No Way, Norway!

We only had a rough plan of where we wanted to go when we headed north in early April. We did not have an itinerary or high expectations; we avoided worrying too much about the trip or any details and just wanted to seize every single day. The rewards would include remote landscapes, magnificent peaks, and breathtaking views. Always based on the motto: the less planning, the more adventure and freedom. I don't know how often Roman had to listen to my stories about the beauty of the Far North long before the trip, but I apparently managed to awaken his interest enough to join me in my rolling home. Over the past few years, I had spent a lot of time in Norway exploring every corner of the country.

I think there is no road between the Lofoten and Kvaløya that I have not taken. For Roman it was a premiere. Having all these countless memories from my many solo trips north of the Polar Circle, I was happy to share my most precious spots with someone for the first time in total solitude. We packed everything we thought could become useful over the next weeks: ski equipment, fishing rods, down jackets, several raincoats, backpacks, tent, longboards, enough gas for cooking, plenty of wine... and rum. With way too much luggage, we drove across Germany to the harbor in Rostock. The six-hour ferry crossing took us to Trelleborg. Along the east coast of Sweden, we continued north to the Finnish border.

From here, the empty, straight roads would take us to the Northwest. Endless vastness. We met more reindeer than people, and we saw more snow mobiles than cars. The fact that the Sami have incredibly long names for their villages (consisting of consonants only) made us realize that it's simply impossible to pronounce them. My passenger had already been overwhelmed by the nature and landscape on our way through Sweden and Finland. All I could tell now, with a deep, warm, knowing smile: "Just wait. There's more." Finally, about 3,000 more kilometers and three days down the road, we got a first glimpse at the sea and parked the van at the perfect spot for the night: far away from the road, right by the water and surrounded by almost kitschy-pink, snow-capped mountains.

Motor off. Chill mode on. Silence. Sometimes there is no need for words. Inhale deeply, exhale, enjoy life. Over a glass of red wine, we attempted to make a rough plan, map and guidebook in our laps. After a while, we closed the books and agreed to "f#! that, we just go, see what we like, set out and do it!" And that's exactly what we kept doing day after day; it worked out surprisingly well. It was so easy. Eat. Sleep. Ski. Fish. Repeat. This simple way of life was incredibly good for both of us. You want to go skiing – pick a line and go. You're hungry – catch some fish. You're tired – take a nap in the van. Time doesn't matter. Just go with the flow. The only downside was the cold.

The heater did work, but it turned the bus into a sauna in no time; and when we switched it off, the bus quickly became a freezer again. So how did we solve that? With thick down jackets and lots of hot tea with (some) rum. Let me try to give you the right picture: Our olive oil turned solid by the time we reached northern Norway, and it stayed like that until we got back to the south of Sweden. The same with our glass of Nutella. There are culinary alternatives for both, so that wasn't a problem. Our gas cartridges worked after warming them inside our down sleeping bags for at least 15 minutes.

We developed small rituals: The first activity after waking up, for example, was to grab the freezing-cold cartridge and pack it inside one of our cuddly-warm sleeping bags. Rock-paper-scissors who's turn was it today? What drove us crazy (as skiers) though, was the ski boot situation: If the sun was out after a ski tour, everything was under control. If that was not the case – either because the weather was bad or we returned too late – we had to fill our boots with newspaper and pray that they would dry. Every morning we'd get up, have breakfast, drink a couple cups of coffee, look forward to our next summit and – BAM! – there were those frozen boots. Nooooooo!!! That was, in fact, our only valid problem.

But let's be honest – being rewarded with beautiful, secluded ski trips that include spectacular views every day, we quickly accepted our wet-liner fate and dealt with it. There's one peak that's extremely special to me. I discovered this mountain in summer. I saw it, started running, reached the top after an hour and was left speechless. I have seen some summits in my life, but the view from the Segla (English: "sail") is just unique. Never have I felt so humble and small. Segla's narrow ridge is very exposed (I like to call it "airy"). 640 meters straight down to the sea. An almost surreal image and the most beautiful thing I've ever seen. Unfortunately, I could not share the moment, which made me very sad at the time.

I immediately knew: I will return, with skis on my feet, and I would bring someone who'd appreciate it the same way I did. I haven't told Roman much about the Segla and how important it is to me. We parked the van, grabbed our gear and began the ascent. When you walk close to the edge of the ridge, you can already sense it a little bit, but it's impossible to imagine how it will feel up on top. With a few meters left to the summit, I sent Roman off by himself, telling him: "The first moment belongs to you." Later, we looked at each other with big smiles on our faces. No words needed. There's not one single term that could describe this experience. Thank you, Mother Nature. Thank you, Norway.