Still getting flashbacks when lying in bed

I recently read an article about young (yes, I appreciate I’m not) men feeling pressure because of the “picture perfect culture” on social media. Bearing that in mind I should warn readers in advance of some fairly horrific pictures of someone who has not felt that pressure in the gallery. Viewer discretion advised!

I’ve now very much settled into my Monday routine of doing bits and bobs in Bjørn in the morning then walking down to the ferry for a few hours in Sandnessjøen. As mentioned before the ladies in the cafe now know that I like my latte but I thought I’d impress with my ever expanding vocabulary and ask for a cinnamon bun in Norwegian. After a quick check on google as I approached the till, I pointed to a bun and asked for a “skillingsbolle”. Sadly, it transpired I had the wrong name - if I had taken time to read a little further (ie the second sentence), I would have known that a skillingsbolle was a cinnamon bun specifically from Bergen and what I think I should have asked for was a kanelbolle. Was ready for it this week but alas there was none at all could only ask for a croissant which didn’t have the same impressive Norsk ring to it that I was looking for. Hey ho…

On a more positive note, one of the servers (servitører) came and chatted to me as she was cleaning (vasker) the tables (bordene). If memory serves most of the conversation was in Norwegian (though possibly not her first question). She asked where I was from, I managed to ask her the same question and I tried to go on and explain what I was doing in Norway. Came away feeling quite pleased with myself.

Tuesday was a lovely morning up at Laila’s. I call it a lesson but it’s more of an opportunity to practice conversational Norwegian. As I work through Duolingo and my online course I’m now getting into more useful stuff - though you still get strange things which one probably wouldn’t use in general conversation: “They’re coming through the windows!”/ “Are you wearing underwear?” etc…

So this would involve me trying to tell Laila what I’ve done over the last few days, talking about family members and my new apartment etc. It’s always great fun and modesty aside I think I’m getting better.

On Thursday I got an innocuous text from Randi and Elisabeth: did I fancy coming on a trip tomorrow, there will be a mountain hike? Little did I know….It’s Monday as I type, I’m still sore and when I got back on Friday I still had shocking flashbacks to the day. Haha :-) He says now.

We were to meet at the Bjørn ferry at 7.30, sail to Sandnessjøen, hop on another ferry to Lovund, potter up the mountain and back, then various ferries before getting back to Bjørn about 10.15.

As well as the 3 already mentioned, Anne joined us. We sailed past the Norwegian Royal Family’s yacht as we came into Lovund - later on I found myself hoping that they had a helicopter handy!

Suffice it to say it was an extremely tough hike. As might be expected I probably wasn’t as well prepared as I should have been - I vastly underestimated the amount of food I should have taken for energy. 25 Twixes would have probably have helped. Before actually tacklinging the main mountain one had to go up and down a hill which wasn’t too bad but certainly harder than my previous hike - what was referred to as the “path” stretched what I thought the word meant! It was boiling hot weather but even despite that one couldn’t help admire the spectacular scenery as we descended down into a bay. The original plan was to have a wee swim there on the return journey but one of us didn’t have time…

After the beach it was a gentle climb for a while with some lovely shade and a chance to refill water bottles. Which of course I didn’t do initially - “it’s ok, I’ve got plenty”. Boy did I come to rue that mistake. Emerging from this wooden area, the enormity of the hike really struck home. It seemed an almost vertical “path” - in fact at places chains have been hammered into the walls to help hikers. At this point the temperature was really high and Randi and Elizabeth suggested that I might be a bit more comfy if I took my T-shirt off (it was soaked through with sweat) and joked that they felt like my mothers. Well, they actually said grandmothers but….

Dear God it was hard going - I was shattered and it felt like I was stopping every few steps to get my breath while the ladies just tanked on ahead. We agreed to meet at a large rock higher up where we could sit for a while/ catch our (my) breath and refill water bottles. Not for the first time or indeed the last they had to wait quite a while for me. After probably a longer pause than the ladies had intended, we set of on last section, which I was assured would be easier. Certainly it wasn’t quite so vertical as the previous section but the “path” was still narrow and I still found it hard going. On the last section, the incline was much more gradual but even then, I’d spot a bit and say to myself, thank god it’s the top, but I’d reach there and discover, nope still more to go.

I did eventually reach the summit and the views were certainly stunning - a major sense of achievement. We ate our lunch etc and I had a wee snooze before the return journey. The ladies were so much quicker than I that I set off slightly earlier than them but even then they shot past me very early on in the descent. Again the gentle incline was an excellent start to the last trek but when it got to the serious stuff…… On our first hike on Dønna, there was still plenty of snow and if the incline was much less than it was on Lovund - if you slipped/ lost your footing/ wanted to go a bit faster, you could almost jog and gradually slow down to regain your bearings. Here? Death would follow as you plummeted off the side. That’s why there’s no photos on the way down. Fall going up you would just face plant (and I was used to that from the first hike) ; fall descending and you’d reach the base of the hill really quite a bit quicker than was healthy. I was indeed asked if I’d brought my passport this time. I took what I regarded as “the Captain Oates approach” and told Randi and Elisabeth not to wait for me. If I missed the ferry so be it, I’d just stay over night and come back the next morning.

It was a traumatising walk down - I was shattered and any time I put weight on either leg I could feel it shake and was always leaning to whichever side was away from the drop. Embarrassingly I was passed on the way down by a chap who I’d first met as he was still going up. As my motivation I kept thinking of the trees at the bottom of the mountain and as I descended the really hard bit, I would just stare at the ground, count 100 paces, look up and pray that the trees were closer.

Of course I had forgotten that once you reached the trees you had to go up again, down to the beautiful basin bit, up again and then down (very slowly!) to the town. By the time I reached the beach, the ladies had had a v pleasant swim (jealous, moi?) and again offered to walk with me but I was very worried about the ferry so just said to leave me and I’ll get there eventually!

Slowly I made my way back up again and met a young couple who asked me if it was a hard trip. God yes - shoot me now!

Despite all this I did eventually make it into the town and my first stop was the shop that I had spied at the start of the journey to buy myself at least 2 litres of coke and x amount of chocolate. As I was just arriving Randi phoned to ask where I was - the ferry was arriving and if I was close they’d agreed to wait for me.

It transpired that my reputation had preceded me to the harbour. A number of them were looking out for a poor Scotsman who may need a bed for the night. The hotel manageress (I believe) was there and despite there being no rooms at the inn, had said she would find somewhere for me. Apparently my appearance was a bit disappointing - people were looking forward to getting some photos of this poor bedraggled sod but when I turned up at least being able to stand….

When I eventually got back to bed that night, I would drift off a bit and then awake with a start as very clear memories of the descent of the mountain flashed into my mind. Shudder!

Nonetheless, no regrets about going and I’m assured other hikes such as the Seven Sisters or the Dønnamanen are no where near as hard.

On Saturday I pottered, sorry, I mean hobbled, down to Bjørnsoya to listen to Dønnahorn playing as part of the day festival there. As part of the festival, the official opening of a wee training area was to take place and some extremely fit gentleman was demonstrating the use of all the equipment. As long as I didn’t move I wasn’t in pain but just watching him….

And of course Sod’s law meant than on Sunday one of the services I was playing at was on the island of Husvær with its harmonium which needed me to be pumping away with my legs all the time I played!

Anyway my body is almost back to normal, the burns are healed, the legs can move freely so all is now well.