From heels to hiking boots

 “If we’re going to Spain for the weddings, then we have to go to Norway for hiking.” That was the condition I set early on with Hubby for our first post-COVID trip overseas. At that stage I wasn’t quite sure where in Norway we were going to hike but that didn’t really matter.

Hiking in Norway was unfinished business from our 2018 year in Europe. Our Norwegian trip in January of that year was geared towards seeing the Northern Lights – so it was timed at the height of winter and during the Polar Nights in Tromso when we would have the best chance of seeing the Northern Lights. By the time summer rolled around, we were in the middle of a 5-month road trip exploring the French, Swiss and Italian Alps so there was no room in the itinerary to go back. I’m sure we could have made it work but spending the entire European summer in the mountains instead of the beaches would’ve caused the 2^nd family revolution on that trip. (The 1^st revolution had to do with the Christmas markets and spending Christmas Eve in Oberndorf and Salzburg at the start of the trip).

The Norwegian mountains would have to wait...until now.

I would choose hiking boots over heels any day so was really looking forward to this part of the trip. The weddings and get togethers in Spain were a lot of fun, but after 3 weeks of eating, drinking, and partying, I was keen to get out into nature for a bit of adventure.

Our itinerary revolved around completing 3 of the most popular hikes in Norway:

•        Preikestolen (Pulpit Rock);
•        Kjeragbolten;
•        Trolltunga

The preparation

I made feeble attempts at improving my fitness in the months leading up to the trip, and while I was going to the gym sporadically in the months prior, things started to get busy at work and home closer to the trip – so gym sessions quickly dropped off when it really mattered. Hubby and Mig even less so. We went for daily walks around the neighbourhood, mainly to walk the dog rather than any real attempt at preparing for a hike (or three). ‘We’ll just deal with it’, I thought. After all, how hard can walking 20 kms really be?

Needless to say, we weren’t in great physical condition but we didn’t have any serious medical conditions either. Add to that the non-stop eating, drinking, partying and late nights in Spain and our fitness was pretty average by the time we were due to start our hikes. My knees are terrible at the best of times and were likely to give me problems but, like most things, I decided I would just suck it up and deal with it.

Having said that, I had 2 main concerns: my biggest worry was if Mig suffered an anaphylactic reaction and we were hours from being able to get him medical help; and, if I somehow developed a migraine in the middle of a hike or when we were scheduled to be on one - which can be triggered by anything from dehydration, lack of sleep, a tight shoulder, the wrong wine, or the direction of the wind – it would be all over. That would make anything – including myself - unbearable. So we armed ourselves with 3 Epipens and lots of Ibuprofen.

With the distance and remoteness of the Trolltunga hike, and the unpredictability of Norwegian weather and temperatures at different altitudes, we needed proper hiking gear. Good waterproof hiking boots was something I didn’t want to compromise on, particularly since a rolled ankle could easily put any of the hikes in jeopardy. Also, not being fully familiar with the terrain we were going to encounter we needed to be prepared for anything. Lightweight waterproof jackets and day packs, thermals and warm layers were also essentials. If we got lost or stuck overnight somewhere, we needed to be warm. I also decided on a bright red jacket because if we needed to be rescued, something red would be quite visible against any landscape. Unfortunately (or fortunately), that’s just how my mind works. I automatically go to preparing for worst case scenarios.

All this gear – along with formal wear and shoes for not one, but two weddings in Spain - made packing light impossible. Thanks to our 2018 trip though we knew how to manage our luggage and pack (and re-pack) for ‘domestic’ trips once we landed in Europe. A key factor in the decision to fly in and out of the same city back to Sydney was so we didn’t have to carry unnecessary luggage with wedding paraphernalia to Norway.

The Plan

We were wary of our fitness, or lack off, so arranged the hikes in order of difficulty. This would give us time to familiarise ourselves with the Norwegian landscape while our bodies adjusted to the physical demands of hiking after weeks of hedonistic partying and late nights in Spain and Amsterdam.

We would fly to Stavanger from Amsterdam where we would base ourselves for the Preikestolen and Kjeragbolten hikes, then drive to Bergen and stay a few nights to take it easy while we let our bodies rest for Trolltunga. We would then continue on to Odda as a base for the Trolltunga hike – via Aurland and the Stegastein lookout.

Based on our research, we planned 2 nights in Odda – the night before the hike and the night after. From Odda, we would do the 4-hour drive straight back to Stavanger the morning after the hike, return the car at the airport, and catch the mid-afternoon flight out of Stavanger back to Madrid via Amsterdam. This meant we only had one window of opportunity to complete the Trolltunga hike. It had to be on the only full day we were going to be in Odda.

My sights were set on Trolltunga from the beginning. It was the non-negotiable in itinerary negotiations. Actually, all of the hikes were non-negotiable and as hard as Hubby tried to get rid of one hike (or all of them), I didn’t want to budge. Not this early anyway. In the back of my mind though, if push came to shove, Kjeragbolten would be the ‘sacrificial lamb’. Preikestolen was our warm-up and Trolltunga was the main event. It would be Kjeragbolten, but only if we absolutely had to - but I didn’t tell Hubby that.

It was a 10-day itinerary to complete the 3 hikes giving us enough recovery time between each and to have a couple of extra days for anything unforeseen like bad weather - except Trolltunga which was a one-shot window so the weather and our physical condition needed to be perfect. We also knew from hiking in the Alps in the summer of 2018 that hiking on 2 consecutive days was likely going to kill us physically so we made sure Preikestolen and Kjeragbolten weren’t scheduled back-to-back.

Preikestolen (Pulpit Rock)

Preikestolen, or Pulpit Rock, is aptly named as it stands over 600 meters above the Lysefjord. It’s not a particularly long hike (8 kilometres; 4-hour return hike), but it’s a fairly strenuous hike due to the elevation gain. And what goes up, must come down. With my knee issues I knew the descent was going to be harder than the ascent.

