Atlantica - 01.06.2006, Page 47

46 AT L A N T I CA
Oslo surpassed Tokyo this year to earn the hardly applaudable label “prici-
est city in the world,” according to a survey conducted by the Economist
Intelligence Unit. Tokyo came in second, followed by Oslo’s Nordic neighbor,
Reykjavík. Just for kicks, I went on a regional tour in search of the cheapest
Diet Coke (which is precisely why I’ll never become an Olympic athlete).
After searching high and low, I found a half-liter bottle for NOK 25, or USD
4.05.
But despite its exorbitant sticker price and straight-laced reputation, Oslo
is a cosmopolitan microcosm of culture and cool. As well-heeled couples cat-
walk their vintage down the trendy Hegdehaugsveien, shaggy-haired blondes
throw ollies and 50/50 grinds, two skateboarding moves, off the steps of
Tinghus, Oslo’s glass-and-steel municipal courthouse in Hambros plass. I
found several up-and-coming hipster neighborhoods that have the art deco
look and hipster feel of Williamsburg or Park Slope, Brooklyn.
The town of Lillehammer, site of the 1994 Winter Olympics, is about three
hours north of Oslo by car – on a holiday weekend. If you get stuck behind
granny’s RV, as we did, the going is slow. We weren’t in the country half an
hour before we were pulled over on the main highway leading from the
airport to Oslo for passing a creeping car in the right-hand lane. (Turns out a
fellow motorist had called the police and tattled on our driving offense.)
SNOW
The bobsled course is technically located in a mini-suburb called Hunderfossen,
15 kilometers north of the Lygårdsbakkene Ski Jump in Lillehammer.
Following my hardly gold-medal-worthy performance on the track, I headed
to the downhill skiing simulator at the base of the elegant ski jump. I wasn’t
exactly sure what to expect, but as the second stop on my Olympic itinerary,
I was determined to find out.
There are four alpine skiing events in the Olympics: slalom, giant slalom,
super G, and downhill. Downhill competitors hit the highest speeds, often
in excess of 120 kilometers per hour. The more technical slalom discipline,
requiring quicker, more nimble turns on shorter skis, usually doesn’t exceed
32 to 50 kilometers per hour at the Olympic and World Cup level.
The ski jump is perched behind town on Lysgaard, its ramp rising from the
mountaintop like a graceful whisker. In summer, small yellow flowers sprout
from its sod base. I caught the tail end of a men’s practice, where a crew of
ten or so aspiring ski jumpers with extra long, fat Atomic skis were practicing
how to brake and stop.
I felt a little lame making the jaunt across the pavement to the strange,
boxy, space-like simulator as the guys, their practice skis slung over their
shoulders, trudged back to their ski shacks after a morning of sliding stops
and sprints.
“If you start to feel sick, just pull the emergency brake on the ceiling
of the simulator,” Marda Dal, the attendant at the simulator, tells me. An
emergency brake? I step inside the squarish white hydraulic capsule and
choose the center seat in the first row (of two), smack in the middle of the
screen. The door slides closed and all of a sudden it’s just me sitting inside a
windowless black box.
“Hold on tight,” the video narrator tells me as I take a seat on some sort
of booth-type chair. I realize that the narrator must be referring to the black
metal bar in front of me.
Despite its exorbitant
sticker price and straight-laced
reputation, Oslo is a cosmopolitan
microcosm of culture and cool.
OSLOa
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