Norway Monster Tongue Sep 2016

Re-edit (25/10/2017): Writing about a snapshot about Shangri-La recently. Many may have discovered that I had a passion for road trips and wild hikes. On hikes, one freed her soul and obtained a few days of transformation in physiques and personality. I went on the Trolltunga trip a year and half ago, squishing a 2-day weekend before school started, and rolled in buses in sheer mad manners. The people I chatted along the way are moulded into the character of Plots, and the call of the wild from Norway left me the chronic thigh pain until today. The rebel ate the fruits of her effortless insouciance.

 

(09/2016)

A friend asked me why did I go to Norway for a 2-day hiking trip and how I budgeted the trip. Flying from London and taking merits from Airbnb made the trip possible. It is easy to arrange with a few hundred pounds I obtained from working with Citigroup.

To get to Trolltunga, I had to take flight to Bergen. My trip was extremely time-crunched like the too-quick-to-burn candles, so I had to skip the beautiful cable cars in Bergen and hop on a bus-ferry-bus trip to Odda, where people generally start from.

Odda
Odda, where I spent the night pondering of the stars.

After settling in Odda, I fortunately met Issac and Yechan, the two brothers coming from Sweden that happened to stay in the same hostel as me. I had made plans that I would pick up some similarly crazy adventurists along the way – wishes came true.

The second day we set off to Trolltunga. First are kilometer of kilometer of rocky roads and muddy paths:

 

 

 

Roads became better when you ascent. The key was 60% perspiration as we climbed the first ​10km – sheer hardcandy toughness. We spent much time collecting different sorts of stones as we advanced, since every kilometer meant a layer of shapeless rocks. 

 

 

 

 

As we moved further, we eventually counted the moment for some processed delicacy:

Burger

The road to summit required some cliche perseverance, which can be summarised in the status of how one confined herself on the road. We knew we still had kilometers ahead of us, but the way back required another 10 km. We were tired as if legs retreated to their molecule selves, but we had nowhere to reconstruct our legs to human limbs. The only way was the way to the top. Fortunately, the clouds eventually dissipated. After queuing in rocks behind Trolltunga for 40mins washed in frozen rains, we each snapped the FB profile with the Monster Tongue.

 

 

 

The way downhill also has magnificent views:

 

 

Most importantly, short adventure builds self-confidence. Trolltunga, the 22km trail of gravels, demands physical and mental toughness. I was fortunate to come out of the mountain in one piece though with a broken leg. Despite of the self-inflated pity, it is true that in the world, there is a kind of untouched scenery accessible only to the strong, and there is a kind of story memorised only by the mad.

 

 

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