Oslo’s airport is one of the youngest main airports in Europe. Built in the 90s, Gardermoen lacks the cramped, claustrophobic school hall atmosphere of its older siblings. Especially the arrivals hall, first impression of a new country, often combines the cheerfulness of a nuclear bunker with the welcoming comfort of a fast food restaurant, which the architects of the terminal have quite successfully avoided by importing the airy feel of the concourses into the lower storeys.

The only mistake they did was to allow a pølser stand right next to the exit from the customs check. The smell of these dreadful sausage imitations has made many a delicate soul run up the escalators to check-in, never to be seen in Norway ever again. On the other hand, your trip can only go up the culinary hill from there.

Like cancerous flesh, the two duty free shops—for there is a second one right next to the baggage belts—are slowly but incurably growing. Not too far into the future, the airline agents will linger in dark corners guiltily interrupting the hunt for cheap substances with the profanities of air travel.

A small number of gastronomic enterprises bravely fight the tax-exempt onslaught. The international departures hall was the only place in the entirety of Norway where you could find a decent baguette, but now Upper Crust also has an outlet in Oslo’s central station.

People from a nation with a more careful attitude towards drink may feel put off by the amount of travellers enjoying a pint at six o’clock in the morning. Those of a more cheap upbringing may notice how blissfully they all ignore the fact that a mere two hour’s waiting will buy them the same pint for a third of its price. The anthropologist marvels at this display of two things so important for the survival in Norway: beer and the ability to ignore prices.