Chapter 0: In which a Norwegian meets the American South

Getting off the plane instantly sends me into a state of confusion. Inside everything is as expected. But now I’m stepping out into a whole new world. I say goodbye to the stewardess at the door. He smiles back, but his smile doesn’t reach her dark brown eyes. I’m not surprised, since I’m among the last to leave and he’s been working hard for the last 10 hours to make us passengers as happy as possible.

From snow to steam

The first thing that hits me is a blast of warm, humid air. My first sensory shock of the afternoon. When I left Bergen airport about 16 hours earlier, I had just walked through 3 inches of fresh snow. A welcome change after weeks of dryness. Even the toughest men of Viking blood have been seen perusing the lotion aisle this winter, trying (literally) to keep their skin from drying