Rælingen

Norway

Once more, I forgot to mention dinner—potatoes and beer, who would have guessed.

I stayed up late and watched Australia lose in soccer. If there is a more boring sport, I have yet to see it.

“The clearest way into the Universe is through a forest wilderness.”

John Muir

We wake up late with the sun streaming in. A field of wildflowers as far as I can see.

I make a coffee, and we head off for our rejuvenating walk in the cool morning air.

I rarely look at where I am walking, only where I am going. What lies underfoot goes unnoticed; what hasn’t happened yet holds all my attention. This seems less a habit than a disposition: a life organised around the next thing, the last thing, everything except the ground beneath my feet.

It is Shell who sees the strawberries; small, growing along the edge of the trail. We have walked this path only minutes before and seen nothing. Yet here they are, and once we stop to look, they are everywhere. And then we notice chervil, then comfrey. A quiet abundance, missed entirely until now.

We spend the next few minutes picking. I have attempted meditation before, but this is closer to the real thing. Attention narrowed to a single point, the world reduced to a patch of ground and the colour red. By the time we have enough for the porridge, I notice I have been somewhere else entirely. Something like joy, and something quieter underneath it. Perhaps this is what it feels like to need nothing further. An appetite so old it has no name.

There is a poem in this, if only I had the talent.

“Those who contemplate the beauty of the earth find reserves of strength that will endure as long as life lasts. There is something infinitely healing in the repeated refrains of nature — the assurance that dawn comes after night, and spring after winter.”

Rachel Carson

We arrive home and meet Ica, the Tervueren—a truly beautiful dog.

I make the porridge, and we eat outside in the bright blue sunshine. The strawberries are tart, and I am happy. Shell walks down to the river while I sit in the sun.

It is time to leave, and I would prefer to stay.

What would it be like to live here? Is it always this idyllic?

We bid farewell to Ica.

A short drive today, only three hours.

A stop for lunch at a small lake just inside the Norwegian border. I am enjoying these roadside picnics.

I don’t know what town we are in, but the blue lights flash, and we are pulled over. It is Customs, and they want us to follow them.

A short time later, we are at a truck stop, and the car is being searched for drugs.

It started like this.

‘Where have you come from?’

‘Today, Sweden’

‘Your car is from Hungary’

‘Oh, it is a simple tale really. We are Australians who live in South Korea. The car is from Hungary; it’s a hire car. We drove to Poland, then Lithuania, on to Latvia and then to Estonia. We caught the ferry to Helsinki and spent a few days in Finland. We drove to Sweden, and here we are in Norway for the night. Tomorrow we will be in Copenhagen.’

‘There are two kilograms of heroin in the boot’

‘Not mine….’

We have a friendly chat, and I volunteer for a strip search. The smack is confiscated, and can you believe one of the Customs officials is from Korea?

The rest of the trip is uneventful.

We arrive at our apartment and grab some frozen pizza for dinner. I am feeling a little tired after the drug stop. Sure, there was no contraband, but Shell travels with enough ibuprofen, paracetamol, and codeine to start a meth lab.

I have seen Midnight Express; I know what happens to Westerners who flaunt the laws in foreign countries. The soles of my feet hurt just thinking about it, and the peacocks- can they just be quiet?

A long drive to Copenhagen tomorrow. A dry night, no booze. Codeine will have me sleeping like a baby,