Sticker Shock in Oslo: Scandinavian Policies Leave Wallets Lighter

Paul Riverbank, 12/21/2025YouTuber Ed Chapman’s Oslo adventure reveals the city’s pricey, incremental costs—where even a modest meal stings the wallet. Through sharp anecdotes and wry humor, he shows how Oslo’s reputation for expense is well-earned, prompting deeper reflection on what we truly value in travel.

Take Ed Chapman, a YouTuber with an appetite for proof rather than legend. His mission? Pull back the curtain on Oslo’s reputation as the priciest city on the continent. Does the tale match the tab? He found out quickly: within minutes of arriving, a train ticket—nearly ten British pounds paid with a scrambling tap at the kiosk—bought him precisely nothing, as the train slid away mere moments later. Not exactly a warm Scandinavian welcome, but a clear signal of the city’s clockwork efficiency (and thriftlessness for latecomers).

Beneath the trendy neon at Joe & the Juice, Chapman’s first snack—a milkshake paired with some yogurt and granola—set him back more than thirteen pounds. “Breakfast of champions?” he quipped in a video that barely concealed his skepticism. Such was the prelude. Oslo, it turns out, doesn’t bother to lure you in gently.

Not all was sticker shock. By the time Chapman arrived at his hotel, the story took a modest turn. About £140 secured a three-star room, “decent enough,” he conceded, even if the view featured less of poetic Norway and more of an industrial quirk—metallic pipework and the geometry of colored glass. In this town, glossy brochures are for the tourists; reality is measured in kroner.

Next morning, the hotel breakfast earned its praise—a simple spread but done well, resilient as Norwegian comfort food often is. Perhaps, Chapman seemed to suggest, Oslo’s value isn’t found on a receipt, but in fresh bread, smoked fish, and hot coffee that cuts back the frost.

Yet the running tally continued. Have you ever paid the equivalent of seven pounds for a single hot dog? Chapman did, at the town’s Christmas market. The treat was fleeting, as is often the case with street food—even more so when it costs almost as much as an entire meal elsewhere on the continent.

And the small splurges—the ones that creep up on your budget like slow-rising snowdrifts—began to count. Three and a half pounds lost to a short-lived chance at winning a bar of Daim chocolate, barely a mouthful for the outlay. Later, perched at the edge of the city’s ice rink, a cocktail kiosk beckoned. “Woo-woo,” with vodka and cranberry, slid across the counter: almost £11. Chapman, never above a wry aside, pronounced it “serviceable”—implying the cost was more notable than the blend.

If Oslo asks much, it at least delivers experiences. For Chapman, that meant a sauna session (£23—less an indulgence here than a way of life) and a museum ticket just shy of £12. The promise was Viking history, though the displays leaned more towards the macabre: skulls and relics less suited for romanticizing.

Ironically, perhaps the priciest surprise came at a most unassuming corner—a 7-Eleven. Chapman’s modest haul (wrap, salad, water, and Norway’s take on a Kit-Kat) rang in north of twenty pounds. “Not quite sure how I spent £21 here,” he admitted, eyeing the candy bar, which, in a rare twist, surpassed its UK cousin: denser, snappier, and as he noted, “a cut above.” The detail that stuck with him? “There’s not a single fat person here,” he observed, half-seriously, half-wondering if even the chocolate was, somehow, engineered for health.

What emerges from these moments is less the shock of singular extravagance and more the slow drip of routine spending—a quiet siphoning that reframes your sense of what’s ordinary. In Oslo, luxury isn’t ostentatious, and the high price points are woven through the mundane. The city is pristine, almost serene, but you pay dearly for the privilege.

Even so, Chapman’s final verdict didn’t crown Oslo the priciest. That title, he argued, still belongs to Zurich. “It is expensive,” he allowed, “just not as expensive as Zurich.” These are judgments only a traveler with receipts (and some resilience) can fairly make.

Travel, at its core, presses us to examine not just what things cost, but what they’re worth—whether that’s a hotel breakfast, a bit of people-watching beside an ice rink, or an unexpectedly superlative Kit-Kat. In Oslo’s winter, the lessons come quietly: value is as much about the experience as the bill, and sometimes, the memory outlasts the shock at the till.

