Norway Is expensive, but It’s also humane and generous (Travel with MP Prabhakaran)

(This is Chapter 20 from Mr. Prabhakaran’s book, An Indian Goes Around the World – I: Capitalism Comes to Mao’s Mausoleum, which we have been serializing in this space. Chapter 21, “A Memorable Train Journey Across Mountainous Norway,” will be published next week. Read the series every Monday. – Editor)

            A frugal traveler tends to exclude expensive countries from his itinerary. I nearly excluded Norway from mine during my European travel in the summer of 2008. Looking back, how happy I am that I didn’t! Yes, Norway is expensive. But it’s also one of the most beautiful countries I have so far visited. Its people are warm, friendly and generous. Those qualities help a visitor forget, minutes after arriving in Norway, the pinch of its being expensive.

Those qualities have also found reflection in the policy the Norwegian government has adopted toward the less fortunate in the world. Thanks to that policy, Norway has become one of the most sought-after destinations for those escaping war, persecution and poverty in their home countries. At the time I was in Norway, there were 14,431 asylum-seekers knocking on its doors. The largest group, 3,137-strong, was from Iraq. Most of them were the victims of the U.S.-led war in Iraq that began in 2003. As of January 2004, there were 13,373 Iraqis living in Norway. They are the third-largest immigrant group in the country, after Pakistanis and Swedes.

I got a taste of Norway’s being expensive from the very first purchase I made in the country – a small cup of coffee and a plain croissant. When the Filipino coffee vendor at the central train station in Oslo, the country’s capital, charged me the equivalent in Norwegian krone of eight U.S. dollars, I couldn’t resist remarking: “I should have taken my friends’ warning seriously.”

“What warning are you talking about?” he asked.

“That Norway is the most expensive country in the world. In New York, what I bought from you would cost me just a little over two dollars.”

“Yes,” he replied, “we are expensive.” After a moment’s pause, he added, with a smile, “We are also rich. We don’t mind spending.”

His smile and sense of humor reassured me that he was happy being in Norway. The country has a humane immigration policy, of which he was one of the beneficiaries.

Henrik Wergeland

The first road I hit after coming out of the train station was Karl Johans Gate. It is a for-pedestrians-only street that stretches all the way up to the Royal Palace. The Royal Palace is a landmark building in the city. Norway, being a constitutional monarchy, still reveres its king and treats his residence with respect. Travel guides also recommend it as a must-see place.

The bright morning sun of August added to the beauty of the surrounding areas and made my walk more enjoyable. I would have enjoyed it still more, but for the worry I had of finding an affordable place to stay. For the umpteenth time, I had made the mistake of arriving in a strange city without knowing where I was going to stay. “When will I learn?” I asked myself, again, for the umpteenth time.

I was walking in the direction of the Royal Palace when a statue in a small park on the left side caught my attention. I learned from the epigraph on the pedestal that it is the statue of Henrik Wergeland. I didn’t know the rest of what is inscribed. It is in Norwegian. I asked a man, who was sitting on a nearby bench and watching me take a picture of the statue, whether he knew who Wergeland was.

“Of course,” he said, “every Norwegian who is familiar with his country’s history knows who he is.”

I said I was sorry, and added, “The one name from Norway’s history that I always remember is that of the infamous fellow who betrayed his country to the invading Nazis during the Second World War.”

“You mean Quisling?”

“Yes. I learned about him even as a teenager, when I read Jawaharlal Nehru’s famous book, The Discovery of India. In that book, Nehru had used the word “quisling” as a synonym for traitor. He was referring to the quislings the British had created in India to prop up their colonial administration. I wonder whether you are familiar with the name Nehru. He was one of the leaders of India’s struggle for independence from Britain. He was also the first prime minister of independent India.”

Exact Opposite of Quisling

          “Of course, I am familiar with Nehru, Gandhi and many other famous Indian names. I am a great admirer of Gandhi. Wergeland belonged in the category of Nehru, Gandhi and such other noble souls. You shouldn’t utter Wergeland and Quisling in the same breath. Henrik Wergeland was the exact opposite of Vidkun Quisling. He was not only a writer and a poet, but also a patriot of the stature of Nehru and Gandhi. Every Norwegian is proud of him. During his short life that lasted only 37 years [from 1808 to 1845], he accomplished a lot. Even now the Jewish community of Oslo visits his grave every year and pays homage to his memory. They do it in appreciation of what he had done to facilitate Jews’ immigration to Norway. If he were alive today, he would be a vehement critic of the present government’s policy. He was a defender of minority rights.”

