Oslo, June 2012

It is very early Sunday morning, the town glitters in the sun. I exit the Opera House and go strolling aimlessly in town. I am not really aware where I am going, I am an observer, a foreigner, full of thoughts.

Stunningly, I chance upon the doors of the Ibsen home museum. I enter. In the lobby bustle two very young and very friendly and – because of the morning – very sleepy girls, there’s no other people.

They think I am lost, and try to guide me where I was going. Perhaps I am looking for the Royal Castle. When I say, that I plan to stay here, they kind of say, that I can visit the museum, if I want to, and I respond, yes, I want to, I want it very much.

She comes up with me to see the apartement. Heavy gowns, silence of the wooden floor, heaviness of rarely touched spaces. The stillness of Sunday morning with nothing else awake than the light. A table – perfect room for the exactness of words, and with the accompaniment of furniture, like orchestra.

I know already, what my two next years will be like. Downstairs I buy DVDs and books, letters and editions, for my library. Peer Gynt in three languages, additionally to the one I’ve already got. The girls conclude I have completely lost my mind. One of them asks: “Have you become this morning an Ibsen fan?”

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