Every journey brings change, and every story transforms a life.
If we look back about fourteen years, the inexperienced young woman from then has nothing to do with the one writing these lines now. Every adventure leaves its mark on your experiences, but how important is the first trip as an independent adult? For me, it meant everything, and although it sounds cliché, it’s my reality. I embarked on an adventure that would forever change my way of thinking.
59°25′00′′N 10°34′00′′E Bjørnafjorden, the coordinates of a small corner of the world that filled my soul with emotions and awakened the most restless and ambitious part of me. My story begins even before my expedition, and I wasn’t alone in that journey. Sometimes, traveling solo is difficult, but it’s even more challenging when you’re accompanied by people who were practically strangers until that moment. We were a handful of classmates eager to experience everything we had learned during years of studying tourism. Months of planning, immersing ourselves in its culture, and hours of studying maps and tourist guides. Gradually, you’ll get to know the six incredible people who accompanied me, and today, I can call them friends and almost family. This trip was not chosen at random.
March is an unpredictable month in terms of temperature, so you have to be prepared for anything. I still clearly remember the excitement I felt while carefully packing my luggage, and it’s no coincidence that there’s a Norwegian saying, “There’s no such thing as bad weather, only inappropriate clothing” (Det finnes ikke dårlig vær, bare dårlige klær). In that backpack, I carried not only thick coats, scarves, and waterproof shoes for the northern chills but also the excitement and emotions of a young woman spreading her wings for the first time.
I close my eyes, and I remember that first reunion amid the airport bustle, the nerves of first experiences, and hearts pounding with anticipation to discover the secrets that this Scandinavian country had prepared for us. Loaded with our heavy backpacks, and not just literally, we left our comfort zones behind to begin a chapter that we would write together with each step into the unknown.
From my window, as the plane cut through the sky and we approached Oslo, the capital of Norway, I felt myself diving into a completely new world where wild nature and vibrant culture intertwined in a tapestry of wonder and discovery for me.
At that moment, I felt like I was in Christine Kabus’s famous book “In the Heart of the Fjords,” where she perfectly describes, “Lisa was in awe. She expected a typical big city with concrete stretches and sprawling suburbs. Instead, she saw wooded mountains, lakes, and landscaped areas around the city center, within sight, on the fjord’s shore, and stretching inland.”
Setting foot on northern lands, none of us said it aloud, but it was evident from our eyes that we all hoped this journey would offer a unique opportunity to grow, learn, and create lifelong memories. With our bags slung over our shoulders and our cheeks turning red and numb, the only thought on our minds was to have our first contact with Norwegian culture.
We headed to a small café, where customers are welcomed with comfortable sofas and a simple yet elegant decor that invites you to enjoy a relaxed chat among friends. I felt warmth penetrating my bones, leaving behind the minus two degrees of the Nordic morning. The tempting aroma of coffee floated in the air, mingling with the sweet smell of freshly baked pastries. At the back of the room, in a cozy corner, as if the world didn’t concern her, sat a woman with a book and a steaming cup of coffee.
The soft light of a table lamp illuminated her face as her hands gently turned the pages of an open book. I couldn’t see the title, nor would I have understood it, but I could appreciate her slight smile as she delved into what seemed to be an interesting read. Near the counter, at a small table for two, a shy couple exchanged knowing glances and shared a kind of cinnamon roll, which I later learned was called skillingboller. We were served very kindly by a blonde young woman who immediately noticed we didn’t understand her language and spoke to us in such exquisite English it seemed her native tongue. Her voice was so soft and melodic, conveying only calm and tranquility. She patiently explained some of the ingredients of those typical sweets and prepared one of the best coffees I can remember. A sweet treat doesn’t hurt anyone, so we decided to share and try one of each to start getting to know their cuisine a bit more. Perhaps it wasn’t the best coffee in the world, nor the crunchy sweet made of flour, butter, and egg I was savoring, but at that moment, I felt the importance of small pleasures. The breakfast, which was supposed to be a technical stop to plan our next point, turned into an hour of delight for our senses.
But it was necessary to continue, as the purpose of this trip wasn’t to stay in the capital. We headed to Oslo Central Station, perhaps one of the busiest train stations in Norway but also boasting a serene and relaxed atmosphere, as if no one there had ever had a sad farewell or missed their last train. We boarded one of Europe’s highest trains, which we had read marvelous things about. Our next destination would be Bergen, and what we didn’t realize yet was that the following seven hours would leave us speechless.
