Showing posts with label organ. Show all posts
Showing posts with label organ. Show all posts

Sunday 20 November 2022

2022 Bratislava

12.11.22

Sitting in the Františkánske námestie next to the main square, with the Jesuit Church to my right.  Still early, few people around – but not quite as dead as Stavanger.  Arrived 11pm last night, on 11/11, in room 11 of Beigli Hotel, very central.  Car picked me up at the airport after a full flight (Ryanair) from an incomprehensibly busy Stansted… Driving in, the roads looked modern and immaculate: the EU has been good to Slovakia.

My hotel in Baštová ulica, the narrowest street here.  Going west, towards the castle, surprising number of derelict buildings.  Very typically middle European – baroque buildings, paved squares, no grass.  Sun shining, showing the city to best effect.

Down to the Hviezdoslavovo námestie, by the national theatre.  A red tram rumbles by – Bratislava is a city wise enough to have trams.  Both this and the other main square rather spoilt by the tacky little kiosks that are being installed for the Xmas fairs here soon.  Golden leaves everywhere on the ground – autumn in full swing.  Seems to suit Bratislava…

By the DanubeThe. Danube.  To my left the Old Bridge, and the Apollo Bridge, to my right the UFO tower where I hope to go.  Being here makes me think of other Danubes – in Vienna, in Budapest – and other rivers such as the one in Riga - the Daugava
.  Sun is reflected on the waters, blindingly – and inevitably makes me think of Luxor, Karnak, and Ra

The wind whipping along the Danube's banks.  Leaves piled up against the stone balustrade.  A few runners out.  And who can blame them? - a morning run along the Danube – what's not to like…?  

Up on the observation platform of the UFO tower by the Danube.  Best views of Bratislava, especially on a sunny day like today.  A band of fog/smoke rolls down behind the castle.  On the horizon to the north, the radio tower – reminds me of Tbilisi.  To my right, the new skyscraper of Eurovea – not too intrusive.  The Apollo Bridge clearly visible.  Out to the east, huge chimneys belching smoke/steam, surrounded by the miasma of their own making.  South, a forest of Soviet-style flats – looks like Hong Kong, but without the insane density or ambition.

Disturbingly, the tower shakes slightly from time to time.  As did that crazy youth hostel I stayed in – Vienna, I think – which was located in a church bell tower.  Smog is beginning to form – Bratislava has this problem like bigger cities.  Although from up here, the city is bigger than I expected, and clearly growing, not least in the business area to the east.  I have to say the castle looks sad: it has lost its lustre and gleam, and needs re-painting…  The odd, long barge plies the Danube. 

Back across the vaguely shaking bridge, then east along the Danube, searching for Moyzes Hall, where there is a concert tonight at 7pm of contemporary music.  Took me ridiculously long time to find it, just before the old bridge.  Then up Štúrová to the Hummel Museum.  Not to see the museum, but to buy a ticket for the concert (10 euros).  To Hlavné námestie, also spoilt by Xmas booths (empty).  More people around – at least 30. Noticeable how many smoke here…

In the Koliba Kamzik restaurant.  Ironically, this is part of the Hotel Perugia, which I nearly chose to stay in.  More central, but Hotel Beigli looked better overall.  Very heavy pork menu – and I really don't want to eat such intelligent creatures.  So after 
(less intelligent) rooster soup, I chose (less intelligent) duck pierogies, with a glass of Slovenian red – Frankovka modrá.  Vaguely rustic ambience in the restaurant, came recommended by the Bradt Travel guide, another excellent tome in this series.

For dessert, a conventional strudel, but accompanied by the infamous Tatratea – actually a highly alcoholic liqueur – but only the weak one – 44%, not the "outlaw" version, which is 72%.  Pretty much like other strong liqueurs of this kind.

