To mini-break is to fling one's fragile form into a fog of folly.
But fear not, for I, the empathy kryptonite that is Richard Ayoade am here
to get your short-haul ship to shore.
Lassoed to a litany of lightened entities,
I'm going to glibly guide you through a global gamble.
This... This...
This... is travel without mercy.
Tonight, 48 hours in Oslo,
over 2.5 mil a year nose down in the Norwegian capital,
though most of those characters come in the summer.
And helping literalise a metaphor of cold feet is professional pretender
Fay Ripley, seen here describing some kind of living holiday hell.
I like discos and a suntan.
We will parry these preferences and instead document my physical
excellence...
You see, that didn't work.
..give notes to a dead man...
Where's the detail? Ears.
Can you see mine?
..and get highbrow in a high-class eatery.
Knowing that at any point, you can live up to your surname and rip one out
is making me incredibly alive.
Yeah, but maybe in the summer.
A two-hour plane flight plonks us in Oslo,
which at time of recording is crippled by the coldest winter in
yonks, with temps as low as minus 18.
You know I'm half Norwegian?
Are you, which half? The left side.
So I'm very welcome here.
I'm a bit of a poster boy for this country.
Well, this is absolutely freezing.
How dare you insult my motherland.
Why have you brought me here?
I'm about to tell you. Gosh, that man was orange.
Founded in 1050 by Viking King Harald Hardraade,
Oslo was devastated by the Black Death in 1350
and destroyed in a fire in 1624.
It was immediately rebuilt in stone and renamed Christiana by the
suffix loving King Christian IV.
It became capital of Norway in 1814 and was given its current name in
1925. Oslo has also given us the paperclip,
significant soft pop rockers A-ha, and my long-term adversary,
the cheese slicer. And according to the number hungry nerds at the UN,
Oslo is the best place to live in the world if your jam is low
unemployment and a high human development index.
If you've taken to thrift,
you can tackle two days in O-to-the-slo for a pinch more than two large,
which we are about to blow on a freaking kip joint.
This place cost the most per room of any hotel in Scandinavia to build.
And to stay at. Obviously that's going to be picked up by the broadcaster.
Located on Thief Island, so named because it was full of half-inchers,
is our hostel, The Thief.
This guy is either very grateful to be in this hotel or
he's been afflicted by terrible diarrhoea.
Please. This formidable flophouse is full of contemporary art,
including works by Hirst, Koons and Opie.
There's a spa, a bar and an uncanny replica of my personal
Bryan Ferry-themed supper saloon.
I heard this is at number three in TripAdvisor's Oslo-based hotels.
It is. Oh, good. Dominic, who asked me to withhold his last name,
shows me to the Oslo suite.
The room was both furnished and inaugurated by pop art pioneer Peter Blake.
He designed it, he contributed his artwork to the room...
OK. And was the first person to ever stay in this room.
He bagsied it. He bagsied it.
And is the art complementary?
No. OK. You've got to leave it here. That's a shame.
Meanwhile, Fay is quartered in the Apparatjik Suite.
Loosely inspired by the name of the group Apparatjik.
Oh!
Jazzy!
It's all quite flammable.
I'd say.
It includes dual mirror balls.
A stack of wax.
My first album. And a projected opportunity for 2D scanning.
Did you book a restaurant for tonight?
Shall we stay in? Maybe get some room service.
You're looking good there.
There you go. Hey.
Time is up. Really?
Sensing Fay's hunger for wind-borne brine on a budget,
we set off on a low-cost voyage around Oslofjord.
I'm excited about this except that I get seasick.
Do you? I do a bit. Got any sick bags?
I think you just go over the side.
That's the beauty of public transport.
Oslo is made up of 40 isles...
Hello, captain.
And this ferry lets a cat cop cinq of the mothers in less than an hour.
Oh, wow! It's so cold, the water,
I thought that if you were sick over the side,
it would freeze and become like a joke shop sick.
So you could re-use it.
You could re-use it. Whenever you wanted to.
There are actual icebergs.
Yeah. Which is why no-one else is outside...
No-one else is outside.
No-one else has our commitment to broadcasting. That's true.
First stop is the Isle of Hovedoya.
What does this island have to offer?
Well, a monastery, shingle beaches...
Anyone live in the monastery? Monks. Amazing.
And Russell Brand pops in now and again. Really?
We grapple towards Gressholmen, nicknamed Rabbit Island,
after it was near destroyed by a bunny bonanza.
The atmosphere already sour, I try to strike up some convo.
Look at these birds.
They seem very high in the water.
Are there birds? Where? I mean, I'm not Bill Oddie,
but I'd say that's a bird. Yeah, no, fair enough.
We choke on to Nakholmen, Bleikoya and thence to Lindoya.
