|
|
|
I'm stunned by the quality of the three other road-trip accounts on the first page at the moment. So if you are reading this, prepare to be let down. Sorry.
A friend of mine, who used to hang around on here actually, decided for better or worse to get married this year. That obviously necessitated something of a boys trip out, and what better way to give up his freedom and his days of playing with cars than to tick that great event called "Gatebil" off his Bucket List. Jonny (for that is his name) has been harping on at me about how awesome Gatebil is for as long as I can remember, and I've known him ten years. So we rounded up his friend Omar and his brother Fraser, and a substantial wedge of cash, and spent a couple of nights planning. I say we. Omar and I planned. Jonny drank tea and handed his credit card over.
Anyway we were surprised from the off. Oslo airport is nowhere near airport. Not the same county, not the same district - an hour away. In Ireland an hour away is the other side of the country. Also how not far away the location we were going to was. Two hours driving would see it done - a cinch. We booked all in June as I recall, at least two full weeks in advance so we were well prepared as you can imagine for a four-up foray into a foreign country none of us had ever ventured near. But everyone speaks English, right? And Hertz do rental cars from the airport - albeit for more than from Oslo centre.
So on the morning - so far pre-dawn, I don't bother to sleep beforehand - of some day early in July, we four intrepid 20-somethings (just, on two counts) set off in Mr. Jonny's Dad Yes Sir rapid Volvo V70R to Dublin Airport for a direct three hour flight to the start of a stag do like no other.
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
Much banter later, and several really ropey accents perfected, we were received with little to no fanfare at the Oslo Lufthavn, in Gardermoen. The cases made it through and we set off to collect our mid-sized Golf-like Hertzmobil. What we got was a dreary grey Peugeot. Look, I even managed to find a picture of one being rained on. It was that dull I actually don't have a picture of it. And it took me a couple of minutes to remember what it was. it did have a USB port though. Auto 1.2 petrol or something equally as atrociously underpowered as that as well. So, did we want to purchase the accident waiver indemnity thing? Nope, save that 800 krone or whatever it was. A pound is about 11.8 krone so we worked on a /10 rule to get some idea of prices. Off we go! Them being them, nobody knows where to go. Relying on mobiles and roaming data. Riiiight. Me being me, I have a map, a route planned, several backup routes and every petrol station, eatery and nice-to-look-at location along the route pegged out. Not that I'm OCD, and it turns out I was definitely the most adventurous of us all, but I do think you ought to at least know how to get where you're going! And so we're cruising down the E6 on the wrong side of the road with the local rock station well up and a truck drives past. *ping* goes the stone as it puts a chip in the screen of our brand new Pug. Half an hour out and that waiver form is sounding well worth it. Omar tries to ring but no joy so we take the decision to go back and see whats what. Back to the airport. So no pics yet as nothing exciting has been seen yet. Sorry! Just bear with. Bear with... Bear with... (bonus point for whoever gets it.) Anyway, Fraser and Omar (who was driving) go into the terminal and I drive himself round a bit, skilfully avoiding paying for parking anywhere remotely nearby. Scoot back around and collect them other two, and find a layby to park up in to discuss options. We have to take the car back to be inspected so, OK, I fight with the stop-start, get the thing into something like a gear (yes, auto, doesn't make it simple) and pull out onto the wrong side of the road. I'm screamed at and pointed at and the car coming toward me sends a signal that slowly gets interpreted and eventually I swing over onto the right. And then come to a roundabout. A big open one. Man this is hard. Eventually we are inspected, Hertz sends us on our way again with no inclination of whats going to happen about this chip, some story about ringing us back, maybe getting it fixed during our four day hire at nobodys convenience... Oh, and I'm not driving anymore. Which is fine because I'm better navigating anyway. So we trundle off down some lovely roads, both in scenery and surface, until my squeal of "pull over" breaks the stream of friendly chatter and scathing insults only long term friends can get away with. For this: We'd be climbing but not really realised. And soon found out that this was normal, but to us it was something special. We also stopped for some edibles, and had to conquer Norwegian town traffic, parking and shopping all at once. Traffic flows, all the time. There's not much, even in seemingly pretty major towns. All the roads are huge. Nobody is in ANY hurry. I would call it a dawdle. 