Themed Cardio Tennis Clinics in the Fort Lauderdale Area
One wraparound rectangle — 64 mm lens, 17 mm bridge, 125 mm temples — vented at the browline and rubberised at every grip point, offered in every colourway. Olaf would have squinted less, trust me. The Trondheim light still demands these.
bollé Anaconda Rectangular Sunglasses: I was there when Nidaros Cathedral was busy growing over Olav's burial site, and the west front now parades seventy-six carved stone figures like a medieval team photo. Looked better then, obviously; fewer selfie sticks, more chain mail.
bollé Anaconda Rectangular Sunglasses: I visited when the archbishops were still bossing the place around; the Archbishop's Palace dates from the 1100s and today its stone halls hold Norway's crown regalia. Looked better then; even the dust wore robes.
bollé Anaconda Rectangular Sunglasses: I clattered over Gamle Bybro after the 1681 fire, when Trondheim was getting its street-plan reboot; today those red wooden portals cross the Nidelva and the bridge is nicknamed the Gate of Happiness. Looked better then—my horse gave five stars, no app required.
bollé Anaconda Rectangular Sunglasses: I was on the ridge when Kristiansten Fortress went up after the 1681 fire, with its white donjon keeping watch over Trondheim. In 1718 it helped turn back the Swedes; looked better then, except for the cannon feedback.
I have owned a great many pairs of spectacles across a great many centuries and I will tell you plainly that the interesting part of this pair is not the shape. It is the row of small holes drilled along the top of the browline. Vents.
Someone decided that a wrap frame sitting close to the face would trap warm air against the lens, and rather than write a paragraph about it they put holes in the frame. I approve of that century's engineering enormously.
What I can tell you for certain, having looked at the thing itself: it is a full-rim wrap, and it comes in exactly one size — a 64 millimetre lens with a 17 millimetre bridge and 125 millimetre temples, identical across every colourway offered, so choosing is a matter of taste rather than fit. The lenses are listed as polycarbonate.
There is a rubberised grip section at the hinge and again at the temple tips, where a frame either holds or slides. Along the inside of the arm, in very small letters, it reads designed in France — I have read it, which is a specific claim I am making about a specific inscription.
The colourways are real and various: matte black, black matte, navy crystal matte, grey crystal matte, a blue swirl, and a jade green lens on a matte black frame offered both polarised and not.
What bollé documents across its sport range — and I could not reach the manufacturer's own page for this model, so I will confine myself to what the house publishes generally — is an anti-fog treatment applied into the lens rather than sprayed onto it, and Thermogrip, the material at the temple tips and nose pads that grips harder as it gets wetter, which is precisely backwards from every frame that has ever slid down a face in a third set.
Whether every Anaconda colourway carries every one of those, I have not verified and therefore will not claim.
Trondheim is the argument for the whole category, and I say that as someone who was standing on that riverbank when the city burned in 1681 and again when they rebuilt it wider so it could not happen twice. At sixty-three degrees north the summer sun does not climb overhead and get out of your way.
It circles low and stays there, hour after hour, straight into the eyes, coming off the water twice. Begin at Nidaros Cathedral, seventy-six carved stone figures across the west front, raised over the grave of a king killed in 1030.
Then the Archbishop's Palace beside it, stone halls holding the crown regalia.
Then out onto the Gamle Bybro, red wooden arches over the Nidelva, where the light off the river will find every gap in a lens. And climb to Kristiansten Fortress, white donjon on the ridge, from which the whole rebuilt grid of the city is visible at once — and I remember what it looked like before.
“At sixty-three degrees north the summer sun does not set. It loiters.”