Time for some culture.  To the Central European House of Photography – 5 euros.  Interesting photos of old Slovakia – 1930s – 1990s – by Milos Dohnanyi.  Black and white, evocative.  Striking portraits by Antonín Kratochvíl – of the famous and not so famous.  Blurred, superposed, craggy, indistinct.  Always interesting to see famous faces – and faces famous for being famous – in this new light.  For example Bob Dylan, Keith Richards, John le Carré, David Bowie, Ray Liotta.  I love these photography galleries – they are always so minimalist – white walls, polished floors – to highlight the concentrated images.

Past the palace where Liszt played – Leopold de Pauli Palace.  Just a plaque on the wall now… Nearby another palace, the Pálffy Palace, where the 6-year-old Mozart played.  Plaque on the wall of a "juice shop".  Looking for Zoya Gallery – and failing to find it.  To St Martin's Cathedral – gothic, with a choir that looks quite English.  Spiky, over the top pulpit in dark wood.  Otherwise clean, light stone, whitewashed walls, modern organ.

Finally found Zoya – you just have to head towards the Armenian consulate…  Nice pix by Erik Johansson – Swedish – trompe l'oeil.  Obvious – like people installing the moon, a watermill on the edge of a waterfall made of fields, a Meteora/Avatar-like town in the sky, its supports scraped away by diggers.  Not deep, but entertaining.  Clever photography.  More direct is "Man and Winter" of Ragnar Axelsson.  Icelandic, and it shows.  Lots of huskies, and amazing pic of Inuit hunter with his harpoon.  

A roomful of curious bird photos – Sanna Kannisto, Finnish, but working at Lake Baikal.  The birds look dead or posed – and are the latter, in a portable studio, before being released again after being caught. Weird, but pretty in a way.  Another Finn – Pentti Sammallahti – pure photography – images, black and white, that are complete in themselves.  All of them have one animal or more.

To the Johann Pálffy Palace.  Downstairs to Celtic minting in a dark cube, with underfloor exhibits.  More modern stuff – short videos, disturbing pix, installations.  Then upstairs to a display of gothic panel painting.  Then, unexpectedly, to the famous book-lined walkway of death: clever use of mirrors makes it look like a narrow pathway between infinite rows of books – clever and run.  Up again to some absurdist pix – legs sticking out of houses heads in walls.  Erwin Wurm – another floor of his stuff right at the top of the palace.  A little of it goes a long way…  Great gallery, though.

Since I am going to the concert at 7pm, I need to eat early, on the way.  I find myself in Urban House, down with the cool kids, waiting for my Beyond Burger.  Be interesting to compare it with the Impossible Burger I had in Hong Kong a few years back…  Walking here, I found the main streets buzzing – people out on the pavements, eating, drinking, smoking.  Has a good feel to the city, very liveable.  Obviously very similar to Prague, but not nearly so touristic.  Also more walkable – much more compact – quite like Yerevan in that respect.

Now in the Moyzes Hall, after a brisk walk from the restaurant.  Beautiful Art Deco hall, all gilt, garlands and geometrics.  Small chamber orchestra, nearly outnumbering the audience, currently at about 50.  I saw a TV/radio van outside, so I presume this is either being broadcast live, or recorded.  I'm sitting just behind the sound desk.

First piece by Peter Zagar (2022), quite melodious, uses full orchestra well.  Very tonal now. Reminds me of Gavin Bryars.  Second piece by Marek Piaček – three songs, amplified voice.  Bit
Nymanish melodically, also sounds influenced by musicals – in the best way.  Rhythmically quite varied.  Overall, though it meanders, musically at least – since I can't understand a word, it's hard to say how well the music serves the texts.  Harmonic changes very reminiscent of some Nyman.  Final piece of first half Ľubomír Burgr – combines some rather crude electronic sounds with Pärt-like arpeggios on the violin.  Doesn't work for me…

13.11.22

To the castle, wreathed in mists.  No one about, except a few dog walkers.  Near the main facade, an incredible, ornate, cast iron gate – with a huge drop the other side.  Equestrian statue of Svatopluk.  Cold, damp morning, but that seems to suit this place.  The castle looks better in this vague, looming form.  My hands freezing – I can barely write… 

Interior courtyard nothing special.  Inside the History Museum of the castle.  Big and – the main thing – warm.  A room about the reconstruction of the castle, which burned down, and was in ruins for many years.  Took lift to the basement, weird feeling of descending who knows where.  In fact, when I got there – nothing.  Nearby, stairs marked "Celts in Slovakia" – I descend – nothing again.

