hikers guide to the galaxy - prologue

The day before:

We leave a sunny Helsingborg and get on the train to Stockholm and there we change trains to the night train, a highlight for me. We ask the woman at Burger King at the trainstation to fill up our waterbottles, but she refuses. She says she's not allowed? Company policy. At the bakery they do it no problem, and then we are on our way to the platform to wait for the train. Lots of hikers with heavy backpacks. We check out the other hiker's gear, wondering where they are going. Lots of germans. Our own backpacks feel heavy on our backs as we haul them on the train and find our sleepingcompartment. I love this. Settling in for the night. Cooking our first meal on the gas-kitchen, sneakily with the door closed, so that no one sees. I feel childishly joyful breaking the rules, like Snufkin(Snusmumrikken) from the Moomin-books, who hates rules and signs.

The sideways movement of the train, as it creakingly cradles me, puts me to sleep and hours later also wakes me up. Bastuträsk, and yes, this seriously is the name of a town. We are not far from Boden where we have to change trains again to Murjek. Early morning fog lies sleepily between the trees and drifts over large lakes as in a conversation about this and that. Everything is larger up here. Endless forests and huge forestlakes and even the fog is massive and it takes time for the Northern sun to slowly and deliberately dissipate the clouds. Slow and deliberate like all things up here. 




The guy in the traincafé, who sells us our oriental green teas talks the languid, slow Northern dialect, that makes all they say sound thought through and wise. There are pauses between the words . They wait ... before they answer the questions that flow from us like bullets from a machine gun. He makes me feel too fast and I slow down to match his rythm. He takes his time as you learn to, when the distances are great and your nextdoor neighbour lives hours away. When you visit you take your time to listen. I like that too.  

These people are the Ents of the Northern Territory. 
With our dialects, one from Skåne, and mine broken with my Danish inheritance we are granted his goodwill. Skåne is almost like a different country and he treats us with the kindness and openended curiosity you would if you meet people from a different planet. 

A couple of hours later we get off the train in Murjek and get on the bus. The busdriver seems unable to say anything other than "jo", then he draws back into silence. I wonder what he's thinking, if anything at all. The road is endless and leads the bus through equally endless pineforests. I wonder if he is sleepy. It's saturday - maybe he has a hangover from a night out last night. A night out up here. Where does one go? Maybe they sit and drink themselves into a stupor in bootleg in the endless forest while they wait for a moose to show up, so they can shoot it. When they have no hunting luck they get in to fights and kill eachother with knives. A night that ends with a stabbing is a good night. Or maybe it's the Finnish people who party like that? 

The landscape opens up and the road runs along a large lake. Now we can see the mountains and a promise of the realm that we are about to enter. I'm a bit nervous at the thought of the helicopter-ride that stands between me and the mountains. I wonder if I'll get airsick.  

The bus stops in the road before Murjek and we jump off and head up to the office. Fisk Flyg is the name of the company that will take care of our transport out to the edge of Sarek.

They are only allowed to fly in if there's an emergency. (as a matter a fact we saw helicopters, or sometimes just heard them, every day while we were in Sarek). 

Johannes chats with the pilot's son who entertains with stories of people who have had to be rescued out there in the wilderness, while I visit the outdoor loo again. It's placed unpretentiously in a corner of the parking lot, and a couple of elderly ladies are shooting the breeze outside the office, while I cross the lot to the little house. My stomach is full of butterflies that struggle to get out. I breathe deeply and try to calm myself down. Then the pilot is back and it is time to get out there. 

We pile our backpacks outside and I try not to think. Everything is suddenly happening very fast. Not the Northern way at all. I strap myself in with a safetybelt and put on the earphones. Johannes is seated opposite me, and I feel his support. I am really nervous now, I can feel how I'm biting my lip, but as the helicopter takes off like an insect, lifting the tailend first, I realize that I am mostly just thrilled to be here. This is exciting. We hang suspended in midair for a few seconds and then we are on the move towards the nationalpark. I love this! 

We fly in over irish green hills where tiny miniature trees dot the hillsides. The mountains are snowcapped, there are bluewhite glaciers. Everything is so sharp, like cut out; it almost doesn't look real. It's like watching one of these BBC programmes, only cooler, because we're right smack in the middle of it. No more nervousness. I don't want this to stop. But we are already flying in over the Rapa-valley with it's riverdelta of emeraldgreen and milkywhite waters in intricate patterns. Rivers that meet and separate and meet again. The colours are delicious and look almost edible. Everything looks so deceptably small and inviting. The Skierfe-rock to my left, that we are going to climb tonight is impressive, but looks like an easy challenge.
We fly in over the hillside and start to land. In a moment the adventure starts. We are literally being dropped into it. It feels a bit unreal, like a dream. We have no idea what awaits.