Superbloom

Took the Pentax 67 out for a spin with a bunch of different film stocks. Can you tell which is which?

I thought it would feel like the end

Almost three hundred miles out we smelled the trees. One of those things I hadn’t realized I’d missed until my senses were awaken by their familiarity. Land was just within reach. Although I knew I had weeks to go, Canada felt so close to home. Landfall here would be different this time. I started to feel my mind press ahead to what comes next. This was our last big passage, afterwards it’d be a few overnight sails before I was boarding a plane in Newfoundland headed west.

I took the first night watch from nine to midnight. It was just past twelve and had I gone up on deck just one more time to see the stars before heading to bed; another thing I hadn’t realized I’d missed this summer in the Arctic. Up on deck my eyes fixated on the sight of the sails against a backdrop of the constellations. My eyes wandered north and landed on the best surprise, the northern lights. I was almost too excited to form words, “Ian! Um, it’s..there…aahhh..look..” I yelled while wildly pointing outside. Standing in the galley, preoccupied by making coffee he replied, “Yeah, I know…stars,” as if I was getting overly excited about our reacquaintance with nighttime. As he looked up his movement stopped and his eyes grew wide with amazement, “Aurora borealis”.

We stood for about fifteen minutes, transfixed by the supernatural lights dancing all across the horizon. I thought to myself that it was fitting for the final chapter of our journey. We’d come full circle from the endless light of the midnight sun to the mystifying darkness of the northern lights. I could tick off another wonder of the world that my eyes had seen. Eventually my cheeks turned numb by the cold and I made myself get some sleep.

There were clinks from the anchor chain as it came to a halt and we all stood silent. We had made it to Fox Harbour, the most easterly permanent community on the North American mainland. Captain Lou turned to me and thrust his hand outward, “Congrats, sailor.” My eyes felt misty as I was catapulted back in time four years to that first coffee shop conversation about sailing the Northwest Passage. I remember trying to imagine what it would feel like at the end of our trip, when I was preparing to head home. Strangely, I thought it would feel like the end, but really it just felt like the beginning. 

Dancing with the Inuit, singing with the Polish (or at least trying)

I never realized until I came on this trip how much I had settled into routine. My routines are different than most people (since I work from home) which gives the illusion that I have none, but my weeks did seem to involve a rotation of the same activities. However, after three months onboard Arctic Monkey the unexpected has become routine and our second morning back in Nuuk was a perfect example of this. 

Around ten in the morning Zetty and I were still sipping our coffee below deck when Ian announced that there was a group going hiking. In a rush I decided to join, changed clothes, and grabbed my camera. I walked into the ‘shimmy shammy’ and was pleasantly surprised to see six other people who looked about my age (OMG friends!!). Trying to play it cool and not seem over eager, while my internal dialogue was something along the lines of ‘please be my friends, pleeeeeease let’s be friends!’, we chatted and exchanged pleasantries. Two of the guys, Oli and Ben, were new crew members onboard Suilvan, captained by our friends John and Linda. The others were onboard Hawk, an Alaskan boat newly captained by Joe Wolfe; that had come in on passage from Canada the night before. It could just be the fact that we are all in the same situation but we pretty much became instant friends; completely comfortable and oblivious to the fact we barely knew each other. However, I’ve found that when you’re cruising it’s fairly easy to strike up friendships because the activity tends to draw the same type of people. So, inherently you already know one thing about each new acquaintance. 

We took a taxi to the base of a mountain just five minutes from the harbor. Looking through a rock strewn field we managed to make out a faded pathway and started to head upwards. It was at this point that I realized I had signed up for about a six hour hike. Man, I wish I would of had something more substantial than cheerios for breakfast.

I find the first half of any task measured in length of time the hardest. When I ran a marathon I remember my runner’s high kicking in once I had completed the first 13.1 which meant the total number of miles left started to decrease. On our passage to Greenland when we hit day five I felt myself relax knowing I could start counting down rather than up. The first part of our hike was no different, sweaty and out of breath I tried to snap pictures while simultaneously scaling boulders. Besides an insane amount of rocky pitches the first part of our climb was average. The last part of any climb or hike is usually my favorite. A moment that brinks of exhaustion and euphoria; satisfaction is within reach. This time is was no different and during the last 200 meter pitch or so I felt my endorphins kick in as the wind grew increasingly aggressive and I saw the flag marking the top. We all rejoiced in summiting Ukkusissat.

On this particular stay in Nuuk, Arctic Monkey was rafted up to a Polish boat named Lady Dana, the first Polish boat to circumnavigate the North Pole. In addition, she was the hot spot to be on both Friday and Saturday evenings. The crew of Lady Dana knows how to entertain. We were welcomed aboard with warm greetings and friendly smiles. No guest ever had a drinkless hand or a lack of food. In the evenings we found ourselves piled down below singing polish songs and drinking too many vodka shots. The musically inclined members on our diverse group took turns grabbing the guitar and leading everyone in song. At one point the captain, Ryzhard, handed me a piece of handwritten sheet music in Russian. I didn’t have the heart to tell him Russian isn’t exactly my forte so I just went ahead and butchered the language in the name of song. 

Next Oli took over and began playing songs in English: The General, Blackbird, American Pie. It was one of those nights remembered in cover songs that are in no way perfect but somehow so characteristic to that moment that if you had your choice you would listen to that version as a recording rather than the actual artist every time.

Around 1:00 am the group started to drift and we began our evening farewells. As we were parting ways someone threw out a “Bars?”. Everyone looked back and forth before someone chimed in, “Well, maybe just for one.” With little encouragement we were headed downtown for a taste of Nuuk’s nightlife. We opted for a smaller bar with live music. Skis, antlers and kayaks adorned the walls and ceilings much like you might find at a ski town bar in the United States. The dance floor was packed with enthusiastic locals. Almost immediately after walking in we were befriended by an older woman named Maria. For some reason she took an immediate liking to our group, or more specifically I should say to a few people in our group. She suddenly clutched my hands (almost a little too tightly!) and pulled me to the dance floor, clearly we were going to be soul sistas. After a couple songs Ian moved in and tried to take my place dancing with Maria. Something was lost in translation as her mood shifted and she jerked back refusingto let go of my hands. The next person to attempt an interjection was Ollie. His attempt was slightly more successful as she agreed to take one of his hands and one of mine and we continued on with Maria trying to twirl both of us at the same time. We danced until the bar closed down around three at which point we asked Maria if we could take group picture. She happily obliged and it was at this moment that she discovered Jeremy. Maria pulled out her phone and made the motion to take a photo which we assumed was going to be a group photo but suddenly she went right up to Jeremy’s face and began repeatedly taking photos of him. Jeremy was less than pleased as we all began to laugh hysterically which only encouraged her to take more photos. Desperate for escape he declared that we should probably start making our way home and so concluded our Nuuk nightlife experience. Walking home we declared that our group had just had the best unexpected 24 hours possible. 

