Quest for Footwear

I walk a lot.

For three years, my mustard-coloured Pumas had been faithful servants. I knew that as I travelled north in search of winter, at some point they would become impractical and I would have to buy winter-worthy footwear. But I was hopeful that the weather, and not their condition, would determine when that would happen.

I was two days into my quarantine in rainy Oslo when I set out for the supermarket only to have drenched socks within seconds. Any pair of shoes has only so many kilometres of wear and tear in them and now the rubber on the sole had completely worn away. My Pumas had run their course.

I had bought them for a friend’s wedding and, though I am no master of style, they went with everything I owned and suited my personality. They were casual enough to wear with shorts, sensible enough to wear with jeans, and stylish enough to wear with dress pants. They were as versatile as a pair of shoes come, but they fit my foot almost too perfectly. The minute I tried them on I knew that they were the shoe I was looking for. I was shopping, first, for a shoe that was yellow believing that it would complete the look I was assembling for the wedding and I had tried on several pairs that just didn’t feel right. But, at the time, I was established in Vancouver and had no pressure to find the right shoe and I could just take my time. And in so doing, there were many other candidates that didn’t make the cut until I found that perfect pair. Now that they were no longer practical, I was forced to find proper footwear and fast.

I always have a pair of Havaianas with me wherever I go. I had just spent the better part of a year in warm weather and, though it is never advisable to do any sizeable amount of walking in flipflops, they come in so handy in so many situations. They don’t take up a lot of room in my bag either, but it was clear by the rain and the temperatures hovering around 5 degrees Celcius that they were not going to be suitable for wearing outside from this point forward.

I would lament the fact that this problem had not manifested just two days earlier in Sweden where life had felt freer. Advised to quarantine and avoid public spaces as much as possible for 10 days, I did not know the city which meant my quest for new shoes had to be done in my old shoes ambling through the rain from shop to shop with soaking wet feet. The problem was compounded by the fact that everything in Norway is more expensive than anywhere else. I was surprised by how little selection there was in many stores. Some of the larger sporting good stores carried only a half dozen or so varieties of either low cut hiking shoes or ankle-high winter boots. Prices in some shops rose as high as 3,000 krone (about $350 USD) which felt maddeningly expensive. I perused the pop-up shops and outlet stores where prices were more affordable but still felt stratospheric compared to what experience had informed me the same pair of shoes would cost just about anywhere else in the world.

That day I had narrowed it down to two pairs: a pair of light brown winter boots and a pair of stylish Italian-made gore-tex low-cut urban hiking shoes. Since breaking my ankle in 2008 I hadn’t worn a pair of boots and when trying on this pair, the moment I laced them up, the contours of the shoe covering my ankle and pressing against the metal plate and screws inside sent shivers up my spine. I concluded that perhaps boots just weren’t something I was going to be able to wear ever again. That’s what flipped the decision. I tried on the pair of low-cut Zamberlans and they didn’t send shivers up my spine. I handed the sales associate my credit card and returned to my hotel the proud owner of a new pair of winter-ready shoes.

The next day the sun symbolically reappeared as if to say that it was time for me to strap on my new shoes and explore Oslo. Being told to quarantine can create mental prisons, but it only extends to avoiding indoor public spaces as much as possible and donning a mask when it’s not. Public health officials, at least in Norway, continued to encourage outdoor activities so there was nothing keeping me from striding through the sunshine in Oslo’s many parks and squares. I left the hotel with a spring in my step, but by the time I crossed into the Frogner neighbourhood I found myself splayed out on a bench in the Park stripped to my sore bare feet. These shoes were going to take some serious breaking in.

I pressed on, but the Zamberlans had sucked the joy out of one of the world’s most famous and most beautiful city parks. The Vigelandsanlegget is 80 acres of over 200 bronze and granite sculptures, with the backdrop of the many colours of autumn, but I was focused on the feel and comfort of these damn shoes that were driving stakes into my heel. I suffered through well over my 10,000 daily steps but they neglect to inform you that that recommendation is detrimental to one’s health if it leaves you incapacitated. By the end of that day, my feet were not just sore, they were blistered and bloody and once the shoes were off I could not put them back on without pain. It was so bad that later that day when I needed to head out to the shop to get some food for supper and I couldn’t even slip on my Pumas that for so long had fit like slippers. Instead, I was forced to trot out and withstand the daily descending temperatures in my Havaianas.

