Healthy Clubbing in Oslo

by Vesselina Apostolova (Bulgaria)

I didn't expect to find Norway

The dancefloor of The Villa club pulsated under hundreds of jumping feet. The hypnotizing techno beat of DJ Robin Crafoord led their way. Spotlights and light tubes peppered indigo light on bodies that swayed like willows in the wind. DJ Crafoord picked up the pace and a blonde, thin girl attacked the dance floor. She gave what resembled an American Indian war cry amid smiling eyes, shiny foreheads, and flushed cheeks. It was 7:00 a.m., and in the center of gray, cold Oslo, this party was just heating up. My heart was trying to escape its rib cage as I was jumping from foot to foot. The DJ diluted the beats per minute, and I decided to hydrate. At the bar, lit in bombshell red, I asked the bartender to surprise me. As I sipped on the fizzy matcha iced tea she chose, I wondered whether I should have gone for coffee or water. I was already doing one experiment, so I thought, "What the heck?" The experiment underway was participating in my first sober morning rave: Morning Beat. Before arriving at the club, I worried I'd feel out of place. Yet, Marjana Bøstrand, a chatty project management student and retired raver, welcomed me with an energetic hug that put me at ease. Marjana also happens to be the woman behind Morning Beat. Back in her raving days, she was tired of the party scene but not of partying. She discovered conscious clubbing in London, where hugs turned into an inspiration to bring the concept to Oslo. Morning Beat's British counterpart gathered people for Cuddle Puddles the night before raves. Participants had to be sober and sleep close to someone. The organizers understood people lacked social and physical contact outside the drug and party scene. That made it hard to live a healthier lifestyle. "I didn't have a problem going out of my circle cause I had so many friends who were doing different things, but I understood that I'm privileged," Marjana's cerulean eyes glistened. I wasn't sure whether it was the cold, as we sat outside to chat, or the memory. "That crushed my heart. We're all human; we all need understanding. I talked about it for a year, and once I was ready to start, it was five phone calls and a team of five people. We planned the event, and we sold out the first one, three years ago." Morning Beat still sells out. As I was drinking matcha tea and bobbing my head to the beat, dozens of men and women drew waves in the air, skipped from left to right, flowed liked Neo in "The Matrix", and stretched in Downward Dog and beyond. It was diverse and wild: flowy skirts, harem pants, bustiers, tights, see-through shirts, plain t-shirts, washed-out jeans, bedazzled shoes, neon sneakers, and bare feet. "The first two years, it was friends of friends of friends, and now I almost don't recognize anyone on the dance floor," Marjana said. "That's the biggest compliment I've been getting on this event. There are so many different people here united by the beat." Before returning to the beat, I visited the biodegradable glitter station. Marjana insists on making Morning Beat sustainable, from the decorations to the vegetarian refreshments by local businesses. Two volunteers, the 7:30 to 9 a.m. shift, painted glitter on my face with concentration and gentle strokes that made me feel like Edward Munch's canvas. I headed back to the dancefloor, shedding dozens of sparkles on the way. DJ MRD was on the mixer now. Bodies shook more fervently with the approach of 9 a.m. MRD took his shirt off. The warrior girl was back. Beat, bodies, warrior cry, beat, bodies, warrior cry. With eyes closed, I focused on my breathing and followed the beat. My feet were moving on their own. My mind was clear of thoughts. "This is just like meditation" was the only one. At 9:10 a.m. the beat stopped. Applause. People chugged water bottles. Some moved on to a yoga session. Back in the light of gray, I felt relaxed, calm and surprisingly warm. I remembered the first thing Marjana had told me, "Morning Beat is sort of medical treatment."