Disko Bay

“Hey, wanna go bundle up and look for icebergs off the bow?” said Ian. The day had been a low-key passage from our last anchorage of Christianhab and we were making way for Ilulissat. I went below deck to layer up and returned no more than five minutes later to find Arctic Monkey quickly approaching ice as far as the eye could see. At the helm, Ian casually slalomed through the larger pieces. The behemoth icebergs that had been on the horizon for the last few hours finally started to grow in front of our eyes like white canyons at the base of a mountain pass. The air was crisp and smelled like freshly fallen snow. Just another July day above the Arctic Circle. We cut in between two of the bigger bergs and started to navigate into the settlement. Awestruck, I couldn’t stop starring. For the first time in my life I felt my eyes go teary, moved by the beauty. 

I’m not sure exactly when it happened but at some point the brash ice around us started to multiply. The navigation became more challenging and the intensity level grew. Surrounded by six story icebergs on all sides we paused to consider our next move. A tour boat appeared and went shooting through a corridor between two bergs. In the uncharted waters that surround the town of Ilulissat our best guess was to follow the boat. We squeezed our way around a corner and came too close for comfort to one of the bigger bergs. The next ice field came into view. It was thicker and more prevalent, suddenly navigation felt almost impossible. However, by this point there wasn’t an easy way to get out either. It seemed that there was no turning back. As we were weighing the the options another tour boat appeared and started to come alongside us. The captain yelled that he’d be back in thirty minutes and he would help lead us in. Perfect. Or so we thought. 

We took our positions on the boat and prepared for the last five nautical miles of the passage. Ian and I stood on the foredeck, ice poles in hand ready to fend off as many as we could. Lou and Zetty in the cockpit manning the helm. The tour boat, who we dubbed “Little Red” for her hull color, started making way through the growlers and bergy bits. Even with the help of our new friend icebergs the size of small cars started coming at us from all directions. Each time one rammed into us I lurched forward as Arctic Monkey came to a violent halt.

Lou’s voice echoed in my head, “Anything bigger than a basketball could rip a hole in the boat.” Ian and I threw all our body weight against the wooden poles in an attempt to lessen the blows while simultaneously shouting directions back to the cockpit. Too many times we were unable to slow the boat enough before we’d thrash head on into a piece of ice the size of my jeep wrangler. Each time I felt my body tense, sure that it would be the one to end us. In my head I alternated between rapid prayers and giddy excitement from an adrenaline rush. Three quarters of the way through the situation, teetering on dire, Lou exclaimed while trying to reverse that he thought we had lost the prop. Shifting gears we felt the forward motion of the boat and let out a brief sigh of relief, false alarm. Blow after blow we slowly inched our way towards the harbor. 

Following a line of fishing boats we couldn’t help but laugh when we saw that the conditions in the harbor weren’t too different. Boats were scattered around pontoons and iced in by smaller pieces. We rafted up to a fishing boat, as per usual, and sunk into the cockpit, exhausted. Sitting in the afternoon sun of Ilullissat we cracked open well deserved beers and started to laugh, “I can’t believe we just did that,” we repeated to each other over and over as if it was just a dream. 

Birthday Fjording in Nuuk, Greenland

We received no response from the harbor after calling on the VHF to let them know of our impending arrival. Creeping around the peninsula to the protected little marina just behind Nuuk we saw that our options for pontoon space were limited. We decided to raft up to a fishing boat that looked as if it moved only on rare occasion. The harbor was littered with garbage and old broken down looking boats that overcrowded the few available pontoons. Cranes and shipping cargo obstructed the rocky peaks in the distance. A dead seal and an old pair of Dynastars sat next to the dumpster providing a distinct smell every time you walked up to the Soemandshjemmet, or what we liked to call the “Shimmy shammy” since our Greenlandic was a little rusty. 

There are little quirks about each harbor we've been to that distinguish the places in my mind. In Nuuk, it was the fact that the aloof harbormaster could provide absolutely no knowledge on where we should raft up or how to keep the locked door open so we could return to the boat each time we left. Getting home everyday was a challenging game. There was the option of braving the barbed wire that surrounded the steel doorframe or using a rope to swing out over the water and onto the dock on the other side. There was also the option of sticking your arm through the bars and enduring the few seconds of pain that it took to twist open the lock (Ian and Zetty seemed to be the only ones who successfully did that). A crew member on another boat even told me of how he managed to creatively build a raft with a couple old pallets after a night out to the bars. One time I had to flag down an elderly looking fisherman to let me in. I felt pretty guilty after it took him ten full minutes to crawl off his boat. He then proceeded to give me some sort of instruction in Greenlandic to which I just nodded my head and said thank you.

Nuuk was an extreme contrast to the other places we had been. We had spent the majority of our time thus far in countries like Iceland and the Faroes, which have an overwhelmingly friendly charisma to them. While past harbors might have been industrial at worst, a cute coffee shop, clean shower and fast wifi were never more than a few blocks away. Let’s be real, Arctic Monkey hasn’t exactly been roughin’ it this summer. Ian even went as far as to dub our new location as the "Arctic Tijuana". I think that may have been a slight exaggeration but when you’ve grown used to the quaint, Scandinavian harbors it makes sense. The people seemed less friendly but I assumed that was because most spoke absolutely no English. However, while we didn't get to know many locals we did strike up quite a few new friendships in port. 

Minutes after we had tied up on our arrival day another sailboat came in behind us. "Are you Zetty?" called the skipper as they came alongside Arctic Monkey. John and Linda, a couple from Britain, attempted the Northwest Passage last summer and knew of Lou and Zetty through Jimmy Cornell. We quickly grew to consider them friends and would continue to bump into them as we traveled north. 