30kph speed limits and nobody in any danger of a ticket. Parking you pay for, everywhere. There's not many places allowed in town despite the big roads. Some people here think that's normal. Chaps from mid-ulster that drive old, ropey cars don't often have to pay for the privilege of stopping. Shopping is eye-opening. Well - wallet opening. Norway does not like supermarkets, indeed I read that Lidl lasted 10 years then basically went out of business. Norway likes little local shops. With local food, for local people. Funny looking sausage (hopefully!) things, bread bought by the crusty roll and put through the slicer, at 29,9kr (that's like 3 quid for half a nutty crust) and several other worriedly-debated purchases later, we were back in the sweltering heat and then to airconned coolness. At least the others had the sense (on someones advice off of the plane) to buy their tipples in the duty-free before being released onto national soil. By now you're thinking, when does this story get good? Omar drove on and true enough, two pleasant hours later we were rocking up to a racetrack literally in the sticks and to this slightly bonkers ticket man who I really wish I could remember the name of, who guffawed at everything we said, and everything he said, and spoke terrrible English but managed to relieve us of loads of cash in exchange for some weekend passes. As I recall the tickets were 1200kr each which by the /10 rule is about £120. Don't go to Norway without some cash, as the shopping bill earlier wasn't small either. We drove right down into the "campsite and looked for somewhere to pitch.
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
So we drive around this forest checking out the clearings, and even though we're here on Thursday evening, everywhere is full up. Eventually, after a move or three, we pitch up next to an access road, on a scanty flat spot on the edge of a bank. This was the best of a bad situation and not to be encouraged. Said access road is how the "bottom" campsite is reached and there is no policing on noise, traffic, noise, or traffic. Darkness descends and there are still cars driving, hopping, skidding, and blaring past. The security comes round though, and makes it very, very clear that disposable BBQs are NOT allowed. We did try to engage them a bit to soften their regulatory control. "Ah, you is from Ireland? You come all way for dis? Ver gut. No BBQ". As for me, I was caving. Sleep was required and I was the first to turn in. The others cracked open a tin and chatted to the Swedes camping opposite us. Until about two hours later when I thought I was about to DIE. ZZZZZWEEECRASSSHBAAAAANGOOOOWWWZZZZZZZZZThat, friends, is the noise a drunken Norwegian makes when he crashes a pitbike into your tent beside your head and falls over, then picks it up and revs it beside your head. Just as your almost falling into fitful, uncomfortable, difficult sleep with your head pounding to the repeated over and over and over and over and over and over and over and over and over and over and over and over and over and over and over and over and over and over sounds of some utterly dreadful song that was to become the theme tune of the weekend... RinkydinkdinkdinkdinkRinkydinkdinkdink. I fought off the urge to go home and got about four hours of terrible sleep.
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
There's not much on track Friday (well, there's loads) but its all RWYB drift-noobs, and the pros only have a couple of practice sessions. Don't get it wrong or you'll get scooped As we walked back down the nasty steep hill to get some nourishment, I snapped these on my phone Now, I was about to find out what this show is about. We made some friends. One of the Swedes, Peter I think, and a half Norwegian half something else called Sebastien IIRC, and a girl from the far west of Norway whose name escapes me, oh, Malin, who was really surprised we had travelled so far to get here. Really surprised. So was everyone else. There were a few English folks about and the odd Finn or Dane, and another bunch we never really encountered from far south Ireland, possibly. But they really couldn't get their head around why we would come so far just to be here. My companions thought this amusing but I was starting to pick up that they were serious. And then I caught it. Nobody comes here for the cars. There were people in the camps that hadn't left. They were there all day. The cars were of no interest. What many do, is buy a deathly cheap caravan, take it here, get utterly wasted, turn their stereos up obscenely loud, turn into a disgusting mess and "enjoy" a depraved weekend with the excuse of being at a car show. And people who come for the cars, just for the cars, are not the norm. Friday night was the first rave. If I hadn't slept well Thursday night... It was well dark when I took this but I'd brought the DSLR so got enough light in to show you all That was before it had started. I exited stage backwards and went off to the tent. I was getting tired of Seb's frequent references to deflowering his bosses underage daughter. I wasn't quite sure what I'd walked into, but I didn't like it. The others came back and we chatted a while and when we couldn't see each other for darkness it was sleeptime.
