I’ve left. To eat up kilometers. For three months. For hours. Alone. To discover Scandinavia. I’ve been through Denmark and Sweden. I’ve devoured Norway. I’ve savored every single bite. I’ve driven to Nordkapp. The northern point of Europe. Nothing beyond the horizon but the north pole. Driving my van.
There is a phase just before sleeping. Not really asleep, but not fully awake. The brain makes itself comfortable and you don’t control your thoughts anymore. Driving alone is the same. You remember forgotten things. You make crazy plans. You rave, you ramble. You think about old friends that you haven’t seen in years. You promise to yourself to change your life. Those hours on the roads are as important as the places they connect. A journey in the journey.
Sixteen thousand two hundred fifty kilometers. Driving until my eyes get red. Getting lost. Not giving a damn. Changing gears. Seeing something. Turning back. Taking the picture and leaving again. Passing trucks on mountain roads. Closing my eyes and stopping to breath. The wind through the open window that makes my hair fly. The sun that warms my arms. Doing hundred kilometers detours. Singing louder than the rain that falls on the roof. Picking up hitch-hikers. Sometimes for an hour, and sometimes a week. Talking to the van like it’s an old friend.
I’ve changed my way of living. I’ve became a nomad. Living outside, to be free. I’ve ran in the waves. I’ve cried from beauty. I’ve laughed from happiness. I’ve told my life to strangers around a fire. I’ve read outside for hours. I’ve taken naps. I’ve made coffee for my road companions. I’ve seen reindeers on the beach. I’ve loved people I’ll never see again. I’ve lived midnightsun. I’m sleeping when I’m tired. I’m eating when I’m hungry. I’m cooking my pasta with the water of the rivers. I’m taking my shower in the clouds.