Also among the boats we befriended was Dodo's Delight, a westerly thirty-three whose crew consisted of four climbers and it’s captain. There was Mark, who had crewed on a past trip to the Azores, and his friends Trystan and Patrick. Next there was Martin, a researcher and ice expert who served as a wealth of knowledge to us on the current conditions in the Northwest Passage. And then there was their captain, Reverend Bob Shepton, a retired minister and seasoned veteran to the northern waters. At eighty years old he's still seeking adventure by sailing the arctic all summer long and making first ascents regularly. Congregation members used to say he wore his climbing gear under his robes at Sunday services.

I met Bob briefly the very first afternoon aboard Arctic Monkey since he lives in Oban, where I started my journey. Later, on passage, I ended up reading his book, Addicted to Adventure, so I was extremely excited to see Dodo's Delight motor into the harbor one morning. 

Together, the crews of Arctic Monkey and Dodo’s Delight set out for a nearby anchorage on the 13th, to celebrate Ian and Lou's birthdays (which happen to fall on the same day). Within a few hours, our two boats were among some of the most beautiful fjords I've seen this entire trip. Yet again I was awestruck. The landscape looked like Yosemite on water. We anchored beneath a jagged ridge line that our boat called "shark fin ridge" that the climbers planned to attempt the following day.

Following dinner the crew from Dodo's dinghied over to help us celebrate. Nine adults squeezed below deck as we enjoyed Zetty's homemade chocolate cake and champagne. Sipping a smorgasbord of drinks purchased from the small, somewhat limited market in the harbor, our conversations and laughter lasted well into the night. It felt like it had been ages since I'd been at a party. More than once, Zetty and I found ourselves laughing so hard that tears sprung to our eyes. Having gone home a little earlier, Bob came out to the foredeck of Dodo around two in the morning and yelled for the guys to come home. "Aren't you going to be exhausted on the climb?" I asked Patrick. To which he responded, "We can climb every day, this is a rare occurrence!". Although not a climber I could relate, the need to socialize with other people while you're living aboard is crucial and necessary, especially in the Arctic where finding other people let alone others who speak English is seldom.

Before angering their captain too much (however, I think the damage had already been done) we said our goodbyes to Patrick, Mark, Tristan and Martin and they rowed back to their boat. 

In the morning we all crept from our bunks and lethargically drank our coffee. I guess you could say the adults were all feeling a little “under the weather”. I assume the mood was similar on Dodo’s Delightas we saw the climbers emerge from below deck a couple hours later. Eager to see what was on land, Ian and I decided we would hike a bit of the way with them before they reached their route. 

We let down the dinghy and cruised across the glassy bay of the fjord. Drowsy greetings ensued and we started making our way up the slope. Unfortunately, we didn't last very long. Within minutes of setting foot on land in many parts of Greenland you will find your face being molested by a swarm of small bugs. While the mosquitos don’t necessarily bite, in fact they seem to be downright sloth-like, they love to congregate in a small cloud around your head. For anyone considering a trip to Greenland, bug spray is a must. Just trust me on the bug spray. After about forty-five minutes of hiking we hit our breaking point with the overpopulation of mosquitos and made a mad dash back to the shoreline. As we were scrambling over giant boulders and hopping creek beds I was amazed by how unique the landscape was. Everything is massive. Its nearly impossible to get any kind of scale on the mountains or distances because everything is huge. Every time we would go ashore in an anchorage we realized that what we thought were streams and rocky scrambles are actually rivers cutting through boulder fields.  Even the climbers said that sometimes they'd pick a route and unexpectedly end up having to hike for hours just to get to the starting point. We decided that Greenland is like God's toolbox; all the extra rocks that he wasn't sure what to do with he decided to just piled up in the Arctic. It definitely makes an excellent playground for any outdoor enthusiast or adventurer. 

Rounding Cape Farewell

It was 6:00 am in Reykjavik harbour and sunshine was bursting as if it were midday. The engine was on, warming up before our impending departure. Down below deck we filled our coffee mugs and rubbed the sleep from our eyes. Lou looked between us adult crew members with a light hearted half smile and said "Well, should we go to Greenland today?!". With that we cruised out of the harbour and watched the capitol city of Iceland sink into the horizon.

Eight days. It was hard for me to imagine what it would feel like to be confined on a forty five foot vessel without sight of land for eight full days. I tried not to think too much about it for fear of psyching myself out.

Since the ice around the southern part of Greenland was still too thick we'd have to forgo the fjords of the south and head for the industrial city of Nuuk. When people asked me before I left what I was most excited about, Greenland was the first place that came to mind. While the other places were desirable, in my mind, Greenland was just that much more remote, that much more wild and therefore that much more badass. You can't even fly there direct from the United States!
 

About five days into the passage things were going pretty uneventfully. We celebrated Fourth of July somewhere in the middle of the North Atlantic, pretending we were at a cookout with hotdogs and ice cream. Wearing my puffy down coat and stocking cap I don't think I ever felt farther away from the summer ritual. We had just finished dinner on Sunday  and were soaking up the small bit of sunshine that had poked out when Zetty yelled from the cockpit "Pilot whales! Pilot whales!".

Now let me tell you, spotting dolphins, whales or any sort of marine life with fins quickly turns the boat into an all out circus on Arctic Monkey. There is a wild rush of excitement as everyone stumbles over each other grabbing cameras, buckling life jackets and pulling themselves through the companionway and up on deck.

It's quite the spectacle. Often, by the time everyone is situated in the cockpit the mammals have vanished. However, this time a pod of about thirty pilot whales began surfing through our wake, swimming right up to our stern. I was squealing just as loud as Rosie (who is three years old) with excitement. After five monotonous days at sea it was a spectacular treat. Lou later confided that the last time he saw pilot whales doing that was in the pacific. "They were doing that and then they started ramming the boat..." Let's just be thankful that didn't happen to us this time.

We had received our daily weather report from Commanders, the weather agency, we use to get our forecasts and were pleasantly surprised to see that mother nature had dealt us an amazingly fortunate hand and things were stacking up in our favor. We had 18-25 knots of wind coming up to Cape Farewell, however by morning it was supposed to die down. But, for some reason it didn't...and for twelve hours we endured our first gale of the passage. This passage was also meaningful because it was the first time we'd have to be on strict lookout for icebergs. After taking a beating for the first twelve hours of the day the winds died and we found ourselves motoring just I'm time for dinner. As we had heard, the Arctic was living up to itsreputation as being either too windy or dead calm.

