Latitude being what it is, Oslo is cold. A genius like Vigeland made all his human sculptures nude. Going naked must seem the ultimate freedom in a country of biting cold. Days are grey and finish early. With their tungsten glow and warmth, cafes and shops beckon. Picasso’s work (Fiskerne or Fisherman, looking like what a sincere child may have scribbled) has been sandblasted onto the side of a government building. The palace guard’s unresponsive stare is such a London rip-off, though.
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