Along to a huge gleaming staircase in white and gold, looks newly restored.  A chapel, with a modern organ, looking very Finnish.  Alongside, a large Assumption of the Virgin Mary by Anton Schmidt (1762-63).  Impressive for its size, if nothing else.  Around the walls, 14 rather murky representations of the stations of the cross.

Up a gleaming white staircase.  Very minimalist – looks almost 30s Italian Fascism in style.  To an exhibition of Martin Benka (1888-1971).  Slovak modernist.  Some nice neo-impressionist landscape à la Sisley.  Early works.  Later pix more pared down, Kandinsky colours, Cézanne 
forms of mountains.  Final phase Soviet realism of strong men and beautiful women, mostly peasants, heart of the nation etc.  His travel pix more varied – good ones of the Adriatic, blue seas, pines and cypresses.  A musician too, who painted – and made – cubist violins.

Opposite, an exhibition about Slovak life in the 20th century – photos, videos, recordings.  Soviet world and its circumventions.  In the cafe – devoid of people, devoid of food bar a rather crusty cake (nope) – risking a cappuccino, which is unlikely to be good, but hey…  Outside, fog still not lifting.  Being inside a castle is a good place to be…  Coffee not too bad – and hot – plus "free" caramel biscuit.

The castle's museums are better than I expected – just as well given the rather miserable weather.  I did the right thing making the most of the fine sunshine yesterday.  In the background, chants of perennially angry Slovak students demanding who knows what – freedom, probably – in a time capsule of captured rebellion.  Judging by contemporary Slovakia, I'd say they got it.  It's a very pleasant, highly functional society now.  Safe, too.  What more could one ask?

To the Romans in Slovakia  - huge exhibition.  Facsimile of an amazing map: Tabula Peutingeriana – itself a copy of a Roman map… One part marked "Colchi".  Excellent exhibition – shows how much Roman stuff has been found this region – and how much we know, in detail – and how much more there must be under the earth.

Now in the castle gardens, which are delightfully autumnal.  St Martin's Cathedral in front, the castle behind.  The morning fog slowly lifting, the sun breaking through occasionally.  Should be nice this afternoon.  St Martin's chimes 12.  Not heard many bells here, so makes a nice change.  There's another church sounding, contrapuntally with the cathedral.  Now a carillon, plus a low bell under it all.  Wonderful: "Mortuos Plango, Vivos Voco…"  Incredible random symphony of bells, lovely cross rhythms.  Now dying away; a lone bell sounds…

Clever public seating here: the backs of the seats form a platform you can sit on standing up.  Doubles the seating capability in a compact way.  More people around now – 100s, out on a Sunday stroll.  Quite a few tourists – Italians, Spaniards, Chinese, Koreans, Japanese, Brits, Irish.  A camera crew recording to my right – such a palaver.

In the Hradná restaurant – convenient, prices not too bad.  Nice modern interior; warm.  Eating beetroot starter, cheese dumplings for the main.  This place starting to bubble – as I've just posted on Mastodon about Mastodon…  One strange thing here and elsewhere – the napkins are almost diaphanous – is there a paper shortage or something?  The sun pours through the windows, illuminating the few remaining leaves on the trees outside.