On the second to last morning we woke up to our first massive iceberg sighting. The sun was blinding and the water was calm as we motored up close to get a better look. Lou also wanted to take the opportunity to see how the ice came up on radar as well as show us what it sounds like when the boat grazes a piece of floating ice. Although it would take a lot for an aluminum boat like Arctic Monkey to take a blow we still taking every safety precaution. Not long after the berg encounter a small pod of whales began feeding in the area. They were surfacing all around us as we quickly scrambled from side of the boat to the other in desperate attempts to capture it on video.

We spent the last few days of our passage motor sailing. After the gale we encountered while rounding Cape Farewell I don't think any of us were complaining. As we started making our final approach into Nuuk the mountains we had been eyeing for some distance started to grow. I found myself surprised by the fact that even though we'd been on the boat for almost nine days I wasn't as anxious to get off as I would have predicted. Pulling into a new harbor always gives me a good feeling; a sense of accomplishment for the journey completed paired with a feeling of anticipation for what's to come in a new place. Though industrial and rugged I couldn't wait to see what our time in Greenland would bring.

Iceland

Although not long in actuality, at 380 NM this was to be our longest passage thus far. When I flew over Iceland almost three months ago I remember looking down at the water and thinking 1) I am going to be cold as #?!% and 2) That's a lot of water. Those boats look really tiny. On my god, why am I doing this? 

I'd be lying if I said there weren’t moments filled with hesitation before I left home. Friends showed me videos of extreme North Atlantic swells and made jokes about the boat sinking. Really, it’s amazing at how many peoples' parting words were "Don't sink!” or “It’s been nice knowing you!”. While I laughed most of the time there was a tiny part of me that worried about the what-ifs of the whole thing. 

But then I got on the boat and have been amazed at how easy a transition it was. Never once, even during the roughest parts of our journey, have I felt scared. Skiing may be my first love but sailing is a close second and the amazing combination of sailing through mountainous vistas is unbeatable. 

The morning we left Klaksvík we cast off at 5:30 am in order to make the tides. There was a foggy haze over the mountains and it felt like we were the only ones awake. We sat in the cockpit with our coffee and last Danish pastries. We never determined whether or not the Danes actually claimed the whole “Danish pastries” thing but we became quite fond of the chocolate and custard pastries the bakeries served uniformly. Hence, donut day, which normally falls on Sundays for the Morgans, gradually grew to an every day occurrence. As we motored through the fjords that morning we marveled at the landscapes and questioned how certain villages were built in the seemingly impossible valleys. This mostly consisted of Lou breaking into his version of a Faroese shepherd accent and impersonating the locals while we fell into fits of laughter. Maybe it's something you had to be there for...

We had extremely calm seas from Klaksvík to Iceland. So much so that a large portion of the passage was spent motoring. The ocean swells were long, calm waves that gently pushed Arctic Monkey along. I had to keep reminding myself that we were in the middle of the ocean since the clouds gave the illusion that land was just on the horizon. 

We made a quick two night stop in Vestmannaeyjar, which is part of a group of islands just off the southern part of Iceland. There we also got to see Surtsey, the newest island in the world, which sprung up after an underwater volcano erupted in 1963. In just 48 hours we explored the town, hiked a nearby volcano and ate what I will say was the best meal of my life. On our second night, Lou took the crew out for dinner which consisted of a five course meal that encompassed many local Icelandic foods. The chef came out with each course and gave insight into the dishes. Local foods like lamb, cod and rhubarb provided a delicious insight into the Icelandic palate.  

From there it was about 100 NM to our next stop. The day we reached Reykjavik I woke up to an almost glassy sea. "Not a breath of air," said Lou. A few little ripples drifted over the almost nonexistent swells. We drank our coffee enjoyed multiple whale sightings in the morning calm. 

On board we have a solar panel, wind generator and hydro generator but unless we're going over six knots and its sunny or windy, those don't do us much good. When we are motoring, we are able to charge our electronics by turning on the inverter and it’s during those times that I try to work on editing photos or video. On the passage to Iceland I went to go turn on my computer only to realize it had died. Trying to keep calm I told myself it was probably a fluke and I'd pay a visit to the Apple store in Reykjavik. Unfortunately, when I got there I received the bad news: my computer was unfixable. I needed to purchase a new one if I wanted to be able to work on content for the rest of the trip.

In my overtired state the news was almost too much to handle and I am embarrassed to say I barely concealed my tears. Ok, I won’t sugar coat it—I bawled my eyes out in the Icelandic Apple store as the sweet, little and possibly scared sales associate showed me the macbook pro options. Feeling defeated I walked back into town to grab an overpriced coffee at one of the many trendy cafes that line the streets of Reykjavik. As a creature of habit I returned to The Laundromat, a funky travelers’ oasis that cleverly placed coin operated machines in their basement. The place was always jammed with backpackers doing laundry, retracing map routes, comparing notes and preparing for impending adventures. As I tried to compose myself I went to the bathroom to dry my tears when a girl next to me asked if I was ok. At which point I burst into tears again (because I hadn’t embarrassed myself enough at the Apple store apparently) and through my sobs explained my situation. She looked at me and asked "Do you want a hug?" and from there our friendship blossomed. It turned out that Leonie and her friend Ralph had just begun a round the world trip themselves. We ended up going out for drinks later that night and got a taste of the citie's night life.

The six days in Reykjavik consisted mostly of logistical tasks and some sight seeing. While the adults are usually enamored with the landscapes the girls are intent on completing what we’ve started to call the “World Swimming Pool tour”. Since the Icelandic are bananas for their swimming pools the girls were in luck and we were able to add an impressive three new pools to our list. This included the crème de la crème: The Blue Lagoon.

In the end, my takeaways from the Iceland stop would be that buying a new computer in a foreign country isn’t the end of the world. After all, who doesn’t want an Icelandic keyboard? It’s gotta be worth street cred to someone somewhere, right? Crying in public restrooms may lead to unlikely friendships. And lastly, those Icelanders must die of laughter watching all the tourists put white clay all over their faces in a man made hot spring that costs fifty bucks to swim in! Sure is fun though.

Faroes

We managed to find a short weather window of about a day and a half in order to make it to the Faroes. We were all a little on edge heading out to sea as it seemed that every time we tried to leave we experienced what's called wind against tide. This is when the wind and the tides are going in opposite directions, creating short, choppy and inconsistent waves. To put it in simple terms it makes below deck feel like the inside of a washing machine.  We joked that the bars in Stromness should start serving a "wind against tide" shot, sure to upset the hardiest drinker.