We chose our seats; I asked for a window seat but made a deal with my friend Adrián, we would switch halfway through the trip, which was fair. He is a redhead with fair skin adorned with peculiar freckles that make you think he’s from somewhere in northern Europe rather than Vallecas. He had dreams, like all of us, but what he didn’t know yet was that this trip would touch him so deeply that years later, he would move to the north of Norway to live the greatest adventures of his life.
I settled into my seat, and a few minutes later, the train set off with a soft murmur, rolling through the city’s suburbs. As we left civilization behind, the urban buildings gave way to lush spruce forests and snow-covered fields, creating a winter postcard scene straight out of a fairy tale. As the journey progressed, the panorama kept changing. I never imagined experiencing so many sensations through a window. We passed rivers where the water was so clear you could see the stones and algae at the bottom. Wet paths that could be smelled from here, even if only in my mind, led to small wooden houses painted in soft, warm tones, harmoniously blending with the landscape.
As we passed by these houses, I imagined the lives of the people who lived there. They were not just homes to me, but silent witnesses to rural life and the beauty of nature. When the sun began to set between the snowy peaks, I realized I had lost track of time. How long had I been staring out the window? With the sun’s rays dazzling me, I decided to rest my eyes and something caught my attention. Until that moment, I hadn’t noticed, but most of the passengers on that train were barefoot. It might seem trivial, or perhaps not, but to me, it was striking to see such respectful and reserved people doing something like that. Once again, I learned not to prejudge and adapted to the saying: ‘When in Rome, do as the Romans do.’ At that moment, I remembered that before leaving, I had stored a small notebook in a fanny pack my mother had given me for the essential items of the trip. Thanks to a teacher who advised me always to carry paper and a pen to capture what a camera couldn’t, I am here recalling small details from over a decade ago. I took advantage of the silence of the carriage and the soft light to write some lines detailing how exciting my trip was.
Darkness was setting in, and sleep was overtaking me. The night wasn’t easy, despite the comfortable and spacious seats and the courtesy blanket we were given. I can say that my friendship with Adrián grew much closer due to the sleep Kamasutra we did that night. It hadn’t dawned yet when we felt a slight jolt that let us know our train had reached its destination, Bergen. Between yawns, all the passengers were getting ready to disembark at the station. With a mechanical whisper, the train doors slowly opened. Although it was a shame not to appreciate this scene in daylight, there was a palpable aura of mystery and expectation in the air. Unplanned, a seven-seat taxi awaited us at the entrance to take us almost thirty kilometers from this point. As if in the blink of an eye, the dark tones of the night slowly dissolved, giving way to a pale glow. I had time to read some of the unintelligible signs we encountered along the way, and the last one said Osøyro, Bjørnafjorden region.
While unloading our belongings, at the door of the house stood a slender, elegant woman with gray hair flowing softly around her face. Despite being marked by time, her face radiated the strength and tranquility that only an environment with such beauty and serenity can give. Tamara ran towards her, and they melted into a long, tender hug.
“Å kjære! Jeg gledet meg så til å se deg!”, the woman exclaimed.
“Og jeg elsker deg, bestemor, du ser flott ut!”, Tamara replied.
“Kom inn og introduser meg for vennene dine”, the woman said again.
At that moment, even though I didn’t understand that jumble of words, I intuited from their looks what they were saying, and it touched me. I was witnessing one of the most moving scenes of my trip to Norway: the reunion between a grandmother and her granddaughter who hadn’t seen each other in nearly two years. Yes, this trip held a secret: we wouldn’t be alone in this great adventure.
You could say that Tamara is the main protagonist of this story, as her family had invited us to share their personal space, getting to know their culture, traditions, and favorite places firsthand. She is one of the sweetest and most innocent people I have ever met. With an English mother and a Norwegian father, she is a fascinating mix of characteristics and cultural traits. Her fine and delicate skin, her penetrating blue eyes, and, above all, her discipline and elegance show that she carries the legacy of both cultures.