After lunch, out to understand transport.  First, find a tram stop for #1, which goes to the main station.  A little way away from the hotel, but not too bad.  Road is a typical central European tram road – reminds me of Riga, when I was looking for – and found – that Georgian restaurant, and I also travelled by tram.  Those long, broad streets.  Then to find a ticket machine: done, but they only take coins.  So to the Tourist Office near Hummel's house, who explain where the nearest machine is that takes credit cards.  Then to here, the Primate's Palace – historically important, and also the site of a remarkable discovery: tapestries from the UK (Mortlake).  No pix allowed, alas…

Decent portrait of Maria Teresa; Francis I looking weird in his get up, Bratislava and St Martin's in the distance.  Mozart's mate, Joseph II, quite a characterful face.  Tapestry of Hero and Leander – a putto looks on, and appears in another, smaller tapestry – copy and paste…  A Guercino, Abraham and the angel.  Nice moody pic of Bratislava from the north.  Lots of ignorable pix of peasants, dogs, cows etc.  Amazing view down into the chapel from a glassed-in balcony.  Odd from this perspective.

In the Hummel Museum, where he was born 14/11/1778 – nearly his birthday today.  His piano trios  noodling nicely in the background.  One room with two square pianos, plus a harmonium.  The other room with an Érard grand.
 Reminds me of Pushkin's house in Chișinău... The rooms so small, but cosy.

To the National Gallery, most of which is closed as they prepare their renovated wing.  On the first floor, a wonderful installation that consists of thousands of books on shelves, arranged alphabetically – but all in Slovak, which I can't really read.  A few people sit on comfy sofas, reading.  I wonder where all these books came from.  Oh, yes, at one end, there is also a horse – stuffed, I presume.  Not sure why…  Quite a few books in German, in fact, but no other language that I can see…

Now in an installation about "The Bridge", which is what the newer part of the gallery is apparently called.  Interactive – press a key – currently there is a cow on the screen, with The Bridge's characteristic gantries moving past.  Seems to be a decapitated cow, from which blood is pouring – complete with trickling sound effects.  Hmmm…  Let's try another button.

Moving through a shattered brick wall, darkness broken by a candle.  Gypsy music grows louder...a woman sings in Slovak (I think).  Another candle, on a round table, with a high-heel shoe on it.  That's it.  Now the architecture button.  Moving through The Bridge – blurred, the sound of water dripping, and light reflecting on the surface of a body of water…  We approach a blind wall at the end… Which is the end.  Probably enough for me, even though there are four more buttons…

From the SNG, along the Danube, to the Old Bridge.  Wonderful effect created by the lit girders.  Boats on the river, moored and moving.  Pinkish glow to the west, behind the UFO tower.  To the east, the Apollo Bridge more delicate.  Shoals of fish suddenly rising like a local rainstorm on the water's surface.  A gentle slapping sounds mingles with the thunder of a passing tram on the bridge.

Yesterday I made the mistake of not taking a coffee and bun in the afternoon, and a headache as result.  Today, no such mistake – here I am in Pollito – a cheesecake shop in Laurinská
.  Nice vibe.  Nice cheesecake…

To Nedbalka Gallery.  Fourth floor – late romantic – lovely stuff by Ladislav Mednyansky – great Tatra landscape – amazing view of what looks like fjord with craggy mountains on both sides of a lake (called "The Tarn").  Another painter with the splendid name of Edmund Gwerk.  Down to the third floor – where I see my old mate Martin Benka – quite a few.  Lots of others painting those stern peasants.  Also sub-Picasso Blue period/pneumatic phases.  Second floor – Galanda group.  Mostly derivative stuff – I saw Léger, Braque, Modigliani, Bacon, Hockney…  But overall a good showing of Slovak modern art and great gallery design with the opening on each floor – a bit like the New York Guggenheim.  

To the first floor – again, obvious influences – Rothko, de Kooning, Freud.  One rather disturbing pic: "Proximity of Time" – by Michal Jakabčic.  Shows two figures with big heads and tiny eyes, nose and mouth starting up at the sky while a third head emerges from light green earth, on which there is a triple-headed bird, and two other animals – one in a vase.  Striking.  To the ground floor – brand new stuff, quite a lot of photo realism, or approximations thereto.  I particularly liked "Frozen in Time" by Juraj Duris, which shows some kind of boat/ship on the wet floor of a warehouse.  No explanation, but striking.  Definitely one of the best galleries in Bratislava.

