In the morning I had an epiphany: regional services.
I wasn’t really in the mood for tourism this morning. I had big plans that I’d go to the Munch museum or do something, but it started snowing and I just couldn’t get myself motivated to leave host’s warm kitchen and there was the pressing issue of trying to leave Scandinavia before financial ruin sets in. I played about with the Interrail RailPlanner and sighed with relief when I remembered the “no seat reservations” button and found an alternative route to Trelleborg.
I am saved!
Regional services will now get me to Trelleborg tomorrow in time for the ferry to Rostock but are a lot slower than the titly trains so I won’t be able to have a morning’s tourism after all. Instead, I am taking a day-trip from Norrköping to Kalmar, where hopefully there’ll be food, then another train to Malmö before a final suburban train whisks me to the ferry.
It’s a shame I won’t get to spend any time in Norrköping because there are trams, and I do like a good tram.
Despite my lack of enthusiasm for tourism I did set off in time to see the cathedral and have a look around, but a choir rehearsal for (presumably) Sunday’s services limited my options for poking about. One of the choir was looking at me strangely while the puppet was posing for a photograph, though that might’ve been a look of jealously rather than perplexity for he clearly did not have his own puppet.
The Oslo Domkirke is the main church for the Church of Norway Diocese of Oslo and was consecrated in 1697 after three years of building work. It is the third cathedral to serve Oslo and its diocese, the first having fallen into disrepair following the Great Fire of Oslo in 1624, and its replacement having burned down after just 50. Its stained glass and painted ceilings are fine and it is a good church in which to look up, but it wasn’t possible to poke about as I’d have liked. I was glad I finally managed to get in to see it though, having failed last time.
I had a gentle mosey down to the station and while waiting for my train had a breakfast bowl from the brunch menu at the Royal Gastropub, one of the many bar and cafés in the Østbanehallen. It was a nice place to sit and munch, and although I was tempted by the splendid-looking Italian place, I wasn’t really tempted by (read: I could not afford) anything they had on offer. What I had was expensive enough, but within the realms of what seems to be reasonable.
The Østbanestasjonen and the Vestbanestasjonen served as major terminus stations in Oslo until 1980, when the newly-opened central station took over their function. The Østbanestasjonen was built as the southern terminus for Norway’s first railway, the main line between Kristiania and Eidsvold, which opened in 1854. Both still stand, and the original train hall of the Østbanehallen is now a busy arcade with restaurants and shops while the Vestbanestasjonen is the Nobel Peace Centre.
I tried my best to get into first class on the Intercity 644 service to Stockholm, a big black snaky thing, but the train manager confirmed that it was full and seemed to think it most strange that I might ask if anyone had missed their train and left an empty seat.
That first was full turned out to be something of a blessing in disguise because it was indeed stuffed to the gills with hordes of noise-makers, while carriage eight at the other end of the train had about five people in it for most of the journey to Katrineholm. I was briefly befriended by an American Interrailer to whom I warmed, until he moved away to the other end of the carriage after my musings that children (and probably their parents) who violate the sanctity of first class rail travel should be summarily executed.
The second-class seats were perfectly acceptable, reclined sufficiently, and fulfilled their purpose for four and a half hours. There was very little to see as we made our way eastwards because of the combination of murky weather and dirty windows. Occasionally it was possible to make out some displays of pretty beyond the grime. I made two trips to the bistro, the first for a coffee and a sticky bun at Fika time, the second for a sandwich.
After a change in Katrineholm I arrived in Norrköping on a shiny new Mälartågs train, ready for whatever Norrköping had to offer which was, at around 9pm on Maundy Thursday, nothing.
I had not expected my Centralstationens Vandrarhem ho(s)tel to be in the station building itself, so that was a proper treat. Mine was a large room with a window overlooking the platforms which was not as noisy as I feared it could be. By the time I’d contained the excitement, Norrköping had already closed so I limited my aspirations to finding food. A few places were still open and I had a huge falafel wrap at Kungs Kebab before retiring for the night.
I’m saddened I won’t have time to see anything of Norrköping but I suppose happy that I have somehere to visit next time I come to Sweden. The station hasn’t usurped Gothenburg as Prettiest So Far despite the chandeliers, but it is certainly the most practical.
Face pressed against my bedroom window, I watched the seemingly endless night train from Malmö to Duved slowly squeal to a stop for long enough for me to wish I could be on it, only for it to snake off into the distance minutes later, its red lights blinking until it was gone.
