Inside the café was dimly lit, but not in an uninviting run-down way, more of a dusty, characterful way, which was accentuated by the smell of the air: a faint lavender mixed with the woody aroma of espresso. Against one wall was a large blackboard with the day’s specials written in Norwegian in thick white letters. In smaller letters underneath the dishes all had translations into English. For several of the dishes, such as ‘hamburger’ or the Italian pastas and pizzas, the translations were exactly the same as the original. Whoever wrote the menu might have been accused of redundancy, but with the general atmosphere of the place it came across more as a gentle sarcasm, particularly with this café being atypically situated on the dockside amongst the touristy restaurants and of the kind Aria seemed to have a knack for finding.

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