As soon as I was able to check in at the hotel, I was in a state of panic. I wanted to see the Scream. I panicked not because of the Scream itself and how it looks like but because I have no internal compass. No sense of direction. How will I ever locate the Scream?
I had a map which doesn’t really help a person who has the tendency to go to the opposite direction all of the time. I could stare endlessly at the enlarged map on the hotel wall with all the markings on it hoping to make it easy for tourists. But to be honest, none of this will help. I need to speak to a living soul.
So I headed out of the hotel gathering all the courage from within my entire being. I was glad for the rain to stop momentarily. At least, I don’t have to be carrying around my pink umbrella. I asked a by-passer if she knew where the Munch Museum is. She was really helpful to stop and to say no. She had no idea. Then I saw a young father holding the hand of a boy while carrying another one on his back. I said to myself, “For sure, they have seen the Scream.” And so I asked. He slowly shook his head and said no. With all this asking, I had to get to the kiosk to buy a bottle of water. At the counter, I asked the cashier the same question. In turn, she asked the other girl, then the other, then the other. Then almost in unison, they came back to me and said, “No.” This made me suspicious. I thought Edvard Munch is famous. I thought Scream is well known. I almost wanted to recreate how Scream looks like to make a point which may or may not help.
My last resort was to ask the receptionist at the nearby hotel. This man who was double my size in length and width revealed an enormous map. He pointed here, there and everywhere on the map. But the most helpful tip was to point to me where the Metro station is. There I will take the underground train that will lead me to the Munch Museum.
Finally at the Munch Museum, I was going back and forth. I might have dizzied the guards just by looking at me. But really, where is the Scream? This can’t be the Scream. It should be in colour. Not this Lithograph in black on thick tan card! How can I explain that to myself?
I was so disappointed. I was about to scold the guard. But then it’s not his fault, is it?. So I spoke to him gently because in a way, I should speak softly in the museum.
I said, “So the Scream is not here.”
He replied, “No.” (That word again!)
I said, “So it is in the National Gallery.”
He answered, “Yes.”
I asked, “How will I get to the National Gallery?”
He replied, “You can goggle it.”
My conclusion, he doesn’t know where the National Gallery is, like the others who don’t know where the Munch Museum is.
And so another adventure began for me. But to make the long adventure short, I did find the National Gallery and sat in front of the Scream for the longest time with a group of people recreating the Scream expression. I must say, I had fun!
And about the coffee. Well, they served it in a bowl.