lunar landing. Mission accomplished, he tucked into his rations with unprecedented abandon.

Feeling quite full after our own meals we located a nearby metro station and boarded a typically efficient T-bane train which whisked us in no time to the green expanse of Frognerparken. This park was picturesque enough to grace the most elegant of capital cities and Oslo certainly fell into that category. That however wasn't the reason we were here. A brief stroll across the grass revealed an altogether stranger attraction. The central thoroughfare that ran through the park was bordered with dozens of larger than lifesize bronze and granite sculptures. Every single one was a nude depicting a different age of man. The sculptures were all anatomically correct and not a single body part was left unrevealed. There were representations of everyone from the new born to the ancient but the most striking pieces were of men in their prime; naked, muscular forms that represented a classical (or dare I say fascist) vision of physical perfection. The sculptures were the work of Gustave Vigeland and his main body of work was produced during the 1920's and 1930's. There was no doubt that Vigeland was prolific as there were two hundred works in the park and like the work of Gaudí in Barcelona, such a mammoth undertaking must have been driven by an unstoppable obsession. What on earth did these people dream about?

Some of the figures formed bizarre contortions, one memorable example being a man with a plethora of wriggling babies dangling from his arms and legs. Another showed a solitary baby standing on his head in an inverted foetal position. We walked past a fountain, which consisted of six giants holding up a great dish from which vast sheets of water cascaded down. We then continued on towards a huge obelisk that rose above everything else to form the focal point of the park. This slender 14 meter (46 feet) high wonder showed 121 writhing bodies all reaching for the highest point, the youngest having made their way to the very top. If ever there was a work of art that had 'symbolism' written all over it, then this was it. I tried not think about that though, instead simply preferring to marvel at this beautiful and enigmatic work. As we sat there, some clouds drifted over which created remarkable lighting effects across the vista. After a while, rain threatened so we walked back to the street and caught a tram back to the station before returning by bus to the campsite.

Back at the tent we once again enjoyed the panoramic view of Oslo whilst listening to the distant sounds of the World Service. One report on the radio rounded off what had already been a great day in perfect style. England had beaten Holland 4-1 in the football and were now through to the quarter-finals of the competition. Holland? 4-1? I must have been dreaming but shortly afterwards I actually was.

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