SNOW AND THE CITY
Pop on the metro for cross-country skiing and then chill in Norway’s buzzy capital, says
YOU CAN find galleries, museums, curious historical buildings and different food in every European capital — but in how many can you go skiing? I’m not talking about taking a two-hour coach trip to reach the slopes — I mean carrying your skis on the metro, riding it to the terminus, then skiing off into the forest. Because that’s exactly what you can do in Oslo.
This is cross- country skiing, which means gliding through beautiful pine forests and crossing frozen lakes. And it’s not a boring alternative to the exhilaration of downhill skiing or the preserve of old squares. On my first day on the flats, I am overtaken by young parents dragging sledges carrying their toddlers, teenagers, people skiing with dogs, families and hale and hearty elderly couples.
As for speed, you can choose your own pace and distance. Downhill might be faster, but cross-country offers a range of terrains from steep or gradual climbs to straight or winding descents to flat stretches and lakes.
I am a cross-country virgin and haven’t been downhill skiing for more than 25 years. But, Oslo proves to be an easy introduction.
On my first day the contrasts with downhill skiing are immediately apparent: at a bus stop my American girlfriend Solvej and I stand with our skis alongside people in city clothes heading off to work.
Cross- country boots and skis are light, so carrying them around is no problem — we wander around department stores with them and no one bats an eyelid.
Directly outside the metro terminus in the northern suburb at Sognsvann, we slip on our skis. Conditions are perfect: there had been fresh snow the previous day, it is sunny, at minus 7c (19f) not too cold, and the path leads gently down into the forest.
PUSHING off, I soon lose my balance, but quickly steer my skis into the two narrow grooves made by snowploughs especially for cross-country skiers.
These guide your skis, so they follow the grooves like a train on a track. Easy — until you need to brake suddenly or decide to step out of the grooves.
At this point I end up with my face in the snow. For beginners, the risk is that you end up walking your skis forward, rather than skiing on them.
Our Norwegian friends explain that it’s like salsa dancing — it’s all in the hips. The trick is to waltz forward with almost all your weight on one ski, then shift to the other leg. After a while I notice I’ve stopped thinking about skiing and am gliding along enjoying the views through the pines to the frozen lake below.
Downhill skiing developed as a sport, but cross- country skiing was simply the best way for Norwegians to get around in the snow. I can see why.
If your skis are waxed correctly, there’s little friction and you can easily glide your way up a slope and not slide back down. If the slope’s too steep, you simply turn your feet out and duck walk your way up. As the skis are so light, it’s no harder than walking uphill. Attempting a shortcut, we turn off the path and come out on the frozen lake of Sognsvann itself.
With Solvej valiantly leading the way across the ice, I surge forward across the 2ft-deep snow. Leaving the few other skiers behind and heading out into the middle of a frozen lake on a crisp wintry day is truly tranquil.
Attractive wooden cabins housing cafeterias and guestrooms are dotted along the major ski routes, and after 3.5 miles we reach our first at Ullevalseter. Deer stew is on offer, but we settle for an open sandwich. Though our path had been gently undulating, we’d managed a gradual ascent of 180m (597 ft).
The following day we take a tram up to the northern terminus at Kjelsas. When there are no cabins on the ski routes, people make small fires beside the path and cook their own lunch.
We find a sunny spot, line our skis up horizontally to make a bench on the snow and eat cinnamon rolls and chocolate.
With the temperature down to -16c (3f), a 15-minute break is enough before the cold begins to bite. To warm ourselves up, we turn our skis uphill for a climb.
Later, we skirt the edges of the lake of Maridalsvannet, Oslo’s main reservoir, which makes an excellent expanse for skiing and snow-kiting. By the end of the day I’m better on my skis, certainly off them less and have managed to ski ten-and-a-half miles.
Of course, you might find the energy to ski all day, but what about when it goes dark? Well, just carry on. The major routes are lit up at night and some skiers wear head torches.
One l ate afternoon, on the summit at Frognerseteren we perch at the top of a quarter-of-amile toboggan descent. When we see that all the teenagers doing it are wearing crash helmets — in case they career into each other, not the walls, we decide instead to enjoy the rosy late afternoon views of the city and the islands in the Oslofjord.
THE DANGER in an Alpine ski resort is spending your evenings cornered by apresski bores boasting about the sheerness of their descents. In Oslo you’ve a whole city to explore, so we head for the posh north-western suburbs where pretty, detached wood- frame houses are still the norm.
You can saunter among Gustav Vigeland’s 212 bulbous bronze and granite statues in Vigelands Park and visit the Opera House built of white granite and marble, that you can both walk in and (when it’s not snowy) on, because the roof slopes down to its base at the water’s edge.
There is, of course, also the Munch Museum, where, although two versions have been stolen in the past 20 years, his most famous painting The Scream will be back on display in June as part of the largest Munch exhibition ever.
For the peace of cross-country skiing and cultural razzle of a city break, Oslo is hard to beat.