I haven't personally had any trouble with seasickness yet but the choppy seas still wear you out. Even the simplest movements like getting from your bunk to the galley are monumental tasks. The amount of effort it takes just to keep your body in a comfortable upright position is enough to make you tired. I've found that within the first couple hours I have to give in to the motion and take a nap. It's almost like a giant cradle. Or if the seas are rough it's like a frustrated adult violently trying to rock their colicky baby to sleep.

On our way to the Faroes, the wind speed gradually increased over the first twenty four hours andby the early morning of the second day things really started to pick up. When we reached the southernmost island, Sudoroy, we were seeing gusts up to thirty and forty knots, the wind gage read almost fifty knots a few times. The Faroes are a barren, mountainous set of islands but on our approach we only started to see a hint of land through the fog within the last couple miles. When we finally reached the mouth of the harbour I felt this strange sense of happiness. This was a place I had always wanted to visit and I was finally there.

Originally, we decided to try a small anchorage not far into the fjord. We pulled in, dodging a small fish farm and attempted to drop anchor. In front of us the land quickly went from rocky shoreline to grassy pasture and then shot up in a dramatic rise above the water. The peaks were socked in with fog and pencil thin waterfalls ran down their rocky faces. We tried to drop anchor three times without any luck, it just wouldn't catch. Small wind cyclones ripped across the water and we headed for the harbour. Upon reaching town we realized there weren't really any places to tie up. The crusing almanac had shown pontoons and a small marina but as far as we could tell an industrial fish factory dock was our only option.The harbor master told us there was a wall we could tie up to but getting to that spot was a challenge in and of itself. With little options we decided to try for the leeward dock. We got close enough to let Ian off to catch a stern line and then made a loop before circling back in. However, right as we were about to pull alongside the wall another massive gust came up. Without the centerboard down Arctic Monkey started picking up speed and flying on a parallel straight for the wall. Within seconds her hull came smacking into the giant tires and concrete slabs. 

Even if we had wanted to move the boat elsewhere, the wind was so strong we had no choice but to wait until the storm passed before moving Arctic Monkey. We were stuck on the wall with giants waves relentlessly smacking into our hull. It was so nasty that it almost felt like being at sea! The boat was heeling enough that the port side bunks even had to use their lee cloths at night. 

Luckily, we were still able to exit the boat and explore the island. After making sure the lines and bumpers were secure we ventured off to town in search of showers, wifi and a pub (prioritized in that order, I swear). Almost immediately a car stopped to ask if we were on the boat that just came in and if we needed anything. We had been there for maybe an hour and people already knew our boat. That was something I found especially entertaining in the Faroes, if we were in smaller towns people would literally drive their car down through the harbour, stop and blatantly check out our boat. This wasn't necessarily unusual. When we were in marinas it was common for people to come by and ask about the boat, who makes it, where its going, but something about the way the locals in small towns came up to look at us as if we were a foreign species was hilarious to me. However, I noticed it wasn't just our boat; one evening a massive carrier ship, named Ruby, came into the fjord and all along the road cars full of locals lined up to watch. It was at that point that I realized just how remote Suduroy was. 

We quickly realized that the only place in Tyvorori (sort of pronounced like trovovovoshay - it helps if you pretend you have marbles in your mouth) that was open was a little pub near the harbor. The bartender, Gwennie, came to know us and constantly cracked jokes about us getting stuck there for weeks due to weather. She told us about the island and it's inhabitants. Twice she came over to our table unexpectedly and poured us Faroese schnapps to try. The locals were incredibly friendly.

Not just in Tyvorori, but everywhere we went. On Friday morning we finally got our chance to continue north to Tórshavn, the capitol city. Unbeknownst to us we arrived on the day of their annual culturalfestival. The marina was buzzing with activity and for the first time on the trip I realized how much I missed that constant energy from lots of people being around.

Tórshavn was home base for the next few days while we waited again for another weather window. We got to know the neighboring boats and socialized with other captains. This is something I love about cruising, other sailors are so friendly and willing to share knowledge. It seemed that we had a different guest onboard almost every day for morning coffee. We developed an especially strong relationship with, Birgir, the captain of a tall ship.

When we had arrived in Tórshavn we jumped off the boat in search of the harbor master. A man setting up a nearby tent said to our crew, "Hey, can you help me set this up? I will give you some fish soup." From then on we were total besties with Nordlysid, the bright blue schooner that dominated the Tórshavn marina. Birgir and his son Hávarður Enni were our guides to the town, constantly giving us recommendations or inviting us to join them for a meal or day excursion. The second day Hávarður came over and told us that they had prepared some whale meat and wanted to know if we would like to come try. I have a policy that when traveling I have to at least try every food that's offered to me (to my loyal two readers aka my mom and dad, please don't abuse that knowledge) so, of course I said yes. Whaling turned out to be another interesting topic we learned about while in the Faroes. Everyone wanted to know what we thought about "Sea Shepherd". The Faroese have a deep tradition of eating whale meat. The islands, situated halfway between Norway and Iceland , are a harsh and barren landscape. The north side, boasts some of the most spectacular sea cliffs in the world. It almost looks like an Arctic version of Hawaii. As you can imagine, these people, like other nordic countries, have to get real creative in order to survive. Which meant that they harvested whales once a year to provide every Faroese citizen with a portion of whale meat to last a considerable amount of time. You can still register online to get your portion. Sea Shepherd is an organization that runs a campaign against the whale harvest. While talking about the group the locals we met specifically talked about the founder, "Paul Walker". The first time I learned about the controversy may or may not had been after a couple beers and therefore I misinterpreted the information to mean some sort of movie was being made about the whale harvest (oops). Upon further research investigation I discovered that the founders real name was actually Paul Watson, not Walker like the late actor. So it seems that there may be more than a little miscommunication between the organization and the Faroese citizens!

Birgir also asked if I would be willing to take some photos of his boat one day when we accompanied him and some divers out to collect sea urchins. I went out in a dinghy with the divers and tried my best to capture images of his massive schooner. He also let us use  fishing poles to catch fresh cod and fillet our own dinners. After the urchin excursion we of course had to do a little taste test. Apparently, it's an acquired taste but my overall impression was "salty jello".