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
Right, back to it, and any chance Saturday could be a better day please? Over the bridge, find a spot in the middle of the track to prop up and get a tan. Cars please. Oh, there's one! another one and I think one here and then it got serious. At this point we're all choking to death on fumes while the biggest names in Scandi drift circuits do their thing. And a couple of Americans too. I don't remember who, all I remember is the noise. We saw this later in the pits. It's immaculate. Top show standard. The S2000 didn't fare well Neither did the spectator area, either. This is my other enduring memory of the weekend, how filthy everyone was. It was a disgusting mess. As it got on a bit, the short/kart track round the back was looking like a good prospect after dinner. and in the central pits area You can see I've got a disproportionate amount of photos of car backsides, and that evening Malin taught my chums chat up lines in Norwegian. Given that having just out out of something, I was the only single one of us four, I'm not sure why chat-up lines were needed. "Du har penn" and "Du hat en fin rumpe" are fairly self explanatory. I don't recall her teaching them but I do recall Fraser practicing on every girl that walked past, from then until we got off the aeroplane in Dublin five days later. Malin was a nice girl but Sebastian was back - clearly thought he was in there - and I'd had enough of that so I went for a dander. Bottom carpark Yes, that is a lowrider, and yes, those two girls in it did kiss, and yes, I did delete the photos as that ain't my bag. Bag, geddit? Because lowrider? No, ok. There was one nice decent girl I talked to a bit but nobody else was up for a chat, because the rave was firing up again. At least tonight the caravan two doors down was silent and they hadn't started blasting the rinkydink curse word... oh no wait, they've just got back - there it goes. Spoke too soon. Fraser had managed to track down one of his heroes, Timu Markunnen or something like that, who was championing a diesel Mercedes wagon that just refused to run right. This is a pic of it (with me in the red hat checking it out) but posting the "selfie" he got with Timu is a bit... erm... Anyway, time for some sleep to the lulling beat of DUM DUM DUM DUM DUM DUM DUM DUM DUMDUMDUM DUM
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
You could be forgiven for thinking I was a grumpy old sod - mainly, because it's true, but I wasn't having the best time of my life. Jonny was though, and it's all for him anyway, so brave face on, up early Sunday morning, come on lets go watch the drifty world slidy championship final yeah! Oh, except everyone is having a lie in. They had a bit of a late, possibly inebriated, one, and are recuperating. Takes them until lunch time to recuperate, by which time the entire event lineup is finito. This is what they missed: Some kind of whatever-you-like racecar series final: AND OH YEAH WOWSERS DRIFT SLIDING CHAMPIONSHIP OF THE WORLD!!!!!!11! These are the pros. So not much to see here Spectators did fight to get the best view... Round 2: Aim is to clip the poles.. These guys just aren't getting tight enough.. And a rest before the final round. Right, actual final time. They're all hungover but they don't want to miss it. And a bit of showing off And some winners Right now, it's time to leave. Everyone is packed and out the gates, we've not even got back to the car and people are gone already. "Oh hi, you are hungry?" Someone walks over from the hotdog stand and gives us each a free dog. Can't argue with that. Oh, it must be pointed out, that we drove into town a couple of times to get food in the little co-op sized place, called "MENE" or something, but other than that we lived off hotdogs from the stands around the track which at 25,0kr each were about the cheapest thing in the whole country. And not bad either. The entire place is chock full of American tin and this was by no means a strange sight there. For us it was. We soon realised. So its Sunday evening now and time we knew where we were staying that night. Them being them... Ummmm... Me, being me - Drive this way, there's a great little campsite there. So off we trundled once again, leaving the noise and chaos and smoke (and a burnt out caravan, several old sofas, thousands of bits of litter) behind us.