The next day I was given another sunny day for which I felt I must leave the hotel and profit from the sunshine. I grit my teeth and forced on the Zamberlans telling myself that a dose of discomfort now was for the greater good and would yield a more comfortable future. I walked out through the Akershus and along the waterfront past the opera house and the Mariakirkens ruin and into the old town and back. I hated just about every moment of that gloriously beautiful and sunshiny day. Again, it was well over 10,000 steps and by the end, my feet were so broken that it affected my whole body and I couldn’t get out of bed for the rest of the day – I even skipped supper. I’ve had shoes before that needed getting used to but these were otherworldly. How long could I put up with this? I would be leaving Oslo in a just few days and I refused to leave with my feet in so much pain.

The next day, when I visited the shops again for food I also picked up bandaids to cover the blisters on the back of my feet to relieve the pain and protect against further irritation. Besides the physical cost of these new shoes, the monetary cost was now increasing. It seems the price tag at the outlet was just the base cost and like everything else in Norway, there were undisclosed taxes built-in to the overall price.

I decided I couldn’t throw all of my eggs into the Zamberlan basket and promised myself that any further exploration of the city would include a casual search for an alternative. I hated the idea of abandoning the Zamberlans as there was already a tremendous amount of sunk cost in them. Added to that, I couldn’t justify carrying two pairs of bulky shoes – I simply don’t have space for it. There were also risks in purchasing another pair – what if it didn’t solve the problem? And, what to do with the pair they would be replacing? I couldn’t just throw this brand new pair of shoes that were worn only twice into the trash.

The rain had come again which allowed me to justify staying indoors. But every day in Oslo spent in bare feet was a day spent not giving the Zamberlans the opportunity to conform to my foot. I decided to consult various websites about ways to speedily break in new shoes. One such trusted method was to use a hairdryer to blow hot air onto the shoes in order to stretch them and then to wear large socks to keep them stretched. Every couple of minutes I would pause my work, and run the hairdryer over the shoes, put them on, and return to my desk. The pain was excruciating. How could this be? Previously, I at least had to be moving for there to be pain but now I was just sitting there. Moreover, I felt like a jackass standing in a hotel bathroom using the complimentary hairdryer to fan down a pair of shoes. When that becomes your life you look into the mirror and you ask yourself how it came to this. I gave this method a fair shot for a few hours over a few days, but there seemed to be little if any progress.

After speaking with some locals, I signed up for a trading website called FINN.no where Norwegians buy, sell, and trade everything from real estate to used shoes with the hopes of recouping a portion of the money from the Zamberlans and parlaying that into the cost of a new, more comfortable, pair.

With my ten-day quarantine drawing to a close I happened on a pop-up shop along the main avenue running through Hegdehaugen. Inside were a pair of boots made by a local company called Jan Mayen that caught my eye. I had dismissed wearing boots because of the problem with my ankle, but the interior of this pair was made of soft woollen material. They were also affordable. I tried on a pair in my size and they were good, and they didn’t send shivers up my spine, but I could still, ever so slightly, feel the cuts on the back of my foot. I tried on a pair one size larger and finally, the pain was gone. I was afraid that with the shoes being a tad roomy that they wouldn’t suit me when I was all healed up, but at least my feet would be pain-free and not soaking wet. My departure was nigh and so the time for half measures was over. I handed over my credit card and bought the boots.

No one had been nibbling at my online ad which meant that when I returned to my hotel room I was now the not-so-proud owner of four pieces of footwear. It brought tears to my eye, but it was time to say goodbye to the mustard-coloured Pumas. My Havaianas I stuffed into my rucksack. Winter would be coming soon and committed myself to seeing it through in these new boots. What to do with the Zamberlans?

I couldn’t carry them as I could not justify keeping something so bulky that I didn’t use. I was unable to get any money for them and, had I held onto them, I may have been able to turn that around, but how long could I justify that situation? I couldn’t throw them in the trash, such a fate was just too tragic to think about. I decided to pack them back up into the box that they came in and leave them with the reception at the hotel. I included the receipt and a note saying that if they were able to find a home for the shoes that they should contact me and let me know. This was probably viewed as a problem more than anything else by whoever at reception got stuck with the responsibility, but at least in my own mind, there was the possibility that those shoes could find a happy owner whom they would actually fit comfortably.

By the time it was all said and done, I was striding through Norway in a pair of $60 boots that had cost me $160 and I was what I would describe as, somewhat satisfied. My feet were still bloody but on the mend and I was moving on. The quest for footwear hadn’t set me back more than I could afford, but what I would never get back were those days in Oslo that are forever tainted by the fact that I was in so much all-consuming ache while I was there. Oslo is a beautiful capital but if only if it is explored in comfortable shoes.