We arrived into Stavanger at 11pm and stayed with a high school friend on that first night. Our Stavanger accommodation cancelled while we were partying in Spain and a Guns and Roses concert that weekend made it impossible to get alternative accommodation at relatively short notice. So while we didn’t want to impose on a long lost friend whom I hadn’t seen since high school and her partner whom we had never met, we decided to take the offer of a nice bed over spending the night before our first hike in the car. Thanks D & R 😊

We set off for Preikestolen a little later than planned the next day. It was about an hour to get to the parking lot from where we were staying so it was just before mid-day by the time we started. The great thing about hiking in the summer months is that the sun doesn’t set until 11:30pm, so we knew we had plenty of time to complete the hike in daylight even with a mid-day start.

Starting point for Preikestolen hike

As it turns out, the late start worked out better as we missed all the large tour groups who started their hikes earlier and were on their way back as we made our way up.

The hike was a rude awakening leg and glute workout requiring us to scale up and down what felt like thousands of large boulder steps. The trail was well marked but some sections had very uneven and wet rocky surfaces from melted snow which made me grateful for our decision to get the boots with ankle supports. The last thing we wanted on our first hike (or any hike for that matter) was a leg or ankle injury that would have put the other hikes at risk, and it would’ve been very easy to twist an ankle on this one.

 

Uneven boulder steps - lots of them!

The view and the feeling from the top was breathtaking. No other words. I had to take a moment to soak it all in.

What first struck me about Preikestolen was that it is completely unfenced. There are no protective guard rails and you can venture as close to the edge as your craziness will let you. I found this fascinating. In comparison, a site like this in Australia would have had guard rails everywhere. I loved the unaltered state and appreciated the fact that it was left untouched despite the millions of visitors each year.

I could’ve sat there all-day marveling at the beauty in front of me but was conscious that we still had to make the descent and meet up with my friend for an evening of sailing. The weather was perfect so we wanted to make the most of it with forcasted rain in the coming days.

 

We completed the return hike in 5 hours – including rest stops and an hour of soaking in the view at the top. I was impressed that the estimated hiking time was pretty accurate. Not so impressed that I was dying and my legs were aching and stiff after what was supposed to be the easiest hike on our list. How would we survive the others??

From Preikestolen we headed straight to the agreed meeting point to catch up with my friend and her partner, hopped onto their boat, and set sail for a tour of Stavanger and surrounds from the water. (The sun sets at 11:30pm, remember?)

We had no time to stop at a grocery between our hike and the meeting point (we hadn’t even checked in to our proper accommodation) and we were famished so the island picnic they had planned and prepared went down a treat. ‘This is living’, I thought. When else and where else would we be able to go straight from mountains onto the water. It really was Norway in a day. I’m not sure if it was all the partying in Spain and Amsterdam, or the past 2 years being confined with COVID lockdowns, but it was the dose of nature I had been craving and exactly what we came to Norway for.

Seeing Stavanger from the water with D & R

We finally checked in to our accommodation at midnight after what was a very long and strenuous day on the back of a very long and tiring day arriving from Amsterdam at midnight the night before, so once we checked in to our rented accommodation we didn’t move (more like we couldn’t move) for the next 2 days. Remember those extra weather and recovery days in the plan? Gone. And this was only the 1^st hike.

Kjeragbolten

This hike was scheduled for Day 4. We allowed ourselves 2 recovery days post-Preikestolen which, as it turns out, was perfect. We’re no spring chickens and had to be realistic about our fitness levels and what we could achieve. The only problem with Day 4 was that it was raining.

The show must go on. The itinerary must go on.

We decided to push through with the ferry trip down Lysefjord to Kjerag, then make our way to the parking lot for the Kjeragbolten hike and assess once we got there. While Hubby was already keen to call it quits, I didn’t want to give up so easily. Maybe the clouds would clear by the time we got to Kjerag. Maybe there would be a break in the rain that would make the hike achievable. Maybe the rain wouldn’t be that bad. Besides a little rain never hurt anyone. After all, that’s exactly why we brought waterproof jackets and backpacks with us.

The hike to Kjeragbolten was 12kms with an elevation gain of 570 metres – slightly less than Preikestolen. The estimated hiking time was 6-8 hours return.

We got to Kjerag and stopped for a coffee at the local café. It was drizzling and overcast but nothing unmanageable so we decided to seek the opinion of the local staff at the counter. Her assessment was that the hike was achievable. The drizzle wasn’t ideal but it would still be ok. Anything stronger, however, she said we should probably re-think it.

Encouraged by that we drove up to the parking lot to start our hike. Clearly still uncertain about this decision to proceed, Hubby asked the parking lot attendant whether it would still be safe to do the hike in this weather. ‘Sure, no problem’, she said. ‘Worst case, you can always try it and if it’s not for you we can refund your parking fee if you come back within the hour’. Hmmm… good idea. ‘Nothing to lose’, I thought. We’re already here. We’d be crazy not to even try. Besides, other people were still going up.

The thing about the Kjeragbolten hike is that it is very different from Preikestolen. While the altitude for Preikestolen was gained by climbing up large boulder steps, the Kjeragbolten altitude is achieved by climbing up and over what looked like Uluru – a massive rock. From the research I had done and from what the parking attendant confirmed, the first climb from the parking lot was the hardest, so if we could make it over that section, we would be fine to complete the other two climbs on the hike.

Climbing chains that were a necessity but slippery in the rain

Views from up above

We set off and as the path got steeper it started to get more slippery. As with Preikestolen, I was very grateful for the boots on our feet, but this time for their grip. The higher we got the steeper the path ahead of us – so much so that there were now climbing chains to assist with the ascent and descent. These chains were a necessity but the rain was making them slippery and difficult to grip.

As we climbed up, Hubby would ask people who were coming down what it was like ‘up there’ – clearly still questioning the wisdom of what we were doing. Many said it was difficult but doable. Difficult wasn’t scary. Difficult wasn’t unsafe. We were prepared for difficult. We could deal with difficult. We continued to climb.