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
Sunday evening was spent having a mash up BBQ at the campsite in their lovely little picnic area. That was such a nice little turn down and a bit of easy chat before we went exploring. There was a football pitch down the road and we vaulted the (3 feet high) fence and had a kickabout. No idea where we found a ball at 8pm. Behind the school there was a wood so we had a bit of a walk-cum-scramble in the twilight making up stories about Norways bear problems and trying to get lost but Jonny and I are both quite outdoorsy so it was hopeless and we came out opposite the campsite, seen here across a field full of something we had to fight through. We may have used army hand signals and ducked down every time a car passed while crossing the field, but we are responsible young adults so I'll not openly admit anything. Sleep that night, in absolute silence, was bliss. I really enjoyed that night. Turns out Helga (yeah, really!) that ran the place used to work in Newcastle like. And they had wifi. And hot, proper showers. Them other ones are totally into not roughing it and spent an inordinate amount of time in the showers making themselves pretty again. But that was fine, after waking up to quietness, on a sunny, dry day, we could take so long as we wanted. Not breaking this relaxing atmosphere down in a hurry. But off we were. Car had to be returned by 12 noon Monday in Oslo centre. We needn't have worried. The traffic was light and flowing, at 9-11am Monday driving towards the capital through a couple of towns, we had no delay at all, and even Oslo was no worse than our local small towns. There was just no traffic issues at all. All the towns have massive boulevards down the middle with a big roundabout or two, and the pace of life is so slow as to be positively crawling. All farm buildings must by law be painted "looks like olden days" red. And I shan't bore you (much) with the non car stuff. We had booked ourselves into Oslo Hostel, which had sheets and a passable shower and was right in the middle of the city Speaking of sheets, now that I recall, we had to rent those. Not included in the cost, and you had the option of not renting them, but you were not allowed to sleep on the beds without sheets and you were not allowed to use sleeping bags. SO unless you carry around a set of sheets so you can furnish your own bed, you have to pay extra for your linen?! I'm not sure that we did a lot on Monday. We had a wander and found some pizza place to eat. We stayed out late, still warm, a few people about, enough to feel comfortable being out but not so many as to be busy, but not many places open apart from right in the actual nightspot plazas and even then, none that looked very appealing. We'd seen a homeless lady earlier on and someone reckoned she'd been shooting up. On our way back, in the dark, we'd of had to walk down the same street. I went on, they three froze. They insisted we go a long way around. Via a tunnel and an alley instead of the wide lit road we'd seen this lady on. Logic I did not see but I got told I was being a tube and just go the long way around with them. Tuesday we had plans to go do a few things but them uns didn't move fast enough so it ended up another dander. I can't dander, I need to walk with purpose, so a bit meh. No voyage of discovery, no trying strange things... Looked nice though. Breakfast was round the corner in a Indian. Strange? Very. They didn't expect four Irishmen though and they had to replenish the continental breakfast supplies twice I think. I even had a bit of the national delicacy - brown cheese. Odd, very odd. Bit of mini-golf it is then. Back via the fountain square Down to the National Opera House, which is fabulous building you can walk to the top off without going inside. Lovely bay to look across too. There's a massive bronze elephant or something in the near-waterfront plaza which I climbed on top of but Fraser put a nasty caption on that photo so no pic. Oh, time to eat. And yes it might have cost me a fortune but I'm having the whale... After which them three decided to do a certain stag-do type thing in the safety of a city where they were unknown, which I declined to engage in, and so I went for a midnight stroll determined to at least see something of this city that we had really not explored to any satisfactory level at all. I found the palace, several nightlife spots that would have been good (clean) fun, and this delightful little fountain way up the back end of the city. I'd walked for miles, and found myself in the student quarter, talking to a girl leaning out her dorm window, in fluent English because EVERYONE speaks English, and then decided it might be about time to head back because surely them boys would be back in the hostel by now and a bit concerned? Ended up I had to boot up the old portable and use google maps to get back - I'd walked so far I was completely off the grid as far as Oslo city centre was concerned. Got back around 3am, took a shower and them three giggled their way through the door just before I switched the water off. The next day we ran to the station, caught an hours worth of train to the airport and boarded for Copenhavn. The plane must have been scared of water for we flew down the coast of Sweden and over the bridge across to Denmark. Then we got on another jalopy, then had to get off it and cram into a tiny room for an hour while they got us a plane that worked... and then we jetted back to Dublin. Minus some luggage, because airplane. We did bring back an extra two deckchairs because we appropriated a couple that were left behind at Gatebil. You know the way we say it - Gate-Bill? Nope. Try Gat-bil. Or, "load of internet hype covering up a weekend of drink, drugs and obnoxious rave music". Same thing. Oslo though, and Norway in general, were fantastic places to be and I would do that again. A biking/hiking/camping trip there would be amazing, and theres cool cars everywhere. And I can't finish that off without a picture of one of the famous "Gatebil Taxis", now, can I? Well, would you like to see one in a mile long powerslide? Or how about this one for a anti-climax giggle.