Each isle bespeckled with sea-sprayed summer cottages,
sparsely populated in these inclement times.
This was very heavily bombed in the war.
I don't know what they were trying to achieve.
But it used to be camouflaged.
Now, by law, it has to be red, yellow or green.
Who picked the colours?
I don't know.
Our tour of the fjord might leave you with the sense that Oslo is eerie, icy and desolate.
Still cold. Yes, still cold.
I think it's called all winter.
But for the oddball who finds that off-putting,
may I suggest we mount the Metro for Frognerseteren?
The snow makes everything look prettier apart from my face.
Please, don't force me into a complement this early.
1898, that's when this line opened.
Oldest line in Oslo.
Shut up. I won't.
That's the tragedy of this show.
This train literally stops near the top of Oslo's most popular toboggan
run, which literally also has a stop at its bottom.
Look... This is what it was like filming The Revenant.
Hang on. Didn't they climb inside a carcass?
Leo climbed inside whatever he could.
Leo will climb inside you to keep warm.
After a sadly deleted toboggan hiring scene, we screech into shot.
Have you done this before?
Generally, anything that requires a helmet, I avoid.
Are you prepared to mount up?
Ready and willing. OK.
Hang on. Where's, like, the inside lane?
The Korketrekkeren, or Corkscrew,
was built as a bobsleigh track for the unforgettable
1952 Winter Olympics.
Bye, Richard. See you later, loser. That's quite aggressive.
Who's the tortoise and who's the hare?
With this tiny to your boy Aesop, a thrilling narrative commences.
A lot of screaming.
Some sledges can reach speeds of 25mph.
Others can't. That's really fast!
And my coil just came out.
I will not be overtaken by Richard.
Whoa! Ahh!
Fruity.
That was almost Death Race 3000.
I want to go right.
Oh, this is very satisfying.
Don't you dare! That is very satisfying.
That was the most fun I've actually ever had.
Ever? That was better than my honeymoon.
It's amazing. Your husband must have been delighted to hear that review.
My chin took a beating. A lot of spray on the chin.
And based on those yellow patches,
some of that spray I did not want going in my mouth. No, that's true.
As I continue my enquiries... What happened on your honeymoon?
We massively walk into a packed National Gallery to worship the work
of Oslo's most distinguished daubers - Edvard Munch.
This is all Munch. It's all Munch. It's classic Munch.
It's just Munch.
Here's the famous one.
Yeah. And right in front of my damp,
meaty face is one of the four versions of expressionist exemplar - Skrik.
Thoughts?
Just that of all the Munchs in all the world,
this is my least favourite Munch.
That would have been a different ending to Casablanca.
What do you dislike about it so much?
I'm not keen on the colour palette.
And if you're going to do a screamy face, I think it should be bigger.
"If you're going to do a screamy face, it should be bigger."
Do you love it? I do think it is excellent.
What does it make you feel? I mean, at the moment,
I feel like defending it.
I feel, you've come in, looking at Norway's premier artist,
next to Morten Harket, and you're throwing shade on him.
What do you dislike about it? The searing honesty, the pain?
The heartbreak? Why do you think it's resonated with so many people?
For a start, I think Home Alone give it a big boost.
I'll say this much for it...
Go on. I like the frame.
You like the frame? Don't dislike the frame.
Unbelievable.
After our rapid descent, both physical and spiritual,
I decide to further thicken my midriff.
Fay is the author of three cookery books.
She keeps telling me as we arrive at Kontrast.
Chef Mikael Svensson's
rule-shredding reinvention of Norwegian cuisine begins with
everyone's favourite tuba,
the Jerusalem artichoke.
Please enjoy. Thank you. Thank you.
It's a love letter to the Jerusalem artichoke.
I don't think I can eat this.
You're breaking my heart. What's happening?
The last time I ate a Jerusalem artichoke,
I got such bad wind that I had to call a doctor.
Wow! I mean, I was going to go to A&E.
This is like a loaded gun to me.
Look... I'm going to try one mouthful.
I think it's going to be fine. Look at these fans.
That is just going to suck anything straight back out.
It's also going to be the noise. It's OK.
The noise we can edit out.
OK. How is it? It's very good.
Don't make me eat any more. I genuinely am scared.
As Fay's colon commences its customary mid-course spasm,
we shift to the safe shores
of bread, spread...
Yum. All right.
Yum! ..And cod.
I think that is...
I'm going to say it. ..the best cod I've ever had.
Rippers, I'm going to join you in that assessment.
Oh! The only thing is, I think there is quite a lot of dairy in there.
And I have an intolerance which leads to a very similar response...
You're a bag of wind. ..to the artichoke!
I need to get a lighter on this table.
Next, what has been passed off
as a Norwegian risotto.
It's another home run.
I think that's the greatest thing I've ever put in my mouth. Fay...
