12:30 PM
Riksgränsen; above the
Train headed to Narvik
It is snowing. I can barely make out the vast arctic wasteland through the white haze. It has become progressively worse, my further passage into the north marked continuously by how deeply covered this land is by snow.
I have finally found a place where the world behaves differently. The clouds are different. They are low everywhere, rounded smooth at the bottom and coming loose at the top like wild hair. Further north, everything is covered in a thick white cloud. It is just past noon here, yet the sun is angled as if it were dusk. Dead trees and fresh snow sparsely cover short, rocky mountains which slide down to dark, choppy waters.
We have just passed the border between
This feels like being in a movie, maybe on Hoth. It seems incredibly surreal, this landscape. It’s something wholly natural, yet, up until this time, entirely contained in media for me. It is like something out of a fantasy novel.
I see all the houses (though there are not many of them) and the dilapidated train stations, everything separated by uncommon distance, and I remember that it is only October. January and February are still to come. And I think now, more than ever, Who the heck got here, put down their bags, and said, “Oh, yeah, this is a great place to raise a family”? Who survived their first winter and said, “I want some more!”
Wow, I have to comment on what I’m passing now. The train is travelling alon the upper ridge of one side of a big rocky vally. It looks as if someone took a hatchet and just chopped a wedge into the ground. Though the distance to the bottom is not terribly great, a cloud sits below us, nestled in the tiny space.
The whole place keeps getting more and more covered in snow, and the houses and other settlements are fewer and farther between. We frequently pass through these old, falling apart wooden tunnels. It’s like something out of a Disney ride.
I’ve entered, now, some sort of winter wonderland. The houses are all red. The snow falls softly, but continuously. Everything is blanketed thickly. We are at
When I get to Narvik, I will still not be as far north as Tromso, a major city. I will still not be as far north as Karasjok, the Sami capital I wish to visit. And now I’m rethinking my idea to travel to those places, so utterly remote are they.
Now I am somewhat unnerved. We are riding along the edge of a mountain, a very thin edge, very high up. All I can see are rocks and frozen trees below, and an utterly unforgiving place to land.
This is all incredibly beautiful, and incredibly unnerving. It is the incredibly juxtaposition of things that are gloriously majestic and deadly. I cannot even see to the bottom of the mountain for how many clouds there are. I cannot even see to the top of the mountain for how much now there is.
Wait, now I see a bit, what appears to be a fjord we are travelling along. I feel so lucky to be able to see something as rare and incredible as this. For all the people who travel to
I need to stop writing because all I think I’m doing is rambling as I attempt to write and be awe-filled at the same time. Just know that this is a part of the world that I have been looking for. I have found it, at last.
1:02 PM
As we get closer to the coast the landscape changes further. The clouds are clearing up (hopefully I will see the Aurora Borealis tonight), and the snow is not present around the base of the mountain fjords. There are more houses, a suspension bridge. In the distance is a mountain that looks like a miniature Everest. The faces of mountains nearest me look, well, almost like faces, straining out over the water. Alongside the train I saw the foundation for what clearly must have been an old house. Along the water are a few sad attempts at towns, or something of the like. They are modern houses, colorful and strong, but spread out haphazardly, with nary a supermarket in sight.
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