When I was a child, we had a tradition, my mom and me. On a regular lazy weekend afternoon, we would pass on a piece of paper back and forth in which we would draft down little notes to each other. It would read something like this:

“You are like a beautiful flower”;

“You are the brightest of stars”;

“You are the sun in the sky”

(and so on, and so on)

This would last for as long as our creativity allowed. In the end, we would have completed a long note of love, which was a sweet exercise of language creativity for a 7-year-old. When you’re 7 (or the mother of a 7-year-old, for that matter), the concept of “cheesy” just doesn’t have a place in the world. You can imagine that, as you grow up and start to find a whole lot of things ‘ridiculous’ and ’embarrassing’, this freedom of speech and affection goes through the sharp razor of censorship. By labeling it ‘uncool’, you make your poor mother wake up from the dream and go through the pains of feeling rejected by this being she so unconditionally had been devoting herself to, not to mention having carried it in her own womb.

Obviously, no adult remembers how it felt to be a puber or an adolescent. For you though, ‘cheesy’ becomes “a thing” to avoid at all means, “a thing” you keep in the box of strictly prohibited behaviours to display in public (or to display at all), until you finally come out of the closet, a decade after if you’re lucky – it might take longer for some, and there are even a number of humans who never seem to be able to get over it (the ones who scream PDA! every time you get as close as 1 meter from them).

<———- Public Display of Affection! AHHHH!

Anyway, I was on the phone with my mother the other day, telling her about Norway and she directly requested pictures. I hastily replied ‘yes, yes’, and I got quite restless at the thought of all the work it would demand of me (while I already have one hundred thousand and seven blog posts to finish and photos to edit and shit). And then, while I was walking to the local bar that old feeling of “you are the brightest of stars” suddenly took over me and I decided right there I would write a blog post especially for her.

Porque tu continuas a ser a estrela mais bela, mãe.

SO. If you’re learning Portuguese, go ahead and try to read what is to follow (okay, okay, I will draft some notes in English as well).

E por falar em arte, esta é a Câmara Municipal de Oslo, um edifício lindíssimo que foi trabalhado por artistas autóctones, maioritariamente sob a forma de pinturas e murais que cobrem todo o interior, desde as paredes, passando pelo chão e o tecto. É um edifício que tem uma série de referências à classe trabalhadora enquanto base da organizacão social Norueguesa, entre outras obras de arte relativas à cultura e à história do país. A cerimónia anual do prémio Nobel da Paz tem lugar aqui. // Oslo’s Town Hall.

Cá estão os murais da câmara municipal; aqui tens a interseccão entre parede e tecto. Incrível, não é? A fotografia seguinte é a prova de que sim, tenho-me alimentado bem. // The intersection between the wall and the ceiling in one of the City Hall’s rooms & the proof that yes, I’ve been feeding myself properly.

A parte do restaurante era muito finesse, como se pode ver, e ali tens um quadro a recriar toda uma ideia de heroísmo viking, a condizer com o tradicionalismo do lugar. E o responsável por este passeio foi, naturalmente, o António, que aqui vês a desbravar os caminhos verdejantes da colina. E sim, antes que perguntes, ele está bom e recomenda-se. // A very chic restaurant, as you can see, with a painting on this idea of Viking heroism which matched the tradionalism of the place. My friend António was the responsible for this afternoon, and here he is, exploring the pathways of the hill.

O artigo já vai longo e ainda nem terminei, o que significa que, possivelmente, haverá uma sequela de toda a saga Osloíta. Tal como aquelas listas intermináveis que escrevíamos, enquanto a minha criatividade permitir, estarei aqui. // There will, possibly, be a next chapter to this Osloite saga. Yeah, that’s right, I’m not finished yet. Just as those love notes we used to write, for as long as my creativity allows, I’ll be here.

Here’s a bonus track (from the Vigelandsparken):

P.s. Obrigada por tudo, mãe. Especialmente por me dizeres sempre: VAI.

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