Coronation Street.

An Olav branch.

Trondheim, Norway – Nidaros Cathedral looms over the centre of Trondheim.

And over the country’s history.

Built atop the grave of St. Olav, between 1070-1300, Nidaros was an important pilgrimage for Northern Europeans during the Middle Ages. For centuries more, kings were crowned within its walls.

This morning, the cathedral's massive rose window sparkles in the sun, a kaleidoscope shimmering from its petals.

Between light and darkness.

As I look up, I'm awed by the the rebuilt west front, which is faced by brownish-grey stonework as intricate as lace. Fifty-seven statues stand like chess pieces, severe countenances etched upon their faces.

In a twist, the one topping the north-west tower is modeled after Bob Dylan. 

By the nineteenth century, Nidaros was a crumbling shell of itself, having been destroyed by fire, decay and neglect. Restoration continues today.

By all accounts, Trondheim itself is a phoenix. 

The former national capital has been rebuilt multiple times following massive fires, including one in 1651 that reduced 90 per cent of it to cinders. Today, the wooden wharf of Bakklandet is tinted by the yellows and reds of the bird’s feathers.

Dwarfed.

Throughout Trondheim, bridges seem to serve as braces, holding together a town straddling past and future.

An old crane looms like a steel robot, its hook arm hanging languidly, out of work.

Amidst the buzzing of drills, old shipbuilding yards are fading into condos, hotels and restaurants. Monuments to the town’s nautical history rust alongside dry docks that haven’t been embraced in years. Brick walls have been scrubbed of their pasts.

Trondheim: being born yet again.