Our stay in Torshavn also coincided with the Faroese soccer teams' second win ever against Greece. This in conjunction with the festival meant the Faroese partied like rockstars all night and well into Sunday afternoon. One tipsy local we met even got teary eyed just talking about the win; basically how I imagine myself behaving if the Gophers ever manage beat the Badgers at TCF bank stadium in my lifetime, just sayin. This same local was a wealth of knowledge and explained to us over a Föroya Bjór (the Islands' local brew) all about the Faroese culture. While I am a total Faroese wannabe I did find some parts of his information peculiar. When asked how many of the children onboard Arctic Monkey were mine I kind of laughed and explained none were, and that I'm only twenty-five! To which the locals laughed and emphasized the word only. Apparently, in the Faroes it's unusual to not have kids by the time you are twenty or twenty-one. They think of it as  something to "get out of the way" when you're in college and still young. While I do sort of see the logic there I think I'll keep my childless status for now. After that conversation I started to notice the quantity of young parents pushing their fancy prams and casually leaving their kids outside cafes in that famous way that Scandinavian people do. It really is THAT safe. 

The last stop was Klaksvík, the fishing capitol of the Faroes. While I loved the social scene in Torshavn, the vistas of the northern islands put the capitol city to shame. The sail to Klaksvík along with our time there was more of what I had expected. The only downfall was that a more rugged marina meant saying goodbye to nice amenities like showers and laundry. With only one day left I knew I could not not climb at least one of the towering peaks that lined the fjords. So, with our camera gear in tow, Ian and I decided to go for a three hour jaunt turned four and a half hour trek.

With tired, wobbly legs we set out looking for showers as neither of us wanted to do a three day passage to Iceland without bathing. Unfortunately, the hotel where the harbor master recommended was full so we couldn't pay for showers there. Ian had wandered into a nearby pub to ask around and ended up with a friendly invite from the bartender to just use the apartment upstairs. Before I could give it too much thought I followed the bartender through the back and up to his apartment where he offered to get a fresh towel and showed me the extremely nice shower I could use (I can hear my dad now "haven't you seen taken?!).

Now, this may seem weird but I've been showering in public bathrooms for the past two and a half months so it wasn't really that out of the norm for me. The other morning i walked up to the facilities and an older man was standing outside the shower rooms. In a thick German accent he said "Good timing! A moment ago I vas just standing here in my undverpants!" and this did not strike me as unusual in the least bit.

To be fair some cruel soul had designed the bathrooms so that the showers were inside with each toilet. The rooms lacked clothing hooks and air vents. Therefore, it was like trying to dry off in a steam room while simultaneously playing “don't touch the ground" with your now damp pile of cloths every time you showered. So, yeah, I can totally understand why the older gentleman got dressed in the common area.

While Ian took his turn showering I grabbed a beer and chatted with some of the people at the bar. We adult monkeys had depleted our stock of boxed wine the night prior so I asked if there was a liquor store nearby. Apparently, buying alcohol in the Faroes is even harder than it is in Utah and they told me there wasn't one in town. After hearing our situation the bartender slipped us a six pack on our way out. The people really were THAT nice. Upon reflecting on my experience there I realized that although I was drawn to the Faroes for the scenery it ended up being the people that really established a place in my heart for those remote islands caught out in the mist of the North Atlantic.

Arctic Provisioning

After playing canal boat on the Caledonian it was time to make our final preparations for the arctic. Gathering three months worth of sustenance is no easy task. It felt like finals week, and we definitely hadn't been studying all semester. Planning is also synonymous with list-making, a dreaded activity for left handers like Zetty and me. The first evening we attempted meal planning ended in us drinking cider and watching Netflix...

Somehow we managed to get everything done; Lou stocked up on replacement parts, Zetty coordinated grocery store runs, and Ruth and I did our best to distract the mini monkeys with park days and museum visits.

A great benefit of living on board is the chance to meet people I otherwise might not have. I was fortunate to have the opportunity to get to know Zetty's cousin, Ruth, during her time with us. Her sailing knowledge was extremely helpful as she patiently reminded my clumsy hands how to make the knots I learned ages ago and have since forgotten. She also became my guide to Scottish culture! Living aboard with Zetty and her relatives I've slowly gained an awareness for all things British. For example, I've learned that if you ask for pants you most certainly not get pants in the UK. Ruth and I were in a store when I told the sales associate I needed fleece pants. Behind me,  she practically shouted, "Trousers! Fleece trousers!". Turns out, pants are what we in the U.S. call underwear. I've even gained an understanding of terms like "dodgy" and "straightaway" as well as the difference between biscuits and scones. Also to never phrase "fish and chips" as "chips and fish" because apparently they are NOT interchangeable. Zetty says that by the time I leave I'll be half British!

After our final days on the mainland we cast off for the Orkneys. We said our goodbyes to Ruth, and hellos to Chris and Ian. We were greeted in Stromness by sunshine and calm seas. Little did we know that this would be the smoothest passage of the trip for a long time. Originally we had planned to only stay in Orkney for a couple days before heading to the Faroes. However, we found ourselves stuck in Stromness for the next week, plagued by rough seas and heavy wind. Every time we thought a good weather window was coming the forecast would change and we'd have to wait  another day. We took the extra time to explore all the best parts of the island and revisit the places we enjoyed.

Undoubtedly,  the best parts of any adventure turn out to be the quirky or random things that occur while you're traveling, those unexpected moments that make each trip unique.

For us, it was whelks. One afternoon in the Harbor, Ian walked over to visit with some local fishermen one pontoon over. They ended up giving him a bag of fresh caught whelks. The group agreed that we must try them. That night we taught ourselves via google how to chef up the creepy looking creatures. Laughing hysterically, we tried to figure out just exactly which was the edible part. Luckily, a nearby captain explained to us what portion you could actually eat. The next day, Ian went back to tell the fisherman about our experience and only then did he tell us that no one in the Orkneys actually eats whelks, they just harvest them, chop them up and send them to Korea where they are in high demand! I suppose a red flag should have gone up when they gave them away for free. 

Another day, Ian, Chris and I decided to venture to Kirkwall, a harbour on the other side of Orkney. I had to pay a quick visit to the dentist and the guys were on the hunt for a distillery.  After getting the good word from the doctor that I needn't have my wisdom tooth removed as I feared (phew!) I met up with the guys and we made our way to Highland Park. Completely soaked from the inevitable rain we seemed to get caught in every time we left the boat, we sipped whiskey and learned about the process of making it. We also managed to make friend with a little lamb on the walk home. Like I said, it's the random things that make the experience.

Finally, we saw a short and favorable weather window that would allow us to get to the Faroes. It was time for round two on the North Sea.

