We’re flying over water – for all I can tell from all the light that almost blinds me. I scoot over my friend and stare out of the plane window. Yes, it’s definitely water.
The plane is going to land soon, I can feel it in my ears, that pressure that locks my jaw and sends jolts of pain through my eardrums. That means I have to start thinking. Fast. My friend is inexperienced to the point she nearly knowns nothing and we have to be in Oslo today – and we’re landing somewhere a good few hours away from our destination.
What I love about flying is that sense of absolute vastness. There’s nothing above, below or sideways than just air. Being airborne is like transcending the human plane and entering some other realm. Nothing holds the plane – nothing, but the laws of physics which are quite merciless. A simple mistake, a malfunction, random incident can bring it crashing down and send us to our deaths. That’s probably the reason behind me obtaining a pilot’s license. This vastness and this state of being immersed is what I find exhilarating.
And somehow the plane does not crash and the landing is smooth and we’re past the customs and standing on Norwegian soil and there’s this cool breeze that smells like salt and it’s early in the morning and there’s this entire country just stretching far and wide and here we are, kind of lost, and kind of deprived of sleep.
‘We’re gonna hitchhike to Oslo’ my friend says ‘but first I need a cigarette.’ Yes, it sounds like a decent plan. There’s one drawback, though: we had to leave our lighters before boarding the plane. So I venture to a store that resembles my beloved Seven Eleven and the lights seem a little too bright and the cashier is a little too pretty for my groggy brain. ‘A lighter please’, I mumble and she pauses, stares and before I repeat my request, she hands me what I asked for and says it’s twenty krones. Now it’s my turn to stare and her turn to repeat herself. I hand her the money, take the lighter and flee the store already feeling kind of broke.
The cigarette does some good. I’m feeling a little sick (and pretty cold, so I put on my polar jacket and start to wonder whether I’ll freeze to death during this lovely summer trip) and my friend starts looking for rides. Cars speed past us, no one stops, no one cares. We take turns, we switch, we wave and show thumbs up –nothing. An hour passes, my friend grows anxious, I’m just a little tired and somewhat amused – it’s a lovely beginning and it’d be quite nice if it weren’t so cold. And it’s July, so it should be boiling hot. The sea is on my right side, on my left there are some hills and a little forest, ahead is the road and behind is the airport.
Finally a guy pulls over, a tattooed bloke with a football cap on his head and a pierced lip. ‘Hop in’ he says ‘where ya headed?’ ‘Oslo’, I say and he shakes his head a little. ‘No can do’, he says ‘I’m going home. But I can take you to a better hitchhiking spot.’ So I say yes, climb the front seat and my friend goes to the back. We’re off.
‘Hitchhiking isn’t so good these parts.’ The man says. He works at the airport. ‘Either people get on the bus, or are picked up by their friends and families.’
‘Yeah’ I say, because I’m so tired I might just fall asleep. We talk about his job, life, country. It’s nothing too serious, but still a decent conversation’s a conversation. He drops us off on a bus stop and speeds home. It’s ten am, the sun is slowly warming the air. I find a nice little spot on a bench and tell my friend we’re taking the bus before nodding off.