The higher we got the path was getting steeper, more difficult and more slippery. So much so that I no longer trusted the traction on my boots and resorted to climbing using my hands to get closer to the ground. The rain and the wind was starting to hurt and we were so high up that the people in the parking lot down below looked like ants.

 

That was the path. Up. Mig climbing the steep rock.

Again, Hubby checked in and asked a couple on their way down what it was like. The female responded saying it was absolutely crazy and dangerous. The guy agreed that it was too dangerous stating that they had aborted the climb and turned back. While I was starting to see the danger in the situation, it still didn’t feel scary. In fact, I was enjoying the challenge and Mig seemed to be taking it all in his stride climbing well ahead of us. People have different tolerance levels for danger and risk I justified to myself and Hubby. Let’s just keep climbing as far as we can.

We continued climbing and I started to silently freak out. With the altitude gain, the scare level was now starting to go up, fun level was going down. We were about 80% of the way up and paused to catch our breath when the wind and the rain suddenly picked up. We were getting pelted with rain and could barely open our eyes to see where we were going. The wind was so strong that it could’ve easily made you lose your balance if you happened to be standing on a slippery ridge. I looked down below to see how high we now were and how far we had climbed. The view was amazing but if the rain didn’t ease up we’d have no way of getting back down. Trying to get down on the steep, slippery surface we had just struggled to climb was an accident waiting to happen. I looked up at the path ahead of us with the climbing chains and what looked like a 70-degree gradient to the top.

Hubby and I looked at each other. ‘F**k that’, I said. ‘I’m not climbing that in this weather!’. We all agreed we had come far enough and it was time to call it quits. We started making our way down… slowly and carefully. Kjeragbolten would have to be for another day – or lifetime.

The point where we decided it was too risky to continue, climbing the final portion to the top.

There were several opportunities for us to decide whether to attempt or quit the hike, and part of hiking is continuously assessing the conditions and knowing when the safety risk is too high - and then be willing to call it quits if it is. Often that can be different for everyone. In hindsight, I probably pushed us further than what Hubby would’ve been comfortable with but there’s something to be said about pushing beyond your comfort zone and not giving up so easily. Having said that, I was also being guided by Mig and his ‘fear factor’. He was climbing with relative ease and was enjoying it. It was challenging, but I didn’t think it was necessarily unsafe - until the wind and rain picked up.

That day many people continued on, turned back, or didn’t attempt to start in the first place, but we would never have known where we sat on that spectrum if we hadn’t tried. I have no regrets for turning back because we still experienced it, we saw what it was like and made up our own minds that it was too risky.

What I would have regretted, however, is if we never even tried.

 Trolltunga (Troll's Tongue)

We got to the P3 Magelitopp parking lot at 7:30am. Hubby’s decision to book a spot in this parking lot at the same time we booked our Odda accommodation was a lifesaver. There are only 30 spots per day so early booking is a must. It’s also another reason why the Trolltunga hike was a one-shot window. Our parking was pre-booked. Parking at P3 takes you further up the mountain and closer to the starting point of the Trolltunga trail shaving off 7 kms on a 27-km round trip hike. Hubby wasn’t keen on hiking any of the 27 kms so was more than happy not to have to hike 7 kms and pay the 800 NOK ($114 AUD) for the privilege. Any doubt I had about paying this fee was well and truly erased at the end of the hike when I was internally screaming for the car park.

The estimated hike time for Trolltunga from the P3 carpark is 7-10 hours. From the lower carpark (P2) it would’ve been 8-12 hours.

The first 1-2 hours of the hike as we climbed our way to the top of the mountain and gained the steep 300m elevation to get to the top was the most physically demanding. It’s when I wished I was fitter and stronger and regretted not losing 10kgs so I wouldn’t have to carry it up the mountain. At this point our 5-kilo backpacks started to feel heavier than they were. We stopped for our first break mid-way through a series of big boulder steps as other hikers passed us by. We didn’t mind. We had set our minds that this wasn’t a race and we would take it at our own pace with as many breaks as we needed to.

Once we reached the top, the trail levelled out and was relatively flat the rest of the way. The landscape was pretty sparse at the top and had it not been for the snow-covered sections of the trail it may have even been, dare I say, a pretty long, boring walk with spectacular views.

Taking a break after a steep climb

 

Hiking with these view for most of the trail

Perfect rest spot along the trail

Snow covered, slippery icy trails

The prospect of seeing snow and being able to play in it was something I had promised Mig to ward off any complaints about having to go on a 10-hour hike. I specifically wanted him to go on this hike and wasn't going to let him bail because he had spinal surgery scheduled a few months after our return to Sydney. In my mind, if anything went wrong with that surgery and he never regained the same mobility, at least he was able to do this. Of course he'll only find out about that if he reads this.

So as we approached our first sight of snow on the mountain top, he was like a bull at the gates… and I was the gate!

Yes, the terrain was relatively flat, but we were still on top of a mountain… and we didn’t know what was under that snow which was fast melting in the summer warmth. Not to mention, we were only 3 hours into what we knew to be a 10-hour hike and his feet and clothes needed to stay dry.

“Mig! Get back on the trail!”, I yelled at him as he ran off trail to run around in the snow. “Get back here now!”

“But you said I could play in the snow” came his reply.

This is how it continued for the next few hours. I was on edge.

We had been walking for hours, we were tired, the Tongue was nowhere to be seen, we were now walking through more snow, ice and slippery slush than on solid ground, and we still had hours ahead of us to get to our destination - not to mention the return trip. The last thing we needed was an injury (or worse) with Mig falling through a ravine or twisting an ankle with a fall. We were already at risk of doing that just by walking so I wasn’t in the mood to add to that risk with him clowning around in the snow.

Sure enough, at one point, as Hubby was navigating his way through an uneven snowy path, he took a step and his foot fell straight through the soft snow into a knee-deep hole causing him to lose his balance and fall over. Mig couldn’t stop laughing. I couldn’t see the funny side and yelled at him to stop laughing, repeating for the hundredth time that this was why we needed to stay on the trail. In hindsight, Hubby WAS on the trail and still fell through the snow so staying on the trail didn’t really help in that case. I think I needed Valium at that stage.