The Caledonian Canal

My knowledge of canals was limited prior to this trip; not exactly the kind of skill I ever thought I'd use as an adult. So, I didn't really know what to expect when we pulled up to the first lock in Corpach. We stood out in the rain, protected by our foul weather gear, waiting for the lock keeper to let us in. Ben Nevis, the UK's tallest peak,  stood in the background, shrouded by eerie spring clouds. 

The whole process was pretty fascinating. Some parts of the canal were more populated than others with tourists gathered around like spectators. We had four adults to move the boat along which made things very efficient. Our main duties consisted of positioning bumpers to help fend off the old stone walls and walking the boat from one lock to the next with bow and stern lines. Once positioned in a new lock the staff would raise or lower the water level before opening the gates into the next lock. People wandered along, stopping to admire the various boats and make small talk with their captains. Onlookers asked about the boat's home port, crew and destination as we waiting for the water levels to rise or fall.

We'd typically go through a series of locks at one time. Between the locks were waterways, both natural and artificial, that stretched on for miles. Most of the time these were too narrow to sail through so we spent a good portion of our time motoring. However, we were able to raise the sails briefly in both Loch Lochy and Loch Ness. Construction of the canal began in 1803. At the time is was a massive undertaking for Britain but today is used mostly for leisure. It's possible to navigate through the canal in two days but we took our time stopping each night to explore the surrounding areas. We spent two days in the tiny town of Fort Augustus which became our home while we did a little monster hunting.

Sadly, there were no Nessie sightings for Arctic Monkey and after about seven days in the canal we moved on to Inverness, the capitol of the Scottish highlands. There we began the extensive process of arctic provisioning.

A Tyrolean Road Trip

My mom and family friend, Eliza Yeager, were able to join me for a part of my time in Europe last month. We met in Munich and headed south for an epic road trip through Tyrol and down into central Italy. Here are a collection of photos from the first part of our trip.

INNSBRUCK

Arctic Monkey

In 2012, just before heading west to Park City, I decided to make the trek from Minneapolis to home one last time. It was a sleepy, fall morning in Oconomowoc and I had driven into town for coffee. As fate would have it, I happened to run into Lou Morgan who was doing the same. I had heard from other people that the Morgans were planning a sailing trip and we began talking. Half joking, I believe I said something to the effect of "Well, if you need an extra crew member you know who to call...".

Flash forward almost three years later and I am catching the 8:00 am train from Glasgow to Oban, joining Arctic Monkey. The 24 hours prior were a whirlwind. A newbie to Heathrow Airport, I wandered through customs like a lost puppy. This was my first time traveling abroad with no return ticket. I had my crew letter on my phone but I was still nervous that wouldn't be enough. The customs officer eyed me suspiciously when I told him the reason was because I would be sailing back to the states. "Have you ever sailed before?" Clearly, I had inexperience written all over me. He proceeded to question me on everything from the exact details of my trip to my credit limit and amount of cash I was carrying. After drilling me with questions he let me go and I thought I was in the clear. Unfortunately, it was then that I realized my connection was actually out of Gatwick. When the British Airways ticket agent heard this she gave me a look of worry, explained where to go and then exclaimed "You need to run! Now!". I'm still not quite sure how I made it but I did eventually make my connection.

Exhausted, I splurged for my own room at a hostel in Glasgow (quite possibly the best money I ever spent). A man with a thick Scottish accent, who seemed to have no answers to any of my questions (but in the most charming way possible) sent me up to the top floor. I immediately popped open the window and looked out. The sun was setting over the rooftops of Glasgow. I felt a sense of nervous excitement knowing this would be my last night on land. 

The train ride was a three hour tour of the Scottish countryside. The "most beautiful train in Scotland", according to the family sitting in front of me. Before I knew it I was in Oban and getting on the ferry shuttle to take me across the harbour where Arctic Monkey was.

Less than 48 hours later we departed for the Caledonian Canal, the last leg before Arctic preparations would begin.

Sweden – land of lagom

Over the past year I have been creepily stalking my friend Jenny’s social media feeds, living vicariously through her. After completing her masters, my sorority sister took off for Sweden on a whim. With complete admiration for her fearlessness I knew Ihad to get there for a visit. It was different to arrive in a more urban setting after being in the mountains for a few days, but Göteburg is a manageable and charismatic city that I never felt uncomfortable in during my stay.

Seeing a familiar face when you’re far from home is an amazing comfort and soon after arriving at Jenny’s amazing apartment, we immediately busted out the wine and began sharing stories from the past two years. Her situation is pretty unique as she is a full time teacher at the International English School of Gothenburg. This has given her the opportunity to become fully immersed in Swedish culture and throughout our conversation she interjected bits and pieces of things  she’d learned while living there.

The first that struck me was the ritual of Fika, taking time out of your day for coffee. Totally enthralled with this idea I was content to fill my time roaming the city going from one coffee shop to the next while my friend was at work. So, for two days I ogled the attractive Swedes, trying to figure out just how many of their outfits I could pull off, wandered the streets and ate pastries like it was my job (I mean, just trying to experience the culture, right?). From what I can tell Cinnamon buns (kanelbullar) are wildly popular. So much so that I noticed the local supermarket stocks Ben & Jerry’s cinnamon bun ice cream in mass quantity.

On Friday, Jenny and her friend Katie took me out to the Archipelago. I was amazed at how quickly we could be out of the city and to the small seemingly remote cluster of islands. Jenny explained that on Fridays it's common for the tram to be packed full of people still in work clothes headed out to the islands with a weekend bag. The one chose to explore that day was Bränno.

Due to the time of year the islands were very quiet. On top of that, no cars are allowed which makes this sleepy island totally serene minus the occasional cry of freely wandering sheep. We braved the chilly weather and took advantage of the deserted cottages in order to have a pear cider on someone's dock.

After we had walked the island end to end and hit up the only open cafe in sight, we caught the afternoon ferry back to Gothenburg and capped off the day with traditional Swedish food.

If there was one Swedish word to best describe my time it would be “Lagom” which means“just right” or “just enough”. The four days were a perfect combination of old friendship, relaxation and new things. My only hope is that someday, I too will obtain the magical power of being able to eat Kanelbullar and still look like a super model. Until then, I will just aspire to be like the Swedes.

The Beginning.

When I decided to join the Arctic Monkey, I began looking at flights. I was searching all major cities in Europe when an inexpensive one way ticket to Trondheim came up. I booked the ticket and made it official, this would be the first stop on my adventure. Time flew and before I knew it I was packing my bags and saying my goodbyes in Park City.