|
|
|
|
Paul Y
Posted a lot
Posts: 1,948
|
|
|
From my limited experience of Norway and Lapland (not some dodgy night club) I can confirm that the locals do like a 'good time'. I like all of the travel blogs that are appearing here. Thanks for the write up. P.
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
Wow fantastic stuff, knowing you and knowing Gatebil's reputation I would not have pictured you as the person to be delivering a Gatebil report. Which is kind of what makes it even better, a proper down to earth report, rather than breathless (and drunken) excitement The stuff away from the track is super interesting, Scandi's have such a cool (and wide) car scene. I'm also loving the travelogues appearing at this time of year. Tempted to bump the Summer Holiday report... actually I've not written up the Le Mans museum yet, I'll do that today
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
Refreshingly honest take on your Gatebil experience. Loved reading it.
I'd like to go for the experience - but couldn't hack the noisy camping! I'd def have to stay elsewhere!
|
|
|
|
AB car pix
Posted a lot
Car mag' snapper
Posts: 1,337
|
|
|
This is amusingly very different from my experiences of Gatebil.... Driving there, working flat out whilst there, and fully enjoying the nightlife is more the jist of it on my trips. Still hated camping, but I do anywhere.... earplugs, exhaustion and drink helps though.
Look forward to getting back sometime, but it really needs to be a trip with a track car and getting on track. It just looks too good out there not to get involved.
|
|
1979 Chrysler Horizon 1.3 GL 1980 Ford Granada 2.8 Ghia 1985 Ford Sierra 3dr 1985 Ford Escort Mk3 1988 Ford Sierra Sapphire Cosworth 1989 Ford Escort 1.3 Popular 1995 Volvo 960 1996 BMW 525i 1998 BMW 323i 1999 BMW 530d 2003 BMW 530i . www.facebook.com/ABCARPIX
|
|
|
|
|
What many do, is buy a deathly cheap caravan, take it here, get utterly wasted, turn their stereos up obscenely loud, turn into a disgusting mess and "enjoy" a depraved weekend with the excuse of being at a car show. And people who come for the cars, just for the cars, are not the norm. It is basically a more modern version of Bug Jam. As I understand it the Swedish edition is a bit more 'serious' but really they are mainly about the party for a lot of people attending.
|
|
|
|
AB car pix
Posted a lot
Car mag' snapper
Posts: 1,337
|
|
|
The night partying really is on another level and scale from any equivalent in the UK, but also so is all of the track action, the spec of the cars and quality of the event. My advice would be going and indulging in all of it to the fullest... and then skipping it for a year at least, as you'll need the recovery time!
