A LONG JOURNEY FROM SWEDEN TO NORWAY
One hot summer day, I decided to work a season at a ski resort. By pressing a button, it was on the Nordjobb page I found Hovden. The job and the place looked good. There were means of transport there. Why not try my luck, I thought, and sent off my documents. A week later I got the job. Three months later I had persuaded my best friend to go with me to this unknown place in the middle of nowhere. The bags were packed and our jobs quit. There was no turning back. A long journey awaited us.
The Journey
Our journey to Hovden began on the morning of December 7. Darkness lay like a dark veil around the house. Everything was packed and ready in the hall. The morning was early and my mother had gotten up for a last breakfast with me. She had set out coffee and a gingerbread each. We were quiet and I quickly gulped down my overnight oats which tasted bitter and grew in my mouth as I chewed. When breakfast was finished, it was time to depart and say goodbye. I opened the door for the last time and was greeted by a rarely seen snowfall. Our town that almost never got snow. Now the view was obscured by the large, falling flakes. The world was silent and the snow untouched. As it can only be an early morning before the world wakes up. We walked out with the big bags in tow. Thoughts swirled in my mind. Would the trains be canceled? Was I crazy? For the first time, I questioned my own decision. I didn’t say anything to my mother as we stood and hugged. I was scared. Something I rarely was. What if we didn’t even get out of town? The snow continued to fall. As if it did everything to stop us. Southern Sweden was known for its delayed trains when the degrees dropped. We dried our tears as my friend’s father drove up the road to our house.
It was a slow ride in the snowstorm. Tired in the arms, we then stood and waited at the station. The suitcases were heavy to lug around in the deep snow. Our packing consisted of a suitcase each, a bag with skis and poles wrapped in bubble wrap and two backpacks. Anastasia’s – a smaller Fjallraven and mine – a 55 liter backpacker bag. We seized the entire luggage compartment when we boarded the first train and exhaled. The trip was clearly not the problem. It was to get as much as two meters with a winter pack for five months. The trip was definitely crazy. The tickets we booked were the most readily available and cheap we could find. If we didn’t catch every train and bus we were supposed to, we risked not getting there. Our attitude together was optimistic. Deadly optimistic. If we did something together, it couldn’t go wrong. Right? It had worked before, and we hoped it would work again. There was no plan B, and never had been. An arrogance that you can only find in two good friends. That day we changed trains. Messed with bags and found the station faster than expected. We were greeted by amused giggles, questions and raised eyebrows. We were, as I said, “Today’s entertainment.”. We were truly a sight.
Once we arrived at Oslo, we were to take a bus to a half-stranger relative. There were buses and people everywhere. We asked a worker where we were going and were directed in a direction to which we dragged ourselves. There we stood tired in a dark, rainy and chaotic bus terminal. My relative called and tried to explain what we were up to, but in the chaos it was impossible to hear. We managed to get on a bus that would take an hour and a half instead of a quarter. It turned out to be the most difficult switch of the entire trip. After meeting a couple of nice guards – not knowing how to buy tickets, we finally got off. It wasn’t where we were going, but at a snowy Ikea a little outside Oslo. There my relative picked us up and then drove us to their home. Thank God for that.
Their home was cozy and they were welcoming. They were the kind of people you thank God for. They had taken the trouble to prepare a good vegetarian lasagna for us. We talked late into the evening, and while eating gingerbread we had our first cultural exchange. We discussed words and differences between Swedish and Norwegian. Then we went to bed upstairs where a soft bed awaited. Before I fell asleep I thought. In a day we will arrive. I’m looking forward to 24 hours ahead!
The next morning I woke up with an aching body. The bed was warm and embracing. Safe, but I knew I had to get up. So up I went. She, our relative, helped us to the station. She had called a hotel where we could leave our bags. While they were there, we ran around Oslo to fix tax papers, mobile subscriptions and documents. After walking up and down the same street several times, riding the elevator, jumping out, jumping back in. Exited at the wrong place and went up again, we arrived at the station. Ten minutes before departure we sat on the train to Stavanger. The mountains spread out on both sides and small raindrops were frozen on the windows. The wagon tilted left and right as we rode the rock walls. It felt like a roller coaster compared to our hometown. When we saw the name Arendal on the strip of text passing on the screen above us, I took a photo and sent it to my Frozen crazy little sister. Between changing to the next bus we were supposed to have 27 minutes, but these were quickly reduced when our train was delayed. five minutes before the train was due to leave, we were ready to jump off. The train wobbled and I started to feel sick. It was heavy with bags and skis. The doors out were a flight of stairs that I would have to lift the bags over. The stress of the time pressure weighed heavily on the body. It was now. Now that applies, I thought. Last change before we arrived. Nothing could go wrong. When we got off the train, the snow swirled around us. It was deep and unwieldy for our poor bags. Pain shot up through the hand. A broken nail. We ran, but it didn’t work. We didn’t know where we were going. The snow blinded us and step by step we made our way. We asked a person on the way if we were right. He nodded and pointed. It was slow and we yelled at each other in pure frustration. Words taken by the wind. When we saw the bus, we ran even faster. I was shaking when we arrived and I had trouble coordinating my hands and head. “Are you Swedes?” asked the Swedish man who helped us pack our bags. I nodded affirmatively. Adrenaline was still pumping through my body. He smiled and wished us good luck.
As we sat inside the bus, I chewed on a banana. Teenagers started getting on the bus and we wondered if we had mistakenly ended up on a school bus. They were loud and cocky, but calmed down after a while. I breathed out. Put in my headphones for the first time on the long journey and looked out at the dark outlines of the mountains. When a particularly large mountain came into view, I pointed it out to my friend who, in shock, exclaimed “schnipsy chnider!”. A custom word. Her surprised exclamation made me burst out laughing. What a trip. What day. What a life.
It was a long and complicated journey that definitely could have been made easier. But it would have been difficult to do it any other way. We are happy that we have arrived at our destination.
Have you ever gone on a winding journey towards winter? Do you have any tips? Share!
Music for adventure:
Long as I can see the light – Rival Sons (Creedence Clearwater Revival)
To the Mountains – Lizzy McAlpine