OK, so I’ve been a bad journalist. We’re supposed to be over here to write about all the songs and ill-advised costumes all these international pop stars are chucking at us, but on a day like today it would be rude not enjoy the absolute insane joy that Oslo’s Constitution Day parade had to offer.
We knew it was gong to be a weird one when we saw a man in knee breeches pushing a baby buggy to the tram stop, and the nearer we got to the centre of town the more bizarre things got. The whole town had got dressed up to the nines, and for every one in a posh suit or shiny frock there were half a dozen in glorious national dress. Each region of Norway has their own particular colours and designs, and there was an array of absolutely beautiful outfits and eccentric headgear on display.
On top of all that were the students on the last day of their mammoth party month. Bedecked, in the main, in baggy red boiler suits, festooned in patches and tipex’d graffiti, each was slightly more drunk when the next and handing out collectable calling cards with a smile to any small child that passed their way. Often times you’d see them piling out of self-designed party buses, pounding out the techno, and rammed to the rafters with sardined revellers.
There appear to be many layers of tradition that are so ingrained in the local psyche that they’d be impossible to explain to us mere abroadians, but that doesn’t mean that they’re still not endless fascinating to watch. Me and our Catherine dragged out creaky bones to the castle to watch the joy unfold. Flocks and flocks of children and legions of marching bands took the long loop up to the castle to wave at the King. He waved back and, if they were lucky, waved his hat at them, and then they meandered back down to town with the cheers of the crowd in their ears all the way.
And yes, we saw the King. The real King. And most of his family. This is and event for all Norwegians it seems, and their glorious leader was happy to risk an RSI recognising their efforts.
As the day went on, then so did the drinking, and by early evening there were a lot of folks looking pretty worse for wear, but wilting, as they were, in those heavy fabrics of the national garb. The concert in front of the Town Hall was an apparent success, with stars like Rybak, Bobbysocks and many other locals doing a turn. But it begain with a long, and admittedly lovely classical gig on – and as much as we’d have loved ot have stayed, our knees were beginning to creak with all that walking, and the fumes from the massed silly-string battles that were by now reaching fever pitch were getting to our ageing lungs.
But what a day for people watching. Anyone who’d turned up today oblivious to what was supposed to be going on would have been bewildered and mildly confused by the goings on. “Do they really dress like this all the time?” they may have asked. Well I really wish they did!