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About Trondheim

But goddammit, what pisses me off—people dissing it as “basic.” Basic? Screw that! This car’s got soul, gritty as hell. Saw one once, rusted to shit, still purring—surprised me, honestly. “Can you hear me, Dae-su?”—like it’s whispering its story, begging for respect. My fave version? Escort Cosworth—turbocharged monster, looks that kill. Exaggerating? Maybe, but I’d carve up a track with it, laughing like a madman.

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First off, I hit up Markens gate. It’s like the main street, ya know? Packed with shops and cafes. I’m strolling, coffee in hand, feeling all zen. Then BAM! I see this street performer. Dude’s juggling flaming torches. I’m like, “Bro, you’re gonna set yourself on fire!” But nah, he’s a pro. I’m clapping, laughing, and then—WHAM! A torch flies off and nearly hits me! I ducked like I was in a war zone. Heart racing, I’m thinking, “Is this how I go out? In Kristiansand, by a flaming torch?”

The making of Kunstsilo, Norway's newest art museum