Since the restaurant I was looking for – Wolker on Biela – seems not to exist, I opted for U nás dobre nearby – on Michalská – bit bright inside, but has plenty of Slovak dishes.  I ordered the turkey (chrumkavé morčacie) with sheep's cheese, since they too are less intelligent than pigs, which I really really do not want to eat.  That's awkward, because Slovak cuisine is basically pig…  Also ordered a glass of the white and flowery Müller-Thurgau – bit fruity for me, but I wanted to try it to complement the Frankovka modrá I had (red) yesterday – which was really good.  Finished off with the cherry pierogi – devastatingly sweet, apparently sprinkled with cigarette ash.  But good.

14.11.22

Mondays in Bratislava seem to be like Mondays in Stavanger: practically every museum is closed.  So a morning of walking – and of churches, which are open.  Mostly: I went to look at the Poor Clares church: closed.  Now in the Capuchin Church: lots of baroque paintings and woodwork, architecture uninspired.  

Not having much luck.  The superb Holy Trinity Church: closed.  The Brothers of Mercy church: open – but locked inside with a huge grille.  On the floor, a homeless man snores in the warmth.  Beautiful baroque altar, bubbling and undulating wildly.  The pedestrian street Poštová rather nice.  To the Blue Church, which is...rather shockingly light blue, everything, with Art Nouveau curlicues on the outside and inside.  Closed, alas, but worth seeing from the outside.

Interesting: just seen the tram driver get out and use a big metal stick to change the points – I wondered how that was done…

Sitting by the National Theatre, trams thundering by as usual.  Leaves still falling, but will soon all be gone.  Blue sky, fresh wind.  

Incredible, two restaurants I tried were closed, and another non-existent.  Must be the Stavanger curse.

On tram #1 – very smart and modern – announcements in Slovak and English…  This is one long carriage; the older ones have separate parts.  On bus #61… Despite the fact that driver wouldn't let me on the bus, which said "leaving in 3 minutes"… Turns out it was leaving to move around to the actual stop, where lots of people were waiting.  Interesting ride out here – 20 minutes through the suburbs of Bratislava.  Looking smart and modern, usual shops and shopping centres – little sign of the Soviet world, unlike in Georgia or Armenia, say.

Airport, too, spanking new, big, efficient.  Bought some of the lethal Slovakian liqueur – Tatratea (52% alcohol), an apricot liqueur, and Carpathian brandy...

Tuesday 5 October 2021

1989 Oslo

12.5.89

Oslo – why Oslo?  I have been here before for a press trip – to Norsk Data – since plunged into the red, as predicted – probably because it took irrelevant journos like me on junkets.  My vision of the city was a fleeting one.  But pleasant.  Going north to colder climes and dour people was attractive.  I needed to get away for various reasons.  As soon as I arrived at the airport, it felt right.

Oslo is so neat and civilised.  There are fountains everywhere, attractive blonde women, long broad streets, a lack of tall buildings.  Everything is on a human scale.  Vastly exciting, it is not: the what's on guide is embarrassing in its paucity of offerings.  I arrived at 11am, and went straight to my hotel – the Savoy (sic) on Universitetsgata.  Then a wander down to the tourist office to pick up maps and info.

I am now in the café of the Grand Hotel, eating reindeer liver pate – very strong.  The price of food is terrifying here.  Across from me is the Stortinget, a Romanesque fantasy which reminds me of the Victoria & Albert MuseumKarl Johans Gate reminds me of Helsinki.  Beautiful weather – hot sun, cool air.  Good news: no  smoking in public places; bad news: cyclists on the pavements.

