Chat with owner of reastaurant Napoli
Wild nature, snowy mountains/hills
Camping closed. Now what?
Then hitch hiking, or otherwise this evening to INN. That proved to be closed too
After 1,5 hours this fairy offers me a hike to Hattfjelldal
The Coop-store of Hattfjelldal, but nobody knows a camping
To the right the Eindhoven (Nl) lady from Aachen (Germany), next to her the Norwegian lady who helped me get an adress. The Norwegian lady also rebts: www.furuheimgaard.no, nice place at a farm they said
We survived today. Hope also tomorrow and after.
Entrance of my “motel”
Good weather forecasted for today. So today no raincover needed on the backpack. Is so difficult when you want to get something out of the back pack. And today no cape needed. A lot of sun. Of course! soon I stopped to use the cape anyway and to apply the backpack cover due to rain. But O.K., after 12 km. I already was in Trofo. I expected a village shop (s). There was only a gas station where one could get some food. After walking another km. I asked a big lady with pram, how far still to go to Trofo. That’s where you are! Just a few houses! To be kind, I asked if that was her grandchild. No, my baby! Oops.
Anyway, back direction gas station. In Trofo the sign with camping was crossed. photo. Well then on to the Trofo gas station. Trying to get a ride for the remaining 33 km. to the next campsite. I had to get out of there, because there were no buses there. I thought, if I don’t get a ride, I can always stay here in the “village” to sleep, because there was a big sign “INN”. photo. To be sure I checked. No, sir, the inn no longer exists. Yes, I must be completely sure that I get out of here. Because all those lonely young widows, whom I expected to call me in for a plate of paella, bouillabaisse, Ardennes ham, carrots stamp, Wurst mit halbem Hänchen or smörrebrot, I have not met even one untill now. Maybe later I’ll meet a Lapland widow with fyske soup.
At the gas station I asked a cardboard and magic marker pen to make a sign with the name of my site, 33 km. further and the name of the first town at the Swedish border, 110 km. further. Let’s see how far we get. I think the presence of Tosca, tied to a traffic sign, did not increase my chances for a ride much. After 1.5 hours an elderly lady offers me a ride. She spoke almost no English, but with some common places, like beautifull country and cold and so on we tried to make it a little cozy anyway. She told about the big mountain (Fjell) that dominated the valley and looked like a hat, hence Hattfjelldal village. That I could understand. We drove past a farm. My chauffeuse explained: Dutch. Do you want to go there for a coffee? I said no. In the Netherlands I see plenty of Dutch people. First I want to make sure I get a decent shelter. I asked her to put me off at the campsite. What campsite? She did not know. Did not sound promising. Then please drop me off in the center of Hattfjelldal village at the co-op store. There I also asked about the camp. The adressed person asked somebody else. It didn’t help me much. Let’s make sure I do some shopping. Tomorrow will be Sunday and also then my belly requires filling. Outside I asked a Mediterranean type of person. At my place, he said, you can stay for free. He pointed to a nearby house, where I saw a few Africans. Ah, a refugee center. Whether I had some 10 kr. for him, for cigarettes. I rummaged in my pocket. He pointed to a 20 kr. coin. Yes, you give them a finger, they want the whole hand. I gave him kr 8. While we were talking, a woman got out of a car with a Dutch license plate. My salvation? She spoke fluent Dutch with a German accent. Do you know a campsite here? I will ask someone who knows everything here, she says. The African is forgotten. Moments later, the German Dutch, along with a Norwegian couple came out of the co-op. The Aachen (Germany) lady, I do not know her name, lives in Eindhoven (Nl), but is originally from between Aachen and Monchau in Germany. Well hey, we live some 20 km. apart. She was already for the umpteenth time now here visiting and helping on a farm and campsite, only kilometers away. The site of the place is Www.furuheimgaard.no. I have to look for it soon: very nice and quiet, she said. The Norwegians offered to bring me to my site, but I thought that would be too much honor . Then I will call for you, says the Norwegian. A minute later, everything is arranged. You can go there. Only, the landlady does not speak a word across the border. The camp owner comes from Estonia or Latvia. Will be fine, I think.
Indeed, no West European language. Anyway, I have a simple room with everything in it, and for a small price. In the barracks are also some young Czechs or Slowaks who work here in the planting of pines. There is no common room, so with them I will probably not have much contact.
Now I’ve got to wait for the owner of the Estonian / Latuanian campsite to come home at 10 pm, because I want to ask him how I’ll continue my trip tomorrow. And where to. I still have 75 km. to go to the Swedish town Hemavan- Tarnaby. Maybe he knows an address in this deserted region to stay tomorrow and otherwise I can do nothing else than hitch hike the entire 75 km. to Hemavan / Tarnaby in Sweden. May be the Czechs want to take me to Sweden, because they work there. Tomorrow is Sunday and the Czechs most likely will not have to work. Idea! On verra.
In Hemavan / Tarnaby (Sweden) I’ll have to find a place for Tosca to stay when I’ll hitchhike from there in Sweden 130 km. up North to Mo I Rana in Norway again, where an airplane will bring me back to the Netherlands on June 23. Why back to the Netherlands? Well, Daughter Lilian will get her first baby and I want to adore my offspring.
First I want to walk back to Hattfjelldal village, another km. to and one km. back, to go to Napoli, the Italian reastaurant. Once there, I chatted with the Italian. He appears to be a Turk. Has family in The Hague, Arnhem (both Nl.) and in Germany. I ask why did you come here? He makes a gesture, rubbing thumb against index finger. Money, money. Pecunia non olet. Money can not buy happiness, but it helps !? I think we understand each other. He stayed with me talking at my table until long after I finished the food. Come back tomorrow morning at 11 am., he invited me, we’ll drink coffee together. So it was still pizza again, and I treated myself to a good lager, because I managed to find good shelter. The only thing I still needed was french fries.
Maybe the Turkish man wants to take me to Hemavan Sweden tomorrow. If not, the Czechs may want to, with whom I share my shelter. Hitch hiking is always a possibility. After returning at the sleeping place I talked with the group of Slovak holiday workers. They would discuss my question, but in the meantime I first got four stuffed pancakes from them. Europe, haeven on earth!
Meanwhile, around 10 pm. that evening, while taking of my clothes to go and have a shower, knock, knock on the room door. A large, stocky man with a friendly face at the door. Come in, I say. It was the Lithuanian landlord of the site. I told him about my transportation needs to Sweden. He already had someone in mind, but it would be Monday. Tomorrow, Sunday, is mandatory rest day. But there is nothing wrong about that. I asked him why he had come to Norway. To save money here and once in Lithuania to start a farm for myself. But that dream probably does not work out, because the cost of living in Lithuania is rising in a explosive way. We chatted a while. I heard and told a lot of stories today.
Also ask your Turk Italian again tomorrow, said the landlord, because his family also has Napoli restaurants just across the Swedish border. Maybe he’d like to visit his family there and then you might get a ride. So many possibilities to get a ride! Holadeladio! May be I´ll even get an escort to Sweden.
Life doesn´t necessarely always have to be fun, but there should be some nice moments, I learned from my esteemed, illustrious predecessor, collegue dr. Sjef Jacobs, who unfortunately is late. All right then. Late again.
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