I was asked by a foreign-looking gentleman today, who spoke broken Norwegian, if I knew the area. And I do. He wondered if any of the buses at the bus stop we were at went to the bus station. Perhaps oddly, they don’t.
It used to be that all buses eventually ended up at the bus station, but that hasn’t been the case in decades. The priority is for most buses to go through the central downtown area, which the bus station is not a part of, being across the city pond from the main shopping streets.
I pointed to what used to be the main road into town, back when farmers would ride a horse and wagon in on a Saturday to sell their weekly produce, and get enticed into spending their money on their way home later in one of the many bars that lined up just past the old city gate.
“Go straight down that street, keep going straight, till you see a gray, stone building. That’s the train station. The bus station is to the right of that.”
And off he went.
I didn’t tell him the train station wasn’t marked “Train station” because the locals had gotten into a snit over its renaming to merely “Bergen” written in unflattering Arial-style Sans Serif letters on a building that deserves a Serif, like Times, of some sort. So the sign came down. The locals prefer Bergen Jernbanestasjon in all its century-old glory.
I think they could at least put up a picture of a train. And maybe copy the new sign outside our new airport terminal, that in bright yellow letters reads, “BERGEN?” Yes, with a question mark. It’s meant to make you think.
What made me think: The Daily prompt: Local
Who inspired me to write: Paula Light