A Bronze Giant

The morning was spent winding in and out of Stavanger’s quiet streets. We stumbled across a road bursting with colour - busy buildings of candy-apple red, butter yellow and Egyptian blue.

September’s chill moved through the air and so, I found myself sitting in a cosy cafe full of blankets, outdoor heaters and hot drinks. My thoughts drifted. Perhaps home was nestled within the cobbled streets of this faraway place. When fingers were toasty and cheeks warm, it was time to move - we had a schedule to adhere to, after all!

We followed our feet through the Old Town, passed sleeping cats, flower-covered houses and little picket fences. I spotted a glorious shop ahead, full of handcrafted items. A treasure chest. Then, the most unexpected. I stepped in and found myself face-to-chest with a huge iron statue who stood, rather inconveniently, in the centre of the room. I looked from the ominous figure to the pot plates. What an odd aesthetic. Odder yet, I found myself feeling as though we’d met before, this metal man and me. Suddenly, I remembered. I first saw him on the shores of Crosby Beach in Mersyside. He looked out towards the water, barnacles on his hands. A familiar stillness washed over me. I couldn’t believe it - Antony Gormley had brought sculptors across the seas to Norway, and Stavanger had built around them, as if deep running rivers. I stood in that little shop for some time. I often find that when moved, you stand still as stars.

Before we leave, it’s time for a chunky pastry by the docks.

Stavanger, you’ve been wonderful!

Roxanna