A Minimalistic Scandinavian Summer

The snow in the north stays even during summer

Wow - that last post was popular  - there were about 7 times as many views as usual.  What can I say, the masses love a list.  I think I might have to do a list-post every time.  I could change the name of this one to; "15 Ways A Polar Bear Can Kill You' - as I've been doing a little death-by-bear research seeing as I've been in the Arctic Circle for quite some time. The least popular way for me to go would be to have all the blood sucked out of my body while my heart still beats - apparently they like to do that.... but more of those good tidings later.....

Although the prospect of having one suitcase for 6 months, 4 seasons and multiple countries made me slightly sweaty upon first consideration, I have now completely succumbed to the glorious feeling of travelling lightly.  No stuff.  No hideous possessions.  It feels amazing.  I may wear the same clothes everyday and look like shit, but I feel so good on the inside, especially if I avoid mirrors.  I think my fear of hoarding possessions (sorry Mum, but yes, it's from your tendency to accumulate) has turned me the other way - towards the joy of throwing things away.  My sister is the same, we talk often on the phone about what we're going to piff.  She had a policy of throwing away 3 things every day and would sometimes resort to a kitchen utensil when she ran out of actual junk, where as I used to let it all build up and then turf about 6 garbage bags of crap a month - a lot of kids artwork made up the contents - what can I say, they are prolific producers..... I have no doubt that when all my junk arrives in Australia from Israel, I'm going to toss 80% of that as well.   Hopefully the boat goes down and our shipping container ends up in Madagascar (they all wash up there, I've seen the movie) and then it will save me the trouble.

Here we are in Sweden - even the airport is stylish, clean, and devoid of humans

Robots?

No one does minimalism better than the Scandinavians - I wish I was them....all of them.  Damn them and their effortless style.  Nobody should look that good in a white button up shirt and a pair of wrap around navy blue culottes.  They could go completely nude, except for a bandana and set new trends in understated fashion. Stockholm was glorious.  The air was so fresh and sharp with that morning crispness I haven't had in years.  It never got above 22.  I was in heaven.  God I love a chill in the air, and goosebumps on the bare legs.  Plus, my white stumps fitted in so nicely with a country full of albinos.  The city of Stockholm itself, is a series of little islands all joined by bridges.  The waterfront is bloody stunning - pretty old buildings galore.  Picture perfect (so not Tel Aviv - bless it's grotty, rotting, stinking, blood stained little cotton socks).  The streets were sparking clean, and everyone was so quiet in all the restaurants - they were packed with people, but all of them unnervingly silent.  They seemed to be talking, but there was barely a audible hum floating by on the breeze.  The streets seemed empty.  Nobody jostled for position at any cafes or shops.   When we drove in the city and indicated to change lanes, instead of speeding up and blocking you from changing lanes (an Israeli special), the cars behind would actually slow down to let you in in front of them. My husband was visibly shocked.  Everyone was blonde with pink cheeks and all healthy looking, like they'd been running in the meadows all arvo (and perhaps indeed they had).

Hello Stockers

Like a story book

Who doesn't love a little Salt Skum?

It was quick hello to Stockholm this time.  A quick inhalation of cinnamon buns and giant lattes, 2 kg of liquorice and a stroll around the old city.  We planned to pay proper tribute at the end of the month and really suss it out.  We were on our way to Norway.  It was heaps cheaper to hire a car in Sweden and drive it over the boarder into Norway than to hire one in Norway, so that's what we were doing.  Bring on a road trip, it's by far the best way to explore new lands. Some like to go by bike, others by train, bus or on foot.  But I am a lazy fuck and think the world looks sweeter when you barely have to move.  We didn't really linger long in Sweden's countryside either - or explore the south or the archipelago (which is meant to be gorgeous), but you can't do everything.  We were heading north, and we had some serious miles to cover.  Sweden is definitely the big brother of Scandinavia, while Norway is it's beautiful, but possibly resentful little sister (kind of like Australia and New Zealand).  In the north of Sweden the air smelt like pine (Norsca fresh!), which is not surprising seeing that it was covered in pine forests and not much else.  Pretty much every structure we saw was weatherboard, with a pointed roof, barn-like design and painted a browny-red colour.  It was like the entire country only sold that particular shade of paint, or like it was illegal to paint your farm, house, hotel, shed, any colour except rusty red.  Nobody could move on from it, it was slightly freaky to be honest. I imagined one guy breaking out and ordering some purple paint online from India and going sick nuts on the side of his house.....and then getting a 'special' visit in the middle of the night from the Swedish Secret Forces.

Regulation colour and style

 Sweden's High Coast ;  Approximately 10.30pm, after a 3 hour long sunset

Exciting milestone of the journey north

After an overnight stop on Sweden's High Coast, we were headed straight for Jokkmokk - the capital of Lapland and home to the Sami people - the indigenous people of Northern Scandinavia.  Jokkmokk is just north of the Arctic Circle.  That was bloody exciting crossing that marker.  And might I add, I was thrilled to be there in summer rather than the dead of winter, which would be a completely different experience to say the least (40 degrees colder for a start). We blew our loads over a river for an hour or so.  As I got moved to tears by a water rushing down a mountain, I realised then just how starved of nature I had been after living in an urban environment for so long, luckily I adjusted fairly quickly after that.  We continued to the 'Hotel Jokkmokk', a rusty red (what are the odds?) barn-like styled hotel by a lake, where we were served reindeer steak (surprisingly tasty), but slightly disturbing considering we had been so happy to see our first reindeer just cruising up the main road on our approach into Jokkmokk.  Something I didn't know about Reindeer - their antlers are furry - they sort of look like they're covered in velvet.  Fun reindeer fact; apparently the velvet eventually rubs off, but then they shed their antlers and grow a new set and the newbies are all velvety again.  Another reindeer fact - there are no wild ones in Sweden, all are domesticated; but in Sweden Reindeers are only allowed to be owned by the Sami people.