Several people who had overtaken us earlier in the hike were now starting to pass us on their way back. ‘It’s not a race’ I kept reminding myself. Yet if there’s anything to add to the mental state that I was already in and the acute awareness of the lack of physical fitness we were now feeling, seeing these people double back on us was sending us the message that our pace was way too slow. But based on my time, we were still on track. ‘So where is that bloody Tongue??’, I wondered.

I couldn’t stand the suspense and asked a couple on their way back how much further we had to go. “Around 30 minutes. It’s just over that ridge”, they replied pointing in the distance. ALLELUIA!!! We were close!

The 30 minutes turned out to be another hour, and the ridge that didn’t look too far in the distance was far enough, but then suddenly out of nowhere it appeared. We had arrived!!! The Troll's Tongue perched high above the lake was right there, looking exactly as beautiful as the photo I had taken off the internet and put on my Facebook profile and screensaver as a daily reminder of the goal to see it for myself.

First glimpse - well worth the 5 hours to get here! The fatigue quickly forgotten.

I noticed that the wind had suddenly picked up now that we were standing high above the lake stretched out before us. It was freezing! I put the layers I had taken off during the hike back on and found a spot to drop our bags and sit to enjoy the view and eat our snacks. I sat and watched people walk out onto the Tongue for their photos and my stomach turned as a few of them sat and dangled their legs over the edge. I had to look away.

There was a queue of people all waiting for their turn to get out so we took turns in lining up. There were about 20 people ahead of us but we overheard someone estimate that it was about a 1.5-hour wait.

“WHAT??! What the hell. I didn’t just walk 5 hours to get here then not walk out onto that Tongue. What’s another 1.5 hours?!”. So, we waited, not-so-patiently.

Mix of people in the queue and standing around deciding whether to get in the queue

It quickly became obvious that the reason it was taking 1.5 hours was because people would make their way from the front of the queue then down and out onto the Tongue, and have their photo taken by the next person standing in the queue up above. When the photo was done, they would make their way back up to the queue, get their camera from the person in front of the queue who would only then start to make their way down and out onto the Tongue. From the front of the queue down and onto the Tongue was taking people around 10 minutes each time. Hubby and I stood there thinking “WTF??!”.

We watched as this continued for 30 minutes and we were getting frustrated. I left my place in the queue to see what on earth was taking people so long to get out onto the Tongue and that’s when I saw it! The 5 metal rungs that people had to climb down to get to the lower level of the Tongue, then the section of boulders they had to climb over with a sheer drop into the lake below on either side. ‘Bloody hell! No wonder it’s taking so long’, I thought. And then the realisation hit – oh shit. We’re going to have to climb down that and through that??!

I approached the people at the front of the queue and offered to take the photo for them so they could start making their way down to the Tongue ready to take their place as soon as the previous person was done. Some people obliged, happy with the initiative to speed things up. Others refused, insistent that they wanted their friend who was next in line to take the photo because they knew exactly how to… while happily holding up the queue for a good 10 minutes each time. Fair enough. We all walked several hours to get here. Whatever. I guess we’ll just wait… and watch… and wait.

It was amusing watching people strike a pose while we waited. I shared their joy in making it this far and onto the Tongue which was obvious in all their weird and wacky poses. There was one lady who was clearly terrified of being out on the Tongue and she crawled her way out on all fours all the way to the centre. I had to chuckle because it was a funny sight but silently admired her guts.

As we got closer to the front of the queue, we befriended a group of young Singaporeans who were behind us and asked if they could take our photos and we would do the same for them. They happily obliged and the next few minutes were spent showing them how and where we wanted our photos taken from. Since there were 5 of them, they were more than happy to take photos from a couple of different angles using their phones and airdropping the photos to us later. We did the same for them with Hubby taking photos from one spot, and I another.

As it was our turn to head down to the Tongue, my heart started pounding and I felt myself getting nervous as I climbed down the metal rungs, but there was no turning back now. If there were any last-minute panic attacks from Hubby or Mig, it was too late. We were committed. My nervousness escalated as I climbed over the slippery boulders leading onto the flat runway-like surface of the Tongue. I was painfully aware that on either side of the boulders was a sheer drop down to the lake 700m below, most likely hitting rocks on the way down. It was sure death so I quickly pushed that thought out of my mind. Adding to that nervousness was the knowledge that this was the point where the only death on the Tongue had occurred several years prior – when an Australian traveller accidentally slipped and fell to her death.

Boulders to climb over to get onto the Tongue's surface

Once over the boulders, being out on the Tongue felt surreal. Very calming and peaceful. It’s a lot wider than it looks and wasn’t scary at all. In fact, it felt like I was being cradled on it – forgetting that this piece of rock was hanging over nothingness. The Tongue’s surface is inclined (something not so obvious looking at it) so when you’re on it you can’t actually see the lake directly below you unless you leaned over the edge - and who would be crazy enough to do that?? That gave me comfort knowing that I wasn’t going to roll off the edge into the lake below as I made the ‘uphill’ walk towards the end. I felt so safe on it that if I hadn’t pre-agreed with Hubby that I wouldn’t sit and dangle my legs over the edge, I wouldn’t have been totally opposed to it at that point in time – even if to just sit and take in the view.

We were conscious of the queue waiting and our new friends tasked to take our photos (not to mention the many pairs of eyes all watching us as we had watched those before us) so we quickly took our positions for the mandatory glory pics. It would’ve been nice to be able to stay out on the Tongue a few minutes longer just to soak it all in but I felt a bit frazzled by the queue of people waiting for their turn.

We made it! 

Back at the top it was our turn to return the favour and take photos of the group of friends. After a few standing shots, each of them decided to sit and dangle their legs over the edge. It still made my stomach turn seeing someone do it even after experiencing the relative safety of standing on that same rock – and this time I couldn’t look away. I had to take their photo!