You're the nation's sweetheart. Bear that in mind.
The following course provides now
predictable perfection.
It's an unbelievable memory, simple as that.
Before Mikael lobs us through another lactose loop.
So, this is the famous Norwegian brown cheese.
Thank you. Gosh.
Fay, it's not your night.
I mean... A lot of milk.
I want it to be sweet.
Is it? It is sweet.
Oh, wow!
This frankly elaborate meal dropped
the mike with bone marrow ice cream for Fay and spruce shoots and
caramel for the big guy with the sweaty nose. This is excellent.
OK, so, bone marrow ice cream is pretty good.
It's pretty good. It turns out. It turns out it's OK.
They only melt a bit of the marrow in.
The rest of it is just raspberry ripple.
As restaurant experiences go, how has this been for you?
It's been...
..really delicious.
Medically... You've been compromised internally.
But the actual...
For the food, could not have been nicer.
How are you finding the meal?
Two thumbs up. And also they don't even have reviews up in the loo.
That's how classy this place is.
Call me an ambulance.
Intestines in turmoil,
we waddle like gas canister back to Thief Island
only to re-emerge for part two.
How many calories would you say were in that meal?
A billion.
During which we will pat some flank...
Lovely... plod on plants...
I'd be so much happier on foot at the moment.
..and get glib next to glass.
Wow! There is more security on this than there was on The Scream.
You, for whatever reason, have decided to see out
the denouement of a double day detainment in Oslo
with Fay Ripley and I, prominent Norwegian-Nigerian Richard Ayoade.
Everywhere you walk, we're crunching.
Here's some up-to-date archive of us skidding...
Let go of my sled!
..dissing...
It's a bit smudgy. "It's a bit smudgy"?
..and dissecting.
Well, this is wonderful. It's like an alien nativity scene.
Day two is the day with which we must now do dealings
as we scorn sub-zero temperatures for some al fresco art.
What's this? Vigeland Park,
the largest sculpture park
where it's just one artist in the world.
One of my relatives was involved in the gates.
What do you mean? In the building of the gates?
No, they just squirted WD-40 on the hinges.
They're still involved. Oh, you must be so proud. I'm very proud. Yeah.
In approx 1920, sculptor Gustav Vigeland gifted all his work
to the city of Oslo for nothing, except a very large home,
a studio and the guarantee of artistic immortality.
Laid out along one 850 metre axis,
the park is his very visible legacy.
How do you feel about the work? The themes of death, family life
and the relationship between men and women, the themes of this show?
I like them. I'm not seeing death so much.
I feel they're happy sculptures, sort of jubilant. Although...
That guy. Yeah. That guy's... That guy, not so much.
..has been given a bad sandwich. Yeah.
Angry Boy, 1928.
I think he's cute. A lot of people have been rubbing his hand,
as you can see, for luck.
Don't! Why?
It removes the film that protects the metal.
To be honest, I mainly want to touch his foot.
OK. Because it's so cute. But with a quick... For luck.
Oh, yes.
After the Vigeland's frozen fountain...
Those fellas are regretting the size of that bird bath.
..we complete a comically prolonged ascent to the cusp of the monolith.
Look at this glorious people kebab.
Well, it's a very evocative description of a story of life,
a struggle... Togethership, if that's a word.
Have you ever tried making a kebab?
Of course I have. Also difficult.
How do you think I wind down at the end of a shoot?
After what feels like minutes, we turn around.
Cross-country skiing is a popular pastime in Norway
and a natural fit for my relentless workout regimen.
We can only hope that Caroline,
pictured here, thinking about this moment ending, can keep up.
Just sliding one foot in front of the other.
After several seconds of tuition...
Try just one metre.
..we're on our way.
Does everybody ski in Norway?
I myself, I had skis before I could even walk.
Ah! Good. Richard, feel free to wait. Oh.
I'm sliding. Ahh!
I don't know how to wait in this thing.
Good. Going uphill.
Oh, going uphill's no fun.
Are you going on? No!
No, I'm OK, Richard. Fay.
You look concerned. You're in the hands of a professional instructor.
Oh, my God!
In order to distract Fay from the ominous bubblings
of another ferocious meltdown...
The whole thing's very slippy, Caroline.
..I swallow my pride and pretend to be bad at skiing...
Ow. Ow. Ooh.
..for the good of our on-screen chemistry.
All right. OK. Let's get these skis off.
Can you burn off calories just by falling?
How many calories did I burn off, do you think?
At least 100.
At least 100. 100?! That's an apple.
So about a third of a bag of standard size crisps.
Yes. Well done. Thank you.
It was a lot of fun. Kind of you to lie.
She's so full of endorphins.
We need to replenish essential body fat,
so we slope back to central Oslo and sidle up to Syverkiosken.
