It was with a heart as heavy as my over-filled rucksack that I bade farewell to Damian and Raggy and set foot alone back into snow-filled landscape after a bustling week in Tromso. I reside here still with natural buzz in tow since being treated to a heady midnight spectical. After 4 nights of frosty and ultimately disappointed noses peering out at the unfilled night sky, my Tromso dream became a reality. I was beckoned mid nature-call with the news that she had arrived, and after a short, shoeless sprint I was sock-deep in the snow viewing the constantly folding wispy-green curtain of her majesty, the northern lights.
Ace.
Prior to this we visited the world's Northern-most brewery, the world's northern most bishopric and the world's northern most Burger King, sampled good coffee, fine ales, climbed a mountain, bum-sledged through icy streets, endured the best and worst (cabin floor, freezing, with cold) nights sleep, sold cigarettes, learnt, slept and learnt some more.
Tromso is an island only in geographical terms, it welcomes strangers and has care only for the moment. The mountains here are not statues but playgrounds. And I shall play.
Drifty Mcsnowdrift.
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