Some photos I took for the young Singaporean guys then airdropped to their phones afterwards

Some photos I took for the young Singaporean guys then airdropped to their phones afterwards

Some photos I took for the young Singaporean guys then airdropped to their phones afterwards

With renewed energy from having achieved our goal, and after what turned out to be a 2-hour break, we started our long walk back to the car. I was more mentally relaxed at this stage. We made it! This was the last hike, we achieved what we wanted to and were now homeward bound. My legs were already aching on the way up and I had a niggle in my left hamstring. That niggle turned into full-blown pain about 2 hours into our way down and I could barely bend my left leg. We still had an estimated 3 hours ahead of us and I was already limping but doing that for the next 3 hours would only make that leg stiffen. I continued walking and bending my knee as normally as I could – and that’s the way it was for the next 3 hours until we got to the carpark at 7:45pm – just over 12 hours since we started.

On the way down from the P3 carpark, we passed people who were looking just as fatigued – and worse – making their way down to the lower carpark. We had already offered a couple a lift down to their car in P2 so the car was full when we passed a lady supported by her partner walking gingerly with bare, blistered feet on the asphalt. I wanted to give her a lift. She looked like she was going to collapse and probably had another hour of walking in front of her. I felt her pain.

I have never felt so physically broken and in so much pain (except maybe childbirth) as I felt at the end of that hike. Everything ached. Muscles, tendons and bones I didn’t even know I had ached. So much so that I could barely hold myself up to sit at the table and lift the spoon to feed myself some post-hike dinner. Mig couldn’t even get out of the car for dinner and stayed asleep in the backseat while we ate.

I ended the hike declaring never again… only to find myself a few days later, physically and semi-mentally recovered, telling Hubby that IF I ever did it again, I would be staying overnight to watch the sunrise and I would make sure I was more physically fit. He replied by stating that he and Mig were officially resigning as my hiking buddies and I would have to do that hike with someone else.  

POST SCRIPT

There were all sorts of people that we came across on the trail. Young and old, those who were fit, average, and those who looked like they hadn't exercised in years. Some were dressed in Converse sneakers and street wear, some in shorts and t-shirt and clearly unprepared, others in proper hiking gear. There were also those who were carrying bigger packs and sleeping mats and tents on their backs. A couple of military-built looking guys were carrying large rucksacks with camping chairs attached to them. Those were the overnighters. 

My advice to anyone contemplating the hike...do it! It's well worth it. BUT...

1) Get fit(ter) - not so you can do the hike - you can do it even if you aren't fit as we and many others did - but it will be a more enjoyable experience if you aren't in pain and struggling. Young 20-something-year-olds and older fit people seemed to manage quite well. I have since met one other person that did the hike a few months after we did and she loved it. She's about my age (maybe a few years younger) and reasonably fit.

2) For goodness sake - dress appropriately and be prepared! There's enough information online. This isn't a hike that you can just decide to do on a whim. The young guys we met told us they had underestimated what the hike involved (no kidding). They were dressed in street wear. We encountered a young lady carrying a baby (<6 months old) in a baby carrier wearing soaked Converse sneakers and jeans walking through snow. She hadn't made it to the Tongue yet and still had a few kilometers of snow ahead of her - not to mention the walk back. Slipping on the icy trails would've not only meant injury to herself but to her baby - and that's without considering hypothermia. Another group of young guys we encountered on our way out were still in the earlier parts of the trail dressed in shorts and sneakers - with no backpacks in sight. I just silently wished them luck knowing what was to come.

“How was your trip?”

 If I had a dollar for every time we got asked that question, we’d be off on another trip. Not that I mind that question at all, but it’s one that I find difficult to answer - so depending on who’s asking and how much time I think they have, I either respond with a polite “Good. Really good.” or I might pick out one aspect of the trip and talk about that briefly.

The trouble with answering this question is – how do you answer it? REALLY answer it? I’ve tried to ask myself the same question and each time I come up with different answers. So now that we’ve been back to our ‘normal’ lives in Sydney for a couple of weeks I’ll attempt to answer it once and for all – for me at the very least, and for anyone else who wants to know the real, unfiltered answer to the question.

So, how was our trip?

It was INCREDIBLE. Incredibly tiring. Incredibly challenging. Incredibly draining. Incredibly exciting. Incredibly liberating. Incredibly educational. Incredibly uplifting. Incredibly overwhelming. Incredibly satisfying.

Incredibly tiring.

Logistics alone would have you in a pickle if you weren’t slightly organised. Anyone who knows me knows that I am far from organised and fly by the seat of my pants most days. But you have to be organised and for me, that’s tiring.

You need to be organised to pack up your life in a 4-bedroom house in Sydney and live out of a few suitcases that not only need to fall within airline weight restrictions but, more importantly, need to fit in the back of a car. At some point in the middle of the year, we had help from our “luggage fairies” (family in Madrid, Spain and Zug, Switzerland who served as luggage drop off and storage points) but despite that, managing and packing our luggage for each move - we counted 51 - gets tiring. To complicate matters further, we had to plan our wardrobe and pack for changing seasons that ranged from an Arctic winter to a Mediterranean summer and everything in between. Arguing about what goes where and what fits where gets tiring. 

Then of course there’s the sightseeing. But that’s a fun kind of tired so I didn’t mind that too much. It comes with the territory. Rarely do I get the chance to get so physically exhausted that it hurts. Everything hurts and you’re so tired you can’t even sleep. That’s what happened when we hiked for 5 hours crossing over the border from France to Switzerland one day, only to go back and do it all over again the next day at Mont Blanc. By the end of that second day, it hurt…but it was worth it. Then there was that day in Sarajevo, Bosnia where I did 2 walking tours in one day in the blistering summer heat, then went on to do a 5 hour walk the next day in the mountains surrounding Sarajevo (again in blistering heat) with Jasmin – a local who fought with the Bosnian Army against the invading Bosnian Serbs. There was no way we would’ve missed that opportunity to hear about the war first hand, so we pushed. I pushed, ending the day curled in a ball in bed with one of the worst migraines ever.