          “But as far as I know,” I said, “Norway’s policy toward minorities is laudable.”

“Maybe compared with many other countries,” he said. “But we must do more.”

“The rest of the world admires Norway for its religious and cultural tolerance,” I told him.

He just smiled. “Enjoy your stay in the country,” he said. When I told him that I was looking for an inexpensive place to stay, he gave me direction to a couple of hotels.

I continued my walk, mulling over the contrast between the first two pieces of conversation I had after arriving in Norway: one with a Filipino immigrant who was all praise for the country; and the other with a native-born Norwegian who, while proud of being Norwegian, was critical of its present government. Maybe the criticism came from his being very secure.

The impression I got from my conversation with him was that he was not one of Norway’s Lutheran majority. About 86 percent of the country’s population is Lutheran. And he didn’t look like a member of its rapidly growing Muslim population. Almost all of them are of Pakistani, Middle Eastern and African origins. Thanks to the steady influx of immigrants from those regions, Islam has become the fastest-growing religion in Norway. Two percent of its present population is Muslim. He could be one of the 4.5 percent non-Lutheran Christians in the country or of its small Jewish minority. My strong guess was that he was Jewish.

After a few minutes’ walk, I came across the first hotel he had given me direction to. The “Room Available” sign at its entrance made me feel good. The good feeling, however, did not last long. The room turned out to be yet another reminder of Norway’s being very expensive. When the woman at the hotel’s reception desk collected from me the equivalent of 160 U.S. dollars, I was not expecting an attic. But that’s what I got, an attic, with barely enough space to stretch my arms sideways. Other than the main door, the only opening the room had was on the roof. The only way I could let in some fresh air was by pushing its shutter up. Fortunately, it was not raining. So I pushed it – partly to let in some fresh air and partly to avoid feeling claustrophobic.

When I went back to the reception desk and complained that 160 dollars a night for such a room was a rip-off, the woman said, “You asked for the cheapest room and I gave you one. About the price, hum, I know the feeling. We too complain about how costly things are around here.”

“Why? Aren’t you getting paid adequately?”

“Yes and no,” she said. “The country is very good to us. But for any immigrant in any country, the beginning is always rough.”

“Oh, you are not a Norwegian?”

“No, I am Polish. I came here two years ago. Again, the country has been good to me. I shouldn’t be complaining. Once I get through these initial difficulties, everything will be OK.”

She also told me that because there was a big conference, held by the International Geological Congress, going on in the city, all rooms had been booked several days earlier. “I wouldn’t have given you that room, if a better one was available. Please go and have some breakfast. It is included in the rent,” she said, pointing toward the adjoining room.

“I take back my complaint,” I told her. “You are so sweet. There is something in the Norwegian air that makes people here very pleasant.”

A Happy Pakistani Immigrant

Another proof of that pleasantness came a few hours later. After the breakfast, a quick shower and a short nap, I went back to the train station, this time to buy a ticket for Bergen. Most tour guides describe Bergen, the second-largest city in Norway, as more beautiful than the largest, which is Oslo. I had set aside my last day, the third day, in the country for a visit to Bergen.

After finishing my work at the ticket counter, I went to the locker room area of the station. Like most big train stations in Europe, Oslo’s Sentralstasjon (central station) provides locker facilities, which passengers can rent for a day or two to keep their luggage. I had decided to keep most of my luggage in one of the lockers at the station, instead of schlepping it all the way to Bergen and back. Because I had some time to spare, I thought of getting familiarized with, right away, how the electronic lock worked.

In the locker room, I was tinkering with the lock, when I heard a sweet female voice: “Can I help you?”

When I turned around, I saw an attractive, young, South Asian-looking, woman smiling at me. From the uniform – short skirt, shirt and jacket – she was wearing, I could tell that she was an employee of the Norwegian State Railways.

After she finished showing me how the lock worked, I asked her, “Which part of South Asia are you from?”