Following an overnight flight with less than an hour of sleep (note to self, the rows surrounding the exit aisle on Icelandair don't recline!) I arrived in Norway. My first impression of the country was the coastal town of Bergen. Small islands covered with trees and quaint houses dotted the coastline. Soon after we were descending into Trondheim where I took the bus into town to meet my friend Conor. Although I was traveling in a place far away from home I felt a sense of relaxation set in now that I was finally starting my journey. We spent a low key Friday strolling through Trondheim. In between spells of rainy drizzle we popped into pubs and tried Norwegian brews. 

Always the adventure seeker, Conor had asked if I would be interested in a ski trip while I was visiting. My obvious answer was absolutely! So, on Saturday morning we packed the car and set off for the mountains. We made our way to the smaller town of Oppdal where Conor's adopted "Norwegian family" lives. The Slinds were kind enough to lend me their ski equipment for the weekend. Upon arrival we were invited in for some coffee and food and what was meant to be a quick stop turned into an afternoon of warm conversation. We probably could have stayed all night but with many kilometers left to drive we continued on. A couple hours later we found ourselves in the town of Kristiansund.

There are hundreds of places in Norway I would like to see but since I knew I would only be there for four days I decided not to put pressure on myself to squeeze in too much. But one place I had always dreamed of seeing was the Atlantic Ocean Road. You know, It's one of those places that every twenty something female has seen and probably pinned on pinterest. Not ever thinking that it would be feasible for this trip I was completely caught off guard when Conor pulled up to the tollway and I realized just where we were. I can't remember the last time I was so surprised! There's nothing quite like seeing a place you've only imagined from photos.

It was starting to get late so we decided to grab dinner in Molde. We had aspirations of finding seafood by the coast but surprisingly, our options were limited so we settled for Italian. We then hopped on the ferry that took us across the fjord.

From there we picked our destination for the night. Tresfjorden was the town closest to where we would attempt to ski from in the morning. We drove to a farm where we stopped to place money in a box. In Norway, you are legally allowed to camp anywhere. This meant that as long as we paid the farmer to drive on the dirt road he maintained we were good to go. We drove up as far as we could before reaching snow and found a flat place to park.

It was a cold and rainy night so we opted to camp in the car rather than pitch a tent. This meant we had to maneuver all of our belongings from the back to the front.

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Somehow we managed to organize our things and get a good night sleep. In the morning we woke up to the most stunning view. The mountains surrounded us on three sides while the fourth side provided a view down the valley and the farm from which we’d come. After observing in the daylight we came to the conclusion that the original route would be impassable. The terrain was not favorable for what we wanted to do.

With that we decided we would shoot into town for a coffee and head to another nearby peak just fifteen minutes away.

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The mountains in Norway are the kind of mountains I’ve always dreamed of skiing. Wide open bowls of untouched snow. Complete solitude as you rip down the slope. But unlike the U.S. you are never far from water. Reaching the summit means you are rewarded with a view of the fjords that leads your eye all the way out to the North Atlantic. It is truly spectacular.

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When the first ridge was within reach the wind picked up considerably. We pushed through and made it up to a small outlook under a cliff.

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I found myself standing on one of the most incredible vantage points I’ve ever experienced. I hadn’t prepared myself for the immense beauty. Seeing pictures is one thing, but I don't believe you can fully capture the landscapes of Norway. You need to see it with your own eyes. The wind whipped snow flurries by us while the sun peaked through the clouds. Below laid the royal blue Romsdalfjord with red and yellow houses along the banks. To top things off Conor pulled out a kvikk lunsj (Norway’s version of the kit kat bar). for some sustenance.

From there we were only about twenty-ish minutes from the summit. We pushed on even though the wind continued to escalate. Thisprovided an increased sense of intensity. Once at the summit we quickly popped into our skis. Conor went first down the slope, unfazed by the weather conditions. Backcountry skiing is still somewhat new to me. I was tentative down the first pitch, intimidated by the conditions. However, the sense of accomplishment was totally gratifying as made our way to the bottom.

We skied down as far as we could and hiked to the car. With achy legs and happy smiles we cracked open a Norwegian IPA and pulled off our boots. I think aprés beer is a universal enjoyment.

Since we were so close to the Arctic Circle the sun didn’t set until about 10:30 pm. We drove around the fjord to our next location and the mountains grew even more dramatic. The town we were in, Isfjorden, was so perfect I felt that I could of stayed there forever.

Once we arrived at our next location, Conor began making a fire while I prepared dinner.  We ate salmon, peppers and potatoes seasoned with a mixture we bought at the store called “Scandinavian forest”. Why is it that food tastes better when you’re camping?

The next morning we set off to ski a peak called Smørbottfjellet. It was a gorgeous bluebird day and while the sun is always appreciated (especially in Scandinavia), that meant it was exceptionally warm. I didn’t anticipate being quite as tired as I was and during the first hour of the climb I doubted myself more than once but I kept pushing on. I couldn’t quit; I knew I’d be happy once I’d made it to the top.

Once we got to the steeper part of the slope things got a little better. Conversation made the time pass and soon we were within reach of the summit. However, there was one minor hang up. When we were leaving the Slinds we had declined their offer to take crampons. Feelings of regret came crashing down as Conor and I found ourselves slipping all over the place in what felt like an ice field on the side of the mountain. Exhausted by this point (and maybe a little hangry) I had a tough time masking my frustration (sorry, Conor!!). But by carefully dodging ice patches we finally made it to the top and as Conor says “the juice was worth the squeeze!”.

The ski down was a storybook run, one you think of often and remember forever. I felt the most perfect corn snow under my skis as I carved methodical turns. When you get those turns it makes you forget everything you’ve just endured. I recently heard someone say “it gives me my greatest sense of self” which is the perfect way to describe that kind of skiing. The only downside of the afternoon was the bittersweet feeling I was left with knowing I had just enjoyed my last spring turns for the season.

Exhausted and a bit slap happy, we made the long drive back to Trondheim. When we arrived we found that Conor’s friends, Martin and Oda, had so kindly made dinner and keptsome warm for us. The rest of the night consisted of laundry and preparations for the next stop on my trip.

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I don’t think I could have dreamt up a better introduction to Norway. I’m so thankful that I had such a generous and adventurous host to show me around. It's safe to say that I'm slightly obsessed with Scandinavia and I know I will be back.