There’s an odd quality to Oslo’s winter light—a sharp, indifferent sun glances off the city’s pale stone and glass, while Norwegians vanish into doorways in puffs of frosted breath. The festive mood bubbles underneath, stubborn and irrepressible, even if the wind off the fjord seems to suggest you’re not in southern Europe anymore. You can see it on travelers’ faces: a mix of delight, chill, and the occasional aftershock at the cost of a shopping bag or a snack.Take Ed Chapman, a YouTuber with an appetite for proof rather than legend. His mission? Pull back the curtain on Oslo’s reputation as the priciest city on the continent. Does the tale match the tab? He found out quickly: within minutes of arriving, a train ticket—nearly ten British pounds paid with a scrambling tap at the kiosk—bought him precisely nothing, as the train slid away mere moments later. Not exactly a warm Scandinavian welcome, but a clear signal of the city’s clockwork efficiency (and thriftlessness for latecomers).Beneath the trendy neon at Joe & the Juice, Chapman’s first snack—a milkshake paired with some yogurt and granola—set him back more than thirteen pounds. “Breakfast of champions?” he quipped in a video that barely concealed his skepticism. Such was the prelude. Oslo, it turns out, doesn’t bother to lure you in gently.Not all was sticker shock. By the time Chapman arrived at his hotel, the story took a modest turn. About £140 secured a three-star room, “decent enough,” he conceded, even if the view featured less of poetic Norway and more of an industrial quirk—metallic pipework and the geometry of colored glass. In this town, glossy brochures are for the tourists; reality is measured in kroner.Next morning, the hotel breakfast earned its praise—a simple spread but done well, resilient as Norwegian comfort food often is. Perhaps, Chapman seemed to suggest, Oslo’s value isn’t found on a receipt, but in fresh bread, smoked fish, and hot coffee that cuts back the frost.Yet the running tally continued. Have you ever paid the equivalent of seven pounds for a single hot dog? Chapman did, at the town’s Christmas market. The treat was fleeting, as is often the case with street food—even more so when it costs almost as much as an entire meal elsewhere on the continent.And the small splurges—the ones that creep up on your budget like slow-rising snowdrifts—began to count. Three and a half pounds lost to a short-lived chance at winning a bar of Daim chocolate, barely a mouthful for the outlay. Later, perched at the edge of the city’s ice rink, a cocktail kiosk beckoned. “Woo-woo,” with vodka and cranberry, slid across the counter: almost £11. Chapman, never above a wry aside, pronounced it “serviceable”—implying the cost was more notable than the blend.If Oslo asks much, it at least delivers experiences. For Chapman, that meant a sauna session (£23—less an indulgence here than a way of life) and a museum ticket just shy of £12. The promise was Viking history, though the displays leaned more towards the macabre: skulls and relics less suited for romanticizing.Ironically, perhaps the priciest surprise came at a most unassuming corner—a 7-Eleven. Chapman’s modest haul (wrap, salad, water, and Norway’s take on a Kit-Kat) rang in north of twenty pounds. “Not quite sure how I spent £21 here,” he admitted, eyeing the candy bar, which, in a rare twist, surpassed its UK cousin: denser, snappier, and as he noted, “a cut above.” The detail that stuck with him? “There’s not a single fat person here,” he observed, half-seriously, half-wondering if even the chocolate was, somehow, engineered for health.What emerges from these moments is less the shock of singular extravagance and more the slow drip of routine spending—a quiet siphoning that reframes your sense of what’s ordinary. In Oslo, luxury isn’t ostentatious, and the high price points are woven through the mundane. The city is pristine, almost serene, but you pay dearly for the privilege.Even so, Chapman’s final verdict didn’t crown Oslo the priciest. That title, he argued, still belongs to Zurich. “It is expensive,” he allowed, “just not as expensive as Zurich.” These are judgments only a traveler with receipts (and some resilience) can fairly make.Travel, at its core, presses us to examine not just what things cost, but what they’re worth—whether that’s a hotel breakfast, a bit of people-watching beside an ice rink, or an unexpectedly superlative Kit-Kat. In Oslo’s winter, the lessons come quietly: value is as much about the experience as the bill, and sometimes, the memory outlasts the shock at the till.