“My parents came from Pakistan in the late seventies,” she said. “I was only five when I arrived here. So I am very much a Norwegian now.”

She could pass for a teenager. So I was surprised when she told me that she was a mother of two. She has a sister and three brothers. “All of us are very happy in this country,” she said. The state-owned railways she was working for “treat the employees very well,” she added. She worked as a train conductor and was thinking of switch to driving the train.

“Why?” I asked her.

“Because there is more money in it,” she said.

“But there is also risk in it,” I told her. “Just check the passengers’ tickets and relax in a corner of the train when you have nothing to do. When you can afford to make life easy, why make it hard?”

She let out an endearing laugh.

“You made my day,” I told her, shook hands with her and left the locker room.

Pakistanis were the first batch of South Asians to take advantage of the liberal immigration policy of Norway. The first batch arrived in the 1970s as “guest workers.” Most of them were from the province of Punjab. There are close to 60,000 people of Pakistani origin living in Norway now. That’s a considerable chunk in a country whose total population is less than five million.

The first batch of Pakistanis, as is the case with all new immigrants, had a rough time. But thanks to the generous help they received from the state, they were able to give good education and upbringing to their children. Almost all those children, now in their twenties and thirties, are doing very well. The young lady I met is a living proof of that.

“I should stop complaining about Norway being expensive,” I said to myself while leaving the station. “As long as it is using part of its wealth to help the less fortunate in the world turn their lives around, I mustn’t complain.”

Photos:

Karl Johans Gate, a for-pedestrians-only street in Oslo, Norway, as it looked early one morning. The street and sidewalks get crowded in the evening with strollers, window-shoppers and alfresco diners. The building at the far end is the Royal Palace of Norway. Karl Johans Gate and the Royal Palace owe a great deal to Karl Johan (the king of Sweden from 1818 to 1844): the former was named after him and the latter began its construction, in 1825, on his initiative. The construction was completed in 1848 by the Swedish king who succeeded him, Oscar I. Both the street and the Royal Palace are also reminders of the nine-decade-long union that existed between Sweden and Norway. It was an unhappy union that came to an end in 1905, when Norway unilaterally declared its independence from Sweden

2

A cruise ship heading to a nearby fjord, in Oslo, Norway. Cruising through one of the fjords is a pleasure most visitors to Norway make it a point to give themselves.

(To be continued)

(M.P. Prabhakaran can be reached by email at [email protected])

see also

Chapter: 19

Manneken Pis in Brussels and the fuss over its portrayal in Air India Ad

18

Chat with an Austrian-Muslim woman determined to remain modern (Travel with MP Prabhakaran)

Chapter 17
A Bridge on Austrian border; a memory lane to the Hungarian Revolution (Travel with MP Prabhakaran)

chapter 16:
Monuments in Mexico City that pose challenge to the US (Travel with MP Prabhakaran)

15

What makes Islamic Turkey different from Islamist Saudi Arabia

14) Garbage dumps and traffic jams in the Silicon Valley of India

see also: 13
A humbling experience in a Laotian Town
(To be continued)

(M.P. Prabhakaran can be reached by email at [email protected])

12
A morning walk by the Mekong; A restaurant named after my niece

Chapter: 11:
A jacket and a bride for the price of one: Shopping on Nanjing Road (Travel with MP Prabhakaran)

10:
How a Shanghai neighborhood got an Indian name

9: 
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8) Capitalism Comes to Mao’s Mausoleum – But in Its Crude Form

7) Picture of a cow on Beijing billboard confuses a Hindu (Travel with MP Prabhakaran)

6) Yoga on Copacabana, conducted by a Brazilian beauty (Travel with MP Prabhakaran)

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Hunchback and sugar loaf: Two tourist attractions in Rio de Janeiro

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1) My Two Embarrassing Moments in Buenos Aires (Capitalism Comes to Mao’s Mausoleum-1: M. P. Prabhakaran)
http://dlatimes.com/article.php?id=40709

(about the author) An Indian Goes Around the World – I (Capitalism Comes to Mao’s Mausoleum)http://dlatimes.com/article.php?id=40126

Karl Johans Gate, a for-pedestrians-only street in Oslo, Norway