The first thing we did upon entering the house was to take off our shoes, and this time it didn’t catch me by surprise; I had learned the lesson. The warmth of the home filtered through my socks. With every step I took, I felt the tension and fatigue in my muscles, accumulated from the long journey, dissipate. While the grandmother prepared the table to offer us lunch, I was drawn to a large wooden window with a small ledge surrounded by small pots of brightly colored flowers. In this part, the south of the country, we no longer saw a white landscape but rather an intense green one that contrasted with the blue of the sky. The expanse before my eyes, surrounded by a thin wire, made me think that all that land behind the house belonged to my friend’s family.
Near a small wooden gate stood two Norwegian horses. And I say Norwegian because the fauna here is admirable and can only be found here. They are known as Fjord, the Norwegian Fjord horse. Both were practically identical, bay in color, a yellowish-white with a bicolor mane in the shape of a crest. It’s no wonder that despite their short legs, they are among the toughest and bravest breeds in all of Europe; not everyone is made to endure the harsh winters of these places.
I was so immersed in the landscape that I didn’t even notice María taking a photo of me with her camera. She showed me how it turned out on the small screen, and, saving the distances, it reminded me of Dalí’s famous painting “Girl at the Window.” María is crazy about photography, and although she has a rather peculiar character, I learned a lot from her during that experience. Mature and self-assured, she knew her life goals and didn’t get distracted along the way. I have no proof, but I also have no doubt that my passion for capturing every small detail came thanks to her.
As I approached the rest of my companions, I saw that the table had turned into a living still life. On a white lace tablecloth, there was a display of food that seemed to come to life. Fresh fruits, various homemade jams, cold cuts, waffles, and all kinds of cheeses. One, in particular, caught my attention with its golden color and sweet taste. They told me it was one of the most exclusive cheeses in Norway, made from caramelized whey to which cream is added. It didn’t surprise me that this Brunost was so famous; it won me over with the first bite.
We spent the rest of the day around the table, sharing anecdotes and trying to communicate with Tamara’s family, which in some cases was impossible. Amid laughter and emotional words, we decided to dedicate that entire day to farmor, who had become everyone’s grandmother, winning our hearts from the first moment.
But before the sun set, we headed to the place where we would finally sleep for the rest of our stay. And we didn’t do it just any way; by the edge of the bear fjord, Bjørnafjord, Uncle Vidar awaited us with a small motorboat. Vidar is one of those people you can only imagine in movies, truly, I’m not exaggerating. Imagine for a moment a tall and handsome man who exudes strength and determination. His upright and confident demeanor made us, one by one, firmly grasp his hand as we took our seats. The afternoon sun painted golden streaks while the small boat created waves that extended in concentric circles as it moved. We remained silent, not knowing if it was because of the fresh and pure air of the fjord or the immensity of the surroundings unfolding before us.
Upon our arrival, Tamara’s cousins and aunt greeted us with open arms. Their sincere smiles made us feel welcomed immediately. Their house was divided into two parts. The lower part was their usual living space, while the upper part would be entirely ours for the rest of the days. In my mind, I couldn’t believe I was living this genuine and authentic experience.
From the outside, it was a Norwegian house on a picturesque fjord shore, with a gable roof, dark tiles contrasting with the light wood walls. Inside, there was a rustic yet modern kitchen with a huge window, a delight for any interior designer. As we walked through the house’s hallways, I felt our hosts showed each corner with pride, sharing stories and memories. For me, the most notable part of the house was a round window overlooking the fjord. It wasn’t just a thought; I expressed it out loud, feeling like Heidi in the Swiss Alps.
The body couldn’t take it anymore, the day had been too intense for everyone, so practically without tasting a bite, we headed to our bedrooms. Even with the itch to know what would happen the next day, my body fell asleep the moment I nestled between the sheets. Here, the days started early, around seven in the morning, so by eight, we were already eager and prepared with our backpacks. At the door was Idun, Tamara’s little cousin, and I say little because of her age, since at twelve, she towered over all of us in height and physique. She knew the Vinnes area better than anyone and prepared a route for us through the mountain. Although she mentioned that its difficulty was moderate, for some of us, it seemed more challenging than the Appalachian Trail. From the base of the mountain, its grandeur could be appreciated, and some murmured that they wouldn’t be able to reach the top. As we ventured through the trails, very close to the summit, we came across a rickety wooden ladder indicating it was the only way forward. The problem wasn’t so much its height as its inclination, which required you to maintain balance more and not risk falling backwards.