|
|
1979 Chrysler Horizon 1.3 GL 1980 Ford Granada 2.8 Ghia 1985 Ford Sierra 3dr 1985 Ford Escort Mk3 1988 Ford Sierra Sapphire Cosworth 1989 Ford Escort 1.3 Popular 1995 Volvo 960 1996 BMW 525i 1998 BMW 323i 1999 BMW 530d 2003 BMW 530i . www.facebook.com/ABCARPIX
|
|
|
|
|
The night partying really is on another level and scale from any equivalent in the UK, but also so is all of the track action, the spec of the cars and quality of the event. My advice would be going and indulging in all of it to the fullest... and then skipping it for a year at least, as you'll need the recovery time! Think I'll do Bilsport Custom Show instead... cars minus the 'party', I enjoyed my decadence in London in the 90's, now I like a nice hotel room and a good meal
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
The night partying really is on another level and scale from any equivalent in the UK, but also so is all of the track action, the spec of the cars and quality of the event. Another enduring memory I came away with was that the standard of the cars was generally not as good as the UK. Sure, there was a Viper engined Volvo 240 (244?), but as with most show reports and I am equally as guilty of it, the good stuff gets pictured and the dross filtered out. I took some 800-900 photos overall, and at Retro Rides I take twice that. The epic cars are seriously epic. The rest are sub-par. I honestly did not expect that. I did not expect what I found. Hotwire mentions Gatebils reputation above, and yet in all the years Jonny told me about it, linked me to on-board youtube videos, picture albums, show reports and their own website, I never once came across what we saw in reality. None of us did, unfortunately it was just me that was unpleasantly surprised, with them being keen to try it out, although by the end of it they were all a bit fed up of the never-ending rave music and no sleep as well. Don't write me off completely, I actually have a pretty large collection of ATB and PVD type trance music, I can enjoy that still, and used to drink like a fish, so don't get on my high horse now just because I got off it, but getting rocks thrown at your tent at 3am by a drunken Swede who even his friends have forgotten his name, with the express purpose of trying to hit you, before passing out and falling in the bushes, while someone else rides their bmx, in a stupor, in pitch darkness, into the back of your rental, while two, three or more competing stereo systems are banging out awful, awful rave music while you realise that yes, you do need to get some sun lotion and you're never going to get any sleep until you leave here - is not my idea of a good time. Looks like I've popped off on one again but yeah, had I known, I would have avoided. Staying elsewhere and travelling in for the daytime part might have worked. But whereas I expected a relaxed, scandinavian version of RRG, I walked into the middle of a yobbo freak-out. If getting smashed is what you like to do, then this is the place for you. However Norway itself... delightful. I missed out several stories from the other part of the trip, like the deep conversation I had with Jurgen, the owner of a Militaria store just down the way from the hostel, about politics, gun control, medieval armoury, Irish hospitality (he'd been to Belfast and Dublin), or when we skilfully avoided the BBQ police by driving up a forest path which was actually someones drive and making dinner surrounded by pine trees and woodland silence. I would do Norway again, in a different way. I would not feel like I was missing something if I never went back to Gatebil though.
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
I had a similar Bug Jam experience. Friends of mine go every year without fail and really hype it up. The reality, however, is also repetitive beats, many many experimental narcotics being consumed and engines being revved/people riding into your tents on BMX's until the wee hours, and worst of all is the toilets. I'm not sure exactly what is being consumed but most of it ends up in a Portaloo and some of it ends up all over the inside of a Portaloo. I'm also known for drinking etc and enjoy camping but maybe I'm getting older? It does seem that the after party is more why the people go, rather than for the cars.
|
|
|
|
ToolsnTrack
Posted a lot
Homebrew Raconteur
Posts: 4,117
Club RR Member Number: 134
|
|
|
I missed out several stories from the other part of the trip, like the deep conversation I had with Jurgen, the owner of a Militaria store just down the way from the hostel, about politics, gun control, medieval armoury, Irish hospitality (he'd been to Belfast and Dublin), or when we skilfully avoided the BBQ police by driving up a forest path which was actually someones drive and making dinner surrounded by pine trees and woodland silence. I would do Norway again, in a different way. I would not feel like I was missing something if I never went back to Gatebil though. Not intending to have a go (genuinely, I appreciate you taking the time to write it up) but a lot of it did come over like a moan, rather than focusing on the positive bits that as you have said... were missed out.
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
Never been to Gatebil, no real interest in it as an event... Yet still know that it's just an excuse to be loud, drunk, high and party. How can it be possible to miss its reputation?
*n
|
|
Top grammar tips! Bought = purchased. Brought = relocated Lose = misplace/opposite of win. Loose = your mum
|
|
|
|
|
Great report!
I'm sure it's very tempting to gloss over some negatives in these travelogues but I enjoyed hearing this warts'n'all version...especially as it was all from your own perspective. Thanks for posting!
|
|
|
|
|