Then there was that day back in March when we had to journey across 2 continents and 3 countries in 1 day getting from our hotel in Asilah, Morocco to our accommodation in Lagos, Portugal via Seville, Spain. Our Moroccan guide drove us from Asilah to Tangier Port (Morocco) to catch a non-existent 12 noon ferry, we then took the 2pm ferry across the Strait of Gibraltar to Tarifa (Spain), caught the bus from Tarifa to Seville, picked up the rental car and drove 3 hours to Lagos, Portugal...bags in tow. THAT was tiring.

There were a few of those during our trip – times where we pushed ourselves beyond exhaustion but I wouldn’t have had it any other way. Otherwise, what was the point of even being there??!

Then there was the mental exhaustion when your brain has to work overtime trying to think and construct sentences in a different language... and decode a different language.  Out of the 10 months  spent in Europe and Morocco, we had 5 days in an English speaking city - London - where we could communicate freely, read signs without effort, read packaging, cooking instructions, and ingredients without having to think too hard. And just as we were starting to get used to key words in one language, we would move to a different country speaking another language. Sure there were English speaking people in most places but, apart from that, you're on your own (with Google Translate) to figure everything else out. It got to a point where I had gotten so used to simplifying my English using basic words so I could be understood that I felt my English starting to go downhill. There were at least 9-10 languages we had to navigate (not including Spanish dialects in the Basque Country or Galicia).

So it wasn’t all sunsets and margaritas but too much of that can get boring anyway.

Incredibly challenging.

This is where I reveal the ugly truth of long-term family travel. The trip was challenging on many fronts. Planning and managing the itinerary, managing the budget, researching, booking accommodation and transportation, keeping up with the kids’ formal schooling while ‘on the move’, taking care of things back in Sydney….

Luckily John is a Project Manager by profession so I was more than happy to leave most of the logistics of route planning, accommodation and transportation bookings, and budget management to him. He was even tracking our ‘burn rate’ on the budget. Who does that?? A Project Manager. Definitely a ‘must do’ though.

Meanwhile I took care of researching and planning the activities and sites to see, the kids’ (mostly Miguel’s) schooling, and anything else that needed attention back in Sydney. For the most part, I think this division of labour worked – although John might have a different view. We usually get along fine and can work as a team (after 22 years of marriage you would hope so!) so whilst it was challenging, this wasn’t really what I would consider ‘incredibly challenging’.

The incredibly challenging part comes from learning to live with a ‘new’ family dynamic – a dynamic where the 5 of us were all thrust together, living together 24/7 in a totally foreign environment doing things that were, in many ways, pushing personal boundaries. Add to that the fact that our kids are not so young with a wide age range (9, 15, 18) and, as with the nature of many teens, they can be quite outspoken (opinionated), strong-willed (stubborn), and self-absorbed (self-centred). Getting them interested and engaged in everything we, as parents, found interesting and engaging was not only incredibly challenging, it was downright emotionally exhausting. Whilst their input had been sought on the itinerary, we had a full year and different seasons… so we had to plan accordingly and couldn’t possibly do everything that everyone wanted within the first few months. That led to friction. A lot of friction.

Here we were, 5 of us, suddenly living with each other 24/7, often in tight spaces, in a totally foreign environment, forced to work as a team, totally dependent on each other. It was a pressure cooker waiting to explode and explode it did.

I hit my first low point 3 weeks into the trip spending Christmas Eve in tears. It was supposed to be one of the highlights of the trip – the White Christmas where we would all bond and have a magical and meaningful Christmas as a family. In the lead up there had been several arguments - few were getting sick of visiting Christmas Markets. And, apparently, on this night of nights, the same few were not as thrilled as I was about going to the little chapel in Obendorf (Austria) where the famous Christmas carol ‘Silent Night’ originated to hear it sung in the original German version by candle light on Christmas Eve. Nor were they thrilled about attending midnight mass in Salzburg Cathedral…and they made sure I knew it.

We were off to a rocky start in those early weeks with several arguments and yelling matches escalating to a child (who shall remain nameless) prematurely packing bags and catching the train solo to Zug, Switzerland for some time out. The  rest of us continued on with the planned journey from Vienna, Austria to the Czech Republic. This was early January –  4 weeks into our year away. It was going to be a loooonnnngggg year.

The ‘prodigal child’ eventually returned a week later to join us in Frankfurt, Germany enroute to our Lapland arctic adventure.

Add to this the different personalities of family members where you have a couple of ‘passive peacemakers’ and a few ‘loaded firecrackers’; a couple of ‘high energy’ individuals together with ‘I need my space’ individuals; a few ‘control freaks’ (ok maybe just one) and the ‘don’t tell me what to do’ types – all of which are magnified under the pressure and strains of travel. People don’t change. We weren’t going to change - but we somehow needed to learn to live with each other, function as a team, and enjoy each other’s company… THAT was the challenge – a mighty big one.

Good or bad, I now know more than I wanted to know about every family member’s personality - including my own - than I did a year ago.

Incredibly draining.

See above – ‘Incredibly tiring’ and ‘Incredibly challenging’. All of that sustained over an extended period of 13 months was incredibly draining.

After a day of hiking the Tre Cime in the Dolomites, Italy in early August I hit the lowest point in the trip as I stood outside our apartment staring at the beautiful mountain views. I was seething. It had been another day of fights – the family was sick of hiking - and I had had enough. What was the point of us coming all this way if we weren’t going to experience what the place had to offer?? I cursed myself for coming up with the idea for the year away. What was I thinking?? It was the worst idea ever, no one appreciated anything, it was a complete waste of time and money, a total and utter failure. I was ready to pull the plug and go home.

But, of course, after moments like this you just take a deep breath, pull your big girl socks up and keep going…

Incredibly exciting.

