We were an hour and ten minutes from Shannon, Ireland and two hours to Amsterdam when a Sixty-Six year old man passed out near our seats. Mark caught him before his head hit the floor (Alright, his head still hit, but not nearly as hard as it would have) and while the flight attendants assisted Mark I yelled for a doctor.

As the man started to regain consciousness the flight attendant handed Mark a defibrillator. “Pretty sure he’s not dead,” I heard Mark say to the flight attendant as she checked for his pulse. Let's not jump to conclusions here quite yet. Thankfully a doctor was on the plane. Mark was removed from his high rank and simply assisted the doctor with information as the patients blood pressure evened out to continue on to Amsterdam.

Taking only carry-ons we headed through the airport, figured which train to take and headed into the city. It started to rain as we trekked through Slottsparken,the absolutely stunning Royal Palace Grounds. The rain didn’t phase the guard at attention or any of the tourists taking photos two feet from his face. We guessed at which path would take us to St. Olavsgate pointing us towards our apartment.

Wet, and tired we sloshed through the door to our quaint yet teeny apartment overlooking Fredensborgv street and fell on the couch. Eventually, we unpacked, freshened up and headed to the Oslo Opera House.