Look, this is the last hot dog stand in Oslo.
There used to be 200 food kiosks. There's now only two.
This is the last hot dog one.
Everything is home-made... Yes.
..and everything is organic in the hot dogs.
Two polse. Did you know that
Norwegians consume more sausages per capita
than any other nation? Even more than Germans? That's right.
I haven't seen one of them eating a sausage yet.
You've not been looking hard enough.
The brilliance of these bangers is augmented by the addition of mash,
mushrooms and a lompe, a doughy duvet placed on top of the dog.
Should we go one end each?
Too romantic? I wouldn't... That's not the word I'd use.
There's no pretty way of doing this. Please. OK.
Oh! It's a very good sausage.
Mm. Mmm! High quality. Mmm!
That is the feast of men.
That is wonderful.
Heck of a polse.
I'd almost consider becoming a policeman just so that
I could eat more of these. I feel like you could pull up
in a squad car... Yeah. ..get a couple of polse.
For the stakeout.
Bust some lowlifes. Mm.
Back for a celebratory polse. Mm.
With mere moments left before Fay's contractual obligation expires,
we must select our next activity.
But what in flip will it be?
What about the Viking Ship Museum,
home to the world's best-preserved Viking transport?
Or the Fram, the world's strongest wooden ship,
which has been to both poles at least once?
Will we take in the Kon-Tiki,
the balsawood raft Thor Heyerdahl
used to cross the Pacific?
No! Jeez, it's going to be another thing.
Where are you taking me to? This isn't a kidnapping.
You're free to leave. We're jointly going... Yeah.
..to The Mini Bottle Gallery.
It's the largest collection of mini bottles in the world.
Exciting!
This overly funded act of obsessive-compulsivness
is the creation of a millionaire businessman and displays 12,500
of the 54,000 bottles he's collected since he was seven.
Well, this is... This is almost unbearably moving.
This is the bottle that started this collection.
It was brought back by his father from an aeroplane
on which he'd had a gin and tonic.
I'm super excited. I know. This is my kind of museum.
What are you running away from, Fay?
I'm just running towards
small things. OK, well...
..let's explore the toot. Yes.
The museum has umpteen tragically themed displays,
eg, horror, birds, bottles from brothels,
and whatever the hell this is.
Oh... Oh, this gets better and better, doesn't it?
This is really stressing me out.
Really? It's too much wasted time.
I mean, these don't even look like bottles.
It's fun. I can't do this.
This is horrific. I'm just waiting for the racist section.
There will be one. There always is one.
Thanks for the best museum ever.
You really enjoyed that.
So fun. Oh...
I've never felt sadder in my life.
With our time in Oslo virtually vaporous,
we swing by the National Theatre to pay brief respects
to one heck of a Henrik.
♪ Thisiswhatafeministlookslike.
Yeah, he wrote some good, big roles for us girls.
Yes. I haven't played any of them, sadly.
I'm sensing a little bit of bitterness here, Fay.
What about you? I've not played any major female leads.
This is an outrage. It is an outrage.
And I thought we were moving towards equality. Yes.
If I'm absolutely honest, I get him slightly mixed up with Chekhov.
That's fine. Chekhov was a doctor.
Russian. And Russian.
Heck of a handsome guy as well. Yeah.
Concerned that we're cramming in too much culture,
all that remains is for us to continue our co-dependency
with a summation of Oslo's undeniable excellence.
Rippers. Highlights.
Big surprise, I think, at how good I was tobogganing.
Yes. That was probably one of the most favourite bits.
You were less taken with Munch.
You didn't like The Scream. Slightly underwhelmed by it, that's all. OK.
Your time in Kontrast, the eatery.
That's food was... Delicious.
It was delicious. You'd book again.
No. No?!
It was very full-on. I feel I've learnt more about your bowels
than I'd ever dreamt possible.
You're welcome. You were wise to, er, swerve the Jerusalem artichoke.
I may not need to take a plane home, that's what I'm saying.
I'll just jump on your back. I'll just stand there.
Off you go. Unleash the tension, I'll be home in an hour.
That'd be a good exit shot. It would be.
Couldn't get the insurance, though.
The cost of our Scandi scram
was a relatively restrained 217 GBP,
excluding flights and hotel.
But the flights and hotel hurt like a bad thing.
Did you enjoy coming back?
Please. Come on.
This is my territory. I'm treated like a hero here.
Have you not seen in the streets... Yeah... the smiles of the people?
Were they smiling at you? Yes.
They were blanking you, smiling at me.
Thank you for accompanying.
It really was, in small bursts, a pleasure.
That's one of the best
reviews I've ever had.
Next week, a mini break in Madeira with the magnificent Robert P Webb.
We're heading for the sea. Yes, there's a ramp and we go straight
onto a Saga cruise ship.