Who doesn’t get excited about travelling to a new place, meeting new people, doing new things? No explanation needed.

Everything was exciting. The Christmas markets; the snow storm; driving through the snow storm; dog-sledding in Lapland; learning about arctic life and people at the Arktikum; seeing the Northern Lights; learning and speaking Spanish; living in and exploring the back streets of Seville; engaging in local festivities; experiencing Northern Morocco; driving for hours across some of the most remote and scenic landscapes in Northern Spain; watching the sunset over Duoro river while sipping on Port wine in Porto, Portugal; market days at cute French villages; photographing and picnicking by the lavender fields in Provence; hiking in the French, Swiss and Italian Alps; walking through WW1 trenches in Italy; walking through bombed out ruins from the Croatian and Bosnian wars; swimming in the warm Mediterranean sea without fear of sharks or jelly fish; driving through deserted mountain roads in Bosnia; catching several ferries across countries and continents; meeting and speaking to convicted criminals; swimming with the turtles and jelly fish…

It’s all exciting…to the point that exciting becomes the new normal.

Incredibly liberating.

There’s a joke between John and I (more his joke than mine) that I am the CFO (Chief Financial Officer) but he is the CEO. Read into that what you will but it’s an undisputed fact that I am the family financial controller. From managing investments and savings to paying bills, to organising all sorts of insurance, to staying on top of our tax obligations… I do it all. So it was incredibly liberating to let go of that for a whole year and let John manage the budget and finance for our trip away. I would just ask for money when I needed it and spent it when I needed to. That felt so good - so good that I refused to look at my emails or check the physical mail received online for the first 7 months to find out what was going on back in Sydney. I don’t think I even checked our bank balances. I didn’t care, nor did I want to know. Before leaving I ensured we had tied up all loose ends but if something was overlooked or came up while we were away – too bad. I needed a break. By July there was a pile of physical mail waiting for us in Switzerland care of my sister-in-law who flew in from Sydney. Needless to say, there were a few fires that needed to put out by that stage… but I had had a good break from it all by then.

Apart from the obvious freedom of not having to work during the year, what was equally refreshing was not having to run around trying to juggle schedules on weekends filled with sporting commitments, kids’ birthday parties, and other social obligations. It was just us. We owned our time and had full control over that time. We did what we wanted, when we wanted – without having to consider anyone else. That probably sounds incredibly selfish but I’m sure if everyone just stopped and thought about it, you would realise how much of your time you really don’t own. Some might be totally fine with that. I wasn’t.

Incredibly educational.

One of the key reasons for this trip was education. A chance to expose the kids (and ourselves) to different lives, cultures, historical places, and experiences.

We learned about the Spanish and Portuguese conquests and the Spanish Inquisition relating them back to our history and roots in the Philippines. From the Spanish side we learned how religion was used as a means of control over colonies and people and the abuses committed as a result. 

We learned more about the cruelty of WW2 with a visit to Dachau Concentration Camp and saw how these camps were designed for mass murder; we understood how these camps and the cruelty within remained a mystery to their neighbours; we learned how Hitler rose to power ending with the war crime convictions that followed in the famous Nuremburg Trials; we stood on the podium where Hitler stood at the Nazi Party rally grounds in Nuremburg where he addressed thousands of his followers as I tried to gain a perspective and understand the popularity and appeal of one of the most evil men in history. We learned how Switzerland, a country that had positioned itself as neutral territory during WW2, was prepared for an invasion from the Axis troops (Italy) with several military fortresses built into their mountains. Until recently, these fortresses were unknown to the outside world. We stayed in the village where the Italian dictator, Mussolini, was eventually executed outside a home near Lake Como as he tried to escape to Switzerland towards the end of WW2.

We learned about WW1 beyond Gallipoli and how it all started in a tiny city called Sarajevo. We walked the WW1 trenches of the Dolomites where there was intense fighting between Austro-Hungarian and Italian troops, ending in Austro-Hungarian defeat.

John learned how to drive in the snow – in a snow storm, in fact. He learned how to shovel snow off a car, scrape ice off a windscreen, discovered that you need to plug the car in overnight or it won’t start the next morning, and how making a last-minute decision to turn right when driving on icy roads leads you into a pole.

We learned about the Sevillanos and their way of life - how a city that on the outside appears to be entrenched in religious tradition to the point of fanaticism is actually quite divided on the inside. We learned about Sarajevo and how Sarajevans manage to retain a sense of humour and optimism despite the cruelty they have lived through. We experienced Polar Nights and arctic life which is a world away from the life we have on the opposite end of the globe down under. For the first time I learned to appreciate cave art and an entire civilisation from an era that I had little interest in before discovering the caves of Lascaux and Les Eyzies, France.

We learned about the former Yugoslavia - a region we knew very little about. So little that I wasn't even sure what Yugoslavia was. Nor was I sure if the war in Bosnia was actually over.  We learned about Sarajevo and what really happened there, and elsewhere in Bosnia. As a teen in the 90s, Bosnia and Sarajevo had become familiar names to me for all the wrong reasons. We learned about the wars that led to the break-up of Yugoslavia, and how people felt about life then and now. We saw how countries faced with war can take years to recover - if at all. I shudder to think what the future holds for Syria and other war torn countries. 

We learned that being able to speak 3 languages is the norm for most Europeans, while the Moroccans that we met are able to speak 5-6 languages. Being able to speak English is a definite advantage but quite useless when travelling outside key cities… and if it’s the only language you can and are willing to speak then good luck.

Despite the proximity of countries to each other within Europe, the progress and prosperity of a neighbouring country stops at the border, as with the language. The cultural division between neighbouring countries and cultures is so pronounced, it’s amusing. The French and Spanish, the Spanish and Portuguese, the Swiss and Italians, the Croatians and Bosnians, the Italians and Austrians. Groups of people can be so different yet are all the same. Despite the wars that they’ve been through and the political bull dust they’re now living in, everyone just wants security, a means of making a decent living, and to be able to get on with their lives.

