Fjord Thoughts

“I’m sorry,” I asked sheepishly, “Could you take my picture?” He was the fourth random person I’d asked in about 20 minutes of fjord exploring. There are only so many angles you can get taking selfies, as any good former emo would know.

I pushed away my flapping shrug- I was layered up today, in anticipation of the cold Norwegian sea air- and smiled. He pressed the button once. “That alright?” he drawled, handing the camera back to me. Another Texan. There were so many Southerners here. And Germans and Australians. I barely glanced at the photo- beggars can’t be choosers, and it looked fine to me- “Yeah, it’s great!” I exclaimed with what was hopefully a friendly grin, “Thanks so much!”

You never know how nice people can be until you travel alone. Whether they’re strangers offering to take your photo for you or temporary hostel roommates telling you their life story before they even tell you their name.

When I first started planning this solo endeavor, I got a lot of “But you’ll meet so many people”. I didn’t believe it and I didn’t care. I’m naturally a bit antisocial, more than a little shy, and awkward in spades. I’m the type of person who goes to concerts alone, museums alone, movies alone. While there are definitely frequent periods where I crave attention, and I hate knowing there’s a party going on without me, that doesn’t mean I’m not ok doing my own thing. That includes traveling.

But how many people have I met during this trip? There was the 35 year-old Mexican woman in Rome, traveling on her own for the first time. She went to Circus Maximus to cheer on Mexico in the World Cup on the big screen.

The girls from Montreal in Munich- I coincidentally met them at Dachau only to discover, oddly enough, we were hostel roommates. Their endgame was Paris, they viewed their traveling as a window for international partying.

Then the Austrian girl in Copenhagen, there for a conference to finish her Ph.D. She spent a semester in Maine and seemingly enjoyed it, lighting up when speaking about the hiking she did there. I remember she loved Denmark’s affinity for bike lanes.

Those Irish sisters in Oslo. One had just finished their equivalent of high school, the other had embarked on a new job in Scotland. Excited for a karaoke bar the first night I spoke with them, they planned on belting out ABBA, a band from Norway’s rival Sweden. One helped me find an international bookstore.

The Dutch girl in Bergen, explaining her study abroad term at university in Norway. The Americans who run the hostel, all Christian, all excessively smiley, all friendly, all with familiar Midwestern accents, out of Illinois. After answering I was a creative writing major back home, one asked me what I liked to write. I probably answered more honestly than I would someone back home.

These are only a few of the people I’ve spoken to, but can I name a single name? No, and none of them would know mine. I’m a traveler, a nomad, here today and quite literally gone tomorrow. Nothing ties me to these people besides exploring the same city, and even that only holds for a day, maybe two. They can tell me their thoughts, confide their feelings, because they know I have no permanence in their lives. I do the same with them, because I know the same thing. These people know my fears about graduation, they know what I hope to do with my life, they know my more immediate anxieties about where I am now, literally and figuratively. But not a single one could remember my first initial, if they even knew it in the first place.

The fjord tour boat we’re on approaches a spectacular waterfall, slowing to a stop in front of it for the best photo opportunities. These fjords really are too awesome for words, and I’m not going to cheapen them by trying to describe them now. I hold my camera to my face and smile, then repeat, trying again and again for a decent picture. In between my frustrated snapping, I make eye contact with a middle-aged woman. “You want me to take picture?” she asks in accented English, pointing to my camera. I hand it to her.

“Yes, yes I would. Thanks so much!” I smile.