/kəˈnär(d)/ noun. an unfounded rumor or story.
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There is something intimate about being in Oslo. To me, it felt like the last hurrah: the moment you realize that your too old to stay out late for a party. The last apron strings of carelessness and hedonistic ways. Nights start at the local bar and end up at a house party with an attractive stranger. Quick friends are made over dancing and laughter. Seriousness, self-consciousness, and humility are entwine.
You have to justify paying more than $10 US for a taco, torilla chips, guacamole, and a drink. Then you burn off your meal during a 90 minute wait so you can enter a warehouse and listen to a band or DJ that you may or may not have ever heard of. You find yourself exploring a graffiti-filled urban jungle with a flowing stream running through it hidden behind a metal gate as jazz streams out of every corner inviting you in like a siren.
Windows full of Freia Milk Chocolate with smells so tempting that you decide to indulge. The slight grittiness of teenagers roaming the streets with nothing to do but something to prove. Women from parts unknown awaiting their first client of the night. The defiant weariness of finding the next party and finally for the perfect beat to dance too.
To long conversations with a stranger in hotel lobbies. Bed-time coming at sunrise and breakfast late in the afternoon. To wondering about Karl Johns Gate until the sun begins to set and realizing there are only a few more krones (Norwegian currency) in your pocket.
Yet when faced with the decision to simply return to your hotel, you choose to spend another evening out because a small part of you feels that it will be the night you tell stories about for years to come. That is when you know you've truly been to Oslo.