In the Slottet grounds: two guardsmen in navy blue, with green epaulettes and feathered helmets, walk with a strange formal loping, left hand on their belt at the front, right hand swinging.  Earlier, I saw a procession with brass band – for the changing of the guard?  The palace is a rather modest affair, a miniature Buckingham Palace, two guards on duty, talking to passers-by.  The creamy, yellow colour seems quite common here: most of the older buildings seem eighteenth, nineteenth century.  They look like those in Leningrad.

After lunch, to the Nasjonalmuseet.  A few good old masters – especially Delacroix, interesting Norwegians – the stunning scenery makes "landskips" a doddle – and the cream of the Munch.  Strange pix for such an urbane-looking young man in his self-portrait.  "The Sick Girl" is slashed by deep lines – a battle of a surface.  "The Scream" is thin and almost a sketch.  The door to the Nasjonalmuseet very heavy – as have been several others – I almost gave up.  As in England, young mothers with kids everywhere.  

9.45pm – out into the cold rain – and a surprise: it's light.  I had forgotten this consequence of northward travel.  Otherwise an evening watching French, Norwegian and Swedish TV – plus Sky and Super Channel – the last two dire.

13.5.89

A grey morning, but clearing.  Out to the Munch Museet.  The Oslo underground is new and ultra-clean.  A wonderful smell.  And expensive.  Out to the suburbs, full of neat blocks of flats.  The museum is a low squarish building, easy to miss.  Rather fewer pix inside than I expected.  But big rooms full of wild garish colours.  I was pleased that most were familiar.  Interesting that those in the Nasjonalmuseet are often duplicated here – "Skrik", "Pubertet", "The Sick Girl".  New were the etchings.  Best of these were eight of "The 
Sick Girl" in close up – obsessional reworkings, all the more effective for the cumulative impact of the eight versions.  A very personal vision, but once again, I am glad I am not a painter.

Back on the T-banen, then to the harbour to take a boat out to Bygdøy.  Glorious weather now, scudding clouds, stiff breeze.  It is the first time I have looked out into the fjord.  Low islands across the sparkling water.  In the harbour a gleaming tall ship, three or four masts.  A proud beauty.  As we pull out, I see the castle which I must visit.  Looks unimpressive compared to Brit stuff.  Nice modern architecture along the harbour – why can't the Docklands get this?  Mooring on Bygdøy, then I walk to the Folkemuseum.  Very plush here: BMWs in quiet roads outside immaculate weatherboard houses, white in the sun.

I am sitting in the famous Stave Church – thirteenth century, and one of the most remarkable buildings I have ever seen.  Unlike most, it feels authentically old.  Outside is like some hazy northern pagoda. Both the church and the other buildings have a strange and wonderful property: their spaces seem particularly real.  That is, the space is won and constructed.  Modern buildings are typically divorced entirely from the outside space: there is no relation between in and out.  Here the two communicate, perhaps because the imperfections of the buildings never let you forget the act of construction.  The assemblage of these old empty buildings is touching.  As is the old ghost town which has been constructed.

It is starting to rain, so in to the Folkemuseum proper.  [Parenthetically, in the Munch Museet, three glorious portraits: Ibsen, Strindberg and Nietzsche.  It is strange how each seems defined by their facial hair.]  I write this in the old assembly room, a northern, scaled-down version of Palladio's Teatro Olimpico.   The museum is deserted.  I am left only with the smell of old wood and leather, and the still gazes from beneath wigs and perukes.  This place is thick with time.  To the building opposite.  A crazy exhibit of log chains.  Glorious smell of pine.

To the Viking Ship Museum.  Aptly enough, this is in the form of a church-like cross, three ships in three arms.  And what ships.  Black monsters, superbly preserved.  Very shallow draught, and intricately ornamented on the prow and stern.  And the carriages and sleds.  It is hard to connect these fearsome Viking images with the civilised people here today.  A nation which changed the face of England, France, Sicily, Russia and elsewhere.