You’re never too old to get educated.

Incredibly uplifting.

When you spend a day with someone who has been shot at, who has witnessed cruelty and death and has faced death himself, who was betrayed by friends who wanted to kill him, yet somehow manages to maintain a sense of humour and optimism despite that, you can’t help but be in awe - and feel incredibly grateful for the life that you have devoid of that cruelty and need for survival. Suddenly my woes about daily traffic on the M2 and the ridiculous cost of living in Sydney paled in comparison. I have no doubt that Jasmin and his family suffer invisible scars from the war in Sarajevo, but their survival and optimism are a testament to the resilience of the human spirit. We can all learn from people like him.

Likewise, when you realise that you can have conversations and communicate with people without a common language. Despite seemingly having nothing in common, you have plenty in common. It just takes a willingness to listen and understand.

The world is a safe place and people are kind. This is what we experienced on this trip, and previous trips, where we’ve ventured outside our comfort zone to places and countries where our safety may have been deemed questionable. Questionable only due to our ignorance and unfamiliarity with the place. Bosnia is one country I didn’t imagine us going to, ending up there merely by chance. Yet it’s turned out to be one of the most interesting places we’ve visited. Our first foray into the predominantly Muslim country of Morocco several years ago washed away our fears and gave us one of our best travel experiences, so much so that we went back again on this trip to explore a different part. Even conversations with a convicted murderer and rapist at Iwahig Prison in the Philippines challenged my prejudices, making me realise that not every convicted person is, or should be treated, as a lost cause. Many people are there because of poverty and circumstance, not because they’re a murderous psychopath.

It's uplifting to see that despite all the craziness peddled in the media, when you get out into the real world, people are inherently good and the world is generally a safe place. Wars aren’t started by people from different cultures or religions. They’re started by idiots.

Incredibly overwhelming.

See ‘Incredibly exciting’.

We saw some of the most beautiful monuments, walked through many interesting cities, and hiked and drove across some of the most breathtaking landscapes. Doing that over an extended period gets overwhelming. Feeling the need to see it all and do it all gets overwhelming.

There were many times when I wanted to do more, but our bodies (and minds) couldn’t keep up. In Bosnia, we wanted to go to Srebrenica, then I wanted to go to Serbia; in Switzerland, I wanted to go up and hike around the Matterhorn; in the Philippines, I wanted to go to Bataan. There were many things I still wanted to do but, in the end, I couldn’t keep up with myself.

Incredibly satisfying.

The biggest satisfaction comes from knowing we didn’t throw the towel in and come home early like we had threatened to several times, to not have that ‘what if’ or ‘should have’ hanging over our heads. We did what we set out to do. Had we thrown the towel in too early we wouldn’t have seen the fruits of our earlier challenges.

The family dynamics changed from the rocky start and by the end of the trip we learned to deal with (or tolerate) each other better – I think.

Kat and Bea developed a sisterly bond which I didn’t think was possible – from sharing make up tips, to sharing clothes and ‘boy notes’. I put it down to their sharing a room in most places – something they don’t have to do at home in Sydney. We also learned the art of compromise – I let them skip some sightseeing on the condition that they needed to participate in activities deemed ‘non-negotiable’ without fuss and attitude. I feel both sorry and disappointed for them – for the things they missed out on because they preferred to stay home and watch Netflix. I will never understand it but had to pick my battles.

We identified the ‘high energy’ individuals and called them out when their energy was disrupting other family members’ peace. With the number of hours spent on the road, there was also a lot of conversation – more than we would have had leading our ‘normal’ lives in Sydney under one roof but totally detached from one another. The kids talked about and consulted us on career and educational choices, dreams and goals. I liked having the open conversations and being able to impart some ‘parental wisdom’ about their choices. Then there was the endless nagging (negotiation) about getting a dog when the trip was over.

We settled into our roles in Team Travel so we were no longer stepping all over everyone and getting in each other’s way. By the end of it, everyone either knew what they needed to do or accepted that they needed to do something and not be an idle spectator. At some point on our 5-month road trip I became redundant as co-captain (happily so) while Kat took over the packing, navigation, and coordination of arrival times with our hosts – many of whom didn’t speak English. When she decides to travel the world on her own, she’ll be more prepared than others her age.

Bea and Miguel have developed a sense of independence and confidence that wasn’t there before. They too have grown up before my eyes.

Lastly, and probably most importantly, I’ve come home more content.

Before the trip, I had visions of grandeur wanting to leave the Big Smoke, to live in a small village in rural France or Spain. I wanted to get away from everyone and everything that was going on around me, around us. If we had to work, I wondered whether we could move to London and start a new life there, or even Spain, Germany, or France. Anywhere but Sydney.

In hindsight, I think we were simply burnt out – I was burnt out – not by work, but by life. It seems we have it pretty good in Sydney – or Australia in general. I know people keep saying that but until you get to see the other side, you don’t really know where the grass is greener.

Where else can you take a year off work and come back to your job? American, Spanish, English, Portuguese, French, Swiss, Filipino…. it didn’t matter who we talked to – this was never heard off in their part of the world. It should be, but it isn’t.

Distance education… Australia is set up for it – not just at University level but in Primary and Secondary levels. Again, unheard off with many. Home schooling would probably be the closest but that’s a whole level harder than simply supervising a pre-determined curriculum and lesson plan. While I have my misgivings about the whole Distance Ed curriculum thing (ie. having to do 6 weeks’ worth of work on Coral Reefs while we were in the middle of the Alps with no sea nearby; or having to study about ancient Egyptian pyramids when we are walking around the old city of Dubrovnik which is equally interesting), we are lucky to have it and to be able to use it as we try to raise socially aware children while keeping up with formal schooling requirements.

Needless to say, I no longer have the immediate desire to permanently run off to some remote village in Spain or France. It’ll always be there waiting - if and when we’re ready. For now, we're back where we need to be.

So in a nutshell, THAT was our trip. Congratulations if you've reached this point.