The Rushing River of Soul's Joy

Shit got exciting here as I chased the pack into the bushes and then panicked and bolted back the other way

First reindeer spotted - see the velvet antlers

Would it be pretentious for me to dress like this from now on? I'm digging the pompom

I'm loving this black and white Sami shot

Bear lake

As I was running around the lake through the forest the next morning, I started thinking how not only had there been a stuffed reindeer in the Hotel Jokkmokk dining room, but also a large brown bear and a couple of wolves (all watching me while I ate my dinner).  Then I remembered reading how numbers of bears and wolves have been increasing across the forested areas of Sweden and I began to feel a little peaky, I certainly got some spring in my step on the last part of the jog lets put it that way. After researching brown bear numbers in the area I was currently residing in (there are plenty),  I found out that the best way to thwart an attack is by lifting up your arms and going something like "Rrrrrrrrrrrrr" as it charges you.  I just don't know - it seems well, fucking idiotic to me.  I would always do the apparent worst thing possible and run for it, which is incidentally what actually I did do when I saw a giant muthfucka in the forests of Japan (and I didn't die then so I could be onto something - my stellar bear advice = run and don't look back).

I just honestly don't think this bad boy is going to be frightened of me

Run Cord, ruuuunnnn

Scare it Vali scare it!!!

One question; is that a human rib cage?

That wouldn't work with a polar bear though.  Those suckers mean business. Luckily the whole Scandinavian population of them live on an island right out the middle of the sea called Svalbard.   Unless they develop Viking boat making skills those big bastards ain't going nowhere.   I nearly had a fit when my husband suggested we go there for a jolly good time (an outdoors-only Husky dog camping adventure for 2 weeks is what he actually wanted to do - um, see you Sweetie).  The advice given to all tourists visiting the island is 'carry a gun'.  Awesome.

This is sadly what happens when the big fellas go rogue

I must admit, the idea of going into the wilds excites me too, plus I have a taste for gore so I subsequently researched "Polar Bear Attacks On Svalbard". Although someone got mauled in their tent last year (who the fuck is camping there? - I would be living in a steel box); the most horrible fatal  attack was in 2011, when a group of Eton school lads went on a Svalbard camping adventure into the wilds.  The dudes leading the camp had fuck-all polar bear experience, and so when one starving one stormed the campsite in the middle of the night and started chowing down on British boarding school teenagers like they were jammy buns, or more appropriately potted meat sandwiches, the dickheads in charge not only couldn't work the guns properly, but didn't set up the alarm trip wire correctly either.  That left time for Old Polie to have himself quite the feast on a lad called Horatio (the bear probably found out his name was Horatio and thought he'd take out the most pretentious group member first).  Horatio's tent-mate also got his face bitten into - apparently he could hear the bones of his face and skull crunching but surprisingly made it out alive - but disfigured and traumatised - I guess being eaten alive face first would be a tad upsetting......The camp leader was also part of the feast but eventually he got the gun working mid-munch and fired old bloodthirsty White-and-Fluffy into oblivion. I get a horrified thrill reading shit like that, and part of me wishes the body count was higher as I'm secretly rooting for the bear.  But then I research further and see pictures of poor old Horatio innocently smiling earlier in the trip, and feel really guilty.  I think being eaten alive by something is by far my worst fear, I just don't understand why I derive a sick pleasure from it happening to others (is this something I should perhaps keep to myself?).

Dude seems remarkably calm really....

First sight of the fjords - the colour of the water!

Luckily the mainland is polar bear free, and once we crossed the Arctic Circle we really got our first taste of the very late sunset and the early sunrise.  It never got truly 100% dark, although just over the arctic circle, the sun went down around 11pm and came up again at 3am.  But as we moved further north it became more and more pronounced with the sun going down later and later and coming up earlier and earlier.  It fascinated me.  We actually had to drive through Finland for a hundred kilometres or so, before we made it at last to Norway - my hour long impression of Finland = grumpy bunch of cunts in the shops and actual parking spaces outside for snow mobiles - not exactly Lonely Planet material there, sorry Finland.  As we crossed the border in Norway, almost instantly the scenery changed.  It became much more dramatic, while the roads became much much better.  The Norwegians are a country of people who have really got it together.  Especially considering the extremely harsh terrain in which they live.  They seem to have everything they need, but not too much of it.  They are a Shit Together Country, and I think that should be their new slogan.  As we drove further and further north the scenery got more and more stunningly beautiful - destination = a grass-roofed house on the sea by the Lyngen Alps - latitude 70 degrees north of the equator - one of the furthest northern parts of the country.

So beautiful

I think it was a knee jerk reaction - we were trying to have an experience the most opposite of Tel Aviv that we possibly could have; freezing cold, no people, absolute silence, nothing to do, clean air, incredible nature.  And what can I say, we were extremely successful.  And the best part about it - not just no people, but no stuff.....oh, except piles and piles of dirty washing.

Worth driving a million miles for - check the grass roof!