Back on the boat to a sunny late Saturday afternoon in Oslo.  Most of the shops were shut by 3 o'clock.  I am now sitting down from the Stortinget, in an open air café – exorbitant but worth it.  The rows of elms are a bright, young green; the horse chestnut is a mass of leaves.  Behind the latter, more fountains susurrate.  Everywhere there are pretty, attractive blonds.  Blue skies.  "Selig", as a poet once said.

14.5.89

Glorious weather: strong sun, refreshing breeze.  Out to Frognerparken to see the Vigeland sculptures.  Those on the bridge as less impressive than those around the column.  The latter are more varied and inventive, and gain from their grouped setting.  The rock is beautiful: it looks so sensuous.  The carving is remarkable for its consistency.  The column is artful: lower down the basic lines are flat; then a diagonal enters – a left corkscrew into the sky.  At the top, verticals.  But I can't help feeling more tapering would have helped.  Aren't women's buttocks wonderful?  From the column, you get a splendid view down the alley to the road.  Hordes of tourists disembark like locusts.  Alongside the simple strength of the granite figures, they look mean and tawdry.

The main fountain is impressive – even in this city of fountains.  The bronze figures surrounding it are curious: they stand or crouch beneath trees; the trees look like alien flora from a Dan Dare comic strip.  

Last night, walking home from dinner at Mona Rosa's, I passed a young woman sobbing violently as she sat in a doorway.  What could I do?  You can't comfort in a foreign tongue.  I walked on, but felt sick at heart.

I am sitting in the chapel of the Akershus Fortress.  An organist – typically attired in suit and organist glasses – has just entered and started playing a strongly modal piece on some softer stops.  Outside the sun breaks through white and dark clouds, sending blurred images of the windows onto the blue carpet in front of me.  This is a real Sunday.  The sound and the occasional fluffs remind me of the short time I learnt the organ.  I was still at secondary school, but I remember driving to a church for practice.  I had to knock someone up for the key.  I remember vividly the smell when the door opened, the fat man wiping a hand over his greasy mouth, chewing still.  I had disturbed his dinner.  The air was think with lower-class living; children squealed distantly.  Once, upon obtaining the key, I went into the church to find a corpse laid out in its coffin.  It was cold and the darkness seemed thick around the light on the organ.  But it all seemed appropriate too.

Old glass in the church windows.  Seven o'clock and still as warm as an English summer's afternoon – the sun as high.  After the concert – before an audience of 12 – I have spent most of the afternoon near Stortinget, sitting in the sun, drinking coffee, watching the world – and young ladies – go by.  Unfortunately these erstwhile Vikings are smokers.

Dinner: devastating avocado, prawns, roe and cream; then reindeer medallions followed by summer fruits in champagne.  This lack of night is so disconcerting.  I am sitting on the wharf side opposite Akershus Slott (Akers is Oslo's river), which is eerily illuminated in the gloaming by sodium glare.  There is a very impressive waterside development here – far better than Docklands.  One warehouse has been converted into shops and boîtes – very lively.  But who are all these boys and girls in red/blue boiler suits?  And what are they selling?  To my left, the Rådhuset blocks stand out like blocks of patterned chocolate.  Half moon tonight.  The smell of sawdust in the air; new buildings behind.

15.5.89

Beautiful morning again.  A walk round the deserted city – a holiday today.  Then to the cathedral, the bells ringing clangorously with wonderful software discords of major seconds.  Inside, and I am immediately back in Helsinki cathedral – a memory long lost.  A Greek cross with a low crossing painted with a wild pointillist frieze.  Gilt everywhere.  I preferred Helsinki.

To the Rådhuset, which really is a beautiful building.  The dark brickwork conceals a wealth of detail – diagonally set bricks, rose circles.  It is, obviously, a very vertical building, emphasised by the tall vertical slots above the regularly placed windows.  Also, the squat central building throws the two flanking towers into prominence.  The astrological clock is a superb stroke: like an intricate jewel on a great flowing robe, it draws the eye in.

There are many races here: orientals, blacks, Arabs, other Europeans.  It will be interesting to see if the melting pot melts.