Saturday, December 4

Now I’m moving from Oslo. This is my farewell letter.


  • Guro Trinterud
    Guro Trinterud

    Helfersk “Oslofraflytter”

Dear Oslo. You are more than just headlines that scare buildings into thinking you are full of blood.

You are a cinnamon bun in Ullevålseter.

You are the one I talked to about everything and nothing on a normal wheelbarrow afternoon at the top of St. Hanshaugen.

I will never forget how beautiful you were the day I got married. A hot and humid Monday in the courthouse in August.

You, with your delicious takeaway coffee at too high a price, with foodora ordering too easy.

It wasn’t my fault or yours. Little by little we have been separating.

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So we were here. You and I. It was not your fault or mine, but rather because of the way they say “there is a time for everything.” Little by little we have been separating.

You, with your delicious takeaway coffee at too high a price, with Foodora ordering a bit too easy, preferably multiple times the same day. With student parties across the street, and with angry men yelling out the windows to finish “Fairy Tale” and “See the Firelight” on an early Sunday morning.

And me, who has now become an “us” of four. With the growing need for clothes, a bonfire to roast marshmallows and not least: more square meters than you can give me.

More than headlines

Dear Oslo, I just want to thank you. You are more than just headlines that scare buildings into thinking you are full of blood.

You’re the ordinary guy who helped me carry heavy bags on the way home from the store when I was pregnant. At that time I thought that everything with a tendency to the least slope of an uphill, was the same as KK-mila and the Norseman extreme triathlon at the same time.

Dear Oslo. You are the nicely dressed gentleman in a pink shirt, a large brown leather hat, and well-trained dogs.

I talked to him about everything and nothing on a normal afternoon in a wheelchair on maternity leave at the top of St. Hanshaugen.

You are also the slightly older lady in our neighborhood. With a buckle on one side of medium long gray hair.

She, who looks a lot like grandmother’s good friend of over 90 years. She who always made me feel childishly nostalgic at home, although I have not shaken her hand or know her name.

Guro Trinterud has lived in the capital for fifteen years, but has now chosen to move out of a desire for more space and rural surroundings.

Handmade wax candles and dragon book

Dear Oslo. You are the neighbors above us. The ones that come in inherited ladybug and angel at the door outfits. Featuring soft pink and white striped kitten bathrobe with hood and white and gray dot wool sweaters. All in the perfect size for a five-year-old to its full extent. Those who have guinea pigs and the curly brown dog Dennis, who has become a backyard play favorite.

You are our neighbor below us. Her, who was a secret Santa upstairs last year, and who left handmade wax candles and a dragon book on the doormat for the kids.

You gave my daughter her first friend. With the girl next door “Fia” and almost collective life with open doors and a joint sausage lunch in the backyard. And you also gave us our own home concert with a local musician from the housing association when my husband was a couple of years old.

Thanks for the weekdays

Dear Oslo. Thank you for pulling me out of the pandemic for a few minutes last winter.

When the streets were dark and empty.

When you suddenly make an offer for two teenagers with a huge laser on their shoulders, wandering like the two greatest bosses of all time in the middle of the street. With the tones and bass of Arif’s “Alone” reverberating between the towering apartment buildings.

I will never forget how beautiful you were the day I got married. With a wedding on a too hot and humid Monday in August at the Palace of Justice. Then all of a sudden he served us some passersby who gave us the bottle of champagne they had just bought. Just because they wanted to do a little trick with some random Oslo citizens they passed by.

Dear Oslo. You are a cinnamon bun in Ullevålseter. Chiropractic class for asphalt jogging. Vodka nachspiel in the morning twig and the life of the little boy of 82 square meters.

Now we are here, you and me. From coexistence to long-distance relationships in an everyday environment. Thanks for the weekdays, dear Oslo.

See you soon.


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