We climbed one by one, trying not to slip on the dew-dampened steps of the morning. When it was my friend Carol’s turn, she froze. We could only hear her exclaim, “I can’t! I have terrible dizziness!” We looked at each other incredulously, as we were nearing the end. Our attempts to help her up and convince her that the reward would be worth it were in vain. She decided to wait for us at that point and encouraged us to continue to our destination. That’s what we did, but not without the promise that we would return as quickly as possible for her. Carol has always been a brave girl, fighter, and capable of overcoming her fears. That day, nothing hinted that, today, that young woman would be flying the skies of the world as a flight attendant. Once we reached the summit, I took in such a breath of air that my lungs filled with happiness. I felt an incomparable sense of achievement culminating in those amazing views. We could enjoy a 360-degree panorama spanning from snow-capped peaks to dense green valleys.
Some took photos, others took out the well-deserved snacks hidden in our backpacks, and others simply enjoyed the endless dance of freedom and grace of a few birds. As we descended, with our bodies much more relaxed, we realized that our panting during the ascent had prevented us from hearing the melodious calls of the birds along the route. Now, we delighted in their natural soundtrack. The much-needed rest came upon returning to what was our humble abode, if only for a few days. We went to greet Tamara’s family, and upon entering, we were surprised by the meow of a cat with dimensions we had never seen before. They are known as Skogkatt or Norwegian Forest Cat, with a robust appearance and luxurious, fluffy fur. I dared to caress Kakashi, as it was called, despite being aware of my severe allergy to felines. Its almond-shaped amber eyes captivated me from the first moment. The rest of the day, you can imagine how I spent it, between sneezes, itching in the nose, and bloodshot eyes, but everything is worth it for an animal lover like me. The evening wasn’t much quieter, as undoubtedly, that was the day for outdoor activities.
Uncle Vidar had managed to get bikes for everyone, and the afternoon promised to be entertaining. Up until that point in the trip, we had used practically all possible means of transportation. Cycling around the surroundings made us feel completely immersed in the natural charm that surrounded us. I could see the excitement in my friend Sara’s face, she didn’t say it, but her eyes showed the excitement of a little girl. Although Sara and I have known each other since childhood and have practically gone hand in hand through all stages of our lives, she’s one of those people who’s hard to define. You would say she’s a person of calm and serene appearance, but few know that thousands of ideas pass through her head every second. Her blend of humor and drama makes her one of life’s best companions.
There were still a couple of kilometers to go back when I noticed that my burgundy anorak was turning white. In a few minutes, what seemed like a light snowfall turned into a heavy snowstorm. We hurried to wait hidden in a small shelter very close to the road until the calm came. Clinging to each other, trying to protect ourselves from the cold, I can assure you, it was undoubtedly one of the most epic moments of this adventure.
Early in the morning, and this time, as if I were talking about another place, a radiant sun emerged. The day promised to be intense, and while some finished breakfast, others decided to approach a small wooden pier near the little house. The pleasant sound of waves breaking against the pier created an idyllic scene worthy of a Saturday afternoon movie. Friends imagining themselves on a summer afternoon jumping from the pier and sharing their stories. Obviously, it was only in our minds, as when I touched the icy waters of March with my hand and froze, we woke up from this beautiful dream all of a sudden. That same morning, after taking a ferry, we arrived at the picturesque city of Bergen. In this part of the city, the sky was adorned with low clouds that gave the landscape a touch of mystery. Its medieval architecture and maritime tradition made us lose ourselves among its cobblestone alleys winding through the historic center until we reached its famous and colorful wooden houses.
We also had breathtaking views from the top of Mount Fløyen, but if anything marked us on this visit, it was its most famous market known as Fisketorget. One of the most vibrant and emblematic points of the city where you can find the freshest flavors of the sea and its local culture. From early in the morning, the atmosphere in the market was lively and bustling, its local vendors offering enthusiastic samples of their products and sharing their experiences. At one of the stalls, we found a sign that said, “The man and the salmon, the wilder, the tastier.” After some laughs, we had the opportunity to talk to a young man who was nearing adulthood. He told us the story of his family and their long tradition as merchants, but how beautiful it was when I was able to stop for a few minutes in the middle of the chaos and assimilate what my senses were experiencing! Flowers in such intense colors that they seemed to be hand-painted by a talented artist, that mix of smells of salmon and fruits so fresh that you could still perceive the dew falling on them, and when you tasted them, they only confirmed what I already intuited. The sound of seagulls fluttering over the harbor intertwined with jovial conversations. The texture of second-hand books that with just turning a page, you could imagine how many owners they had had.
Our journey didn’t end here, and we had an excursion, which might seem very commercial as it’s one of the most popular and comprehensive tours in the area, but nothing could be further from the truth. “Norway in a Nutshell” made us live such an experience that we were overwhelmed by so much beauty. Bus, train, and boat were the necessary means of transport on this journey. And it’s no wonder UNESCO decided to protect some areas of this route. Surrounded by those imposing mountains, I felt so small and insignificant that I reconsidered some aspects of my life that needed to change. Enjoying my most zen moment and visualizing myself as Rose in the Titanic but without my Di Caprio, I heard laughter and singing at the stern. Here came the most surreal moment of the day. My friends were surrounded by a group of Asians who were pretending to sing and dance the ‘Macarena,’ they had fallen into the stereotype. I couldn’t do anything else but join the party and let myself be carried away by the rhythm of ‘Los del Río.’
As if the day wasn’t enough, Uncle Vidar had a surprise for us at dusk. Without uttering a single word, he made us get into his van. I only had time to appreciate its sturdy tires and roof racks that I guessed were for transporting canoes from his business. We didn’t go too far, or maybe we did, in this place I had the ability to lose track of time. The van slowed down gradually, the lights went out, and Vidar gestured for us to keep silent. We had a mixture of intrigue and fear of not knowing what was happening. Within seconds, we could make out some silhouettes, and I could see the gleam of eyes as they approached, curious and watchful. When the lights came on, I savored one of the most magical scenes I remember. In front of us, a herd of reindeer, paralyzed and blinded by the headlights, remained incredulous upon realizing that their hiding place had been discovered. For a few minutes, we simply watched them in a silence broken only by the crunch of their footsteps. My eyes brimming with tears and my throat with a knot of emotion, that’s the last thing I remember from that day.
Slowly the end was approaching, and there was a halo of sadness in the air. The last day was dedicated to thanking the Ovredal family for all their hospitality. We reached an agreement with them to have a final farewell meal sharing products from both cultures. On our part, from Spain, we brought a good supply of cured meats, cheese, and olive oil. But the last thing we expected to find on that table was a delicious reindeer stew. It was shocking, as we had been enjoying them in the wild just a few hours before, but we understood and respected their customs. The smell of freshly baked Norwegian bread and the relaxed atmosphere put the final touch to our cake. This trip is almost over, and I haven’t even talked about Diana yet. She was the boldest of all of us and undoubtedly had no qualms about trying new things. Her open mind made her the pioneer in leaving the nest after finishing her studies. She was the one who suggested spending our last leg of the journey in a youth hostel in Oslo. Nowadays, it’s very common, but looking back almost fifteen years ago, that proposal seemed like the craziest thing in this group. It turned out well for us, I must say; we were young students returning with backpacks full of experiences and empty pockets. Norway is incredible, but its cost of living is astronomical. We realized a palpable reality. The economic difference between the north and the south existed.
The return journey was more emotionally taxing than we could have imagined. While we waited for our return flight, with teary eyes, we reviewed some of the photos and videos, reliving every special moment and smiling at the memories we would carry with us forever. This trip strengthened us so much that I can’t imagine a life without them. It reinforced our friendship, taught us to work as a team, and, above all, to celebrate each other’s triumphs as our own. They are already part of the postcards of my life.
Norway was much more than a vacation for me. I feel it was a journey of self-discovery and personal growth. It made me realize how much I wanted to seize the world and how eager I was to learn about other cultures. The moments alone with myself taught me the importance of seizing each moment and not taking for granted the time we have. From that moment on, I live for today.
When I got home and excitedly told my grandmother all my anecdotes, I made this same reflection to her, and with a choked voice, she replied: “This is just the beginning, hopefully, the world will seem small to you.” And here I am, years later, fulfilling my dream of writing a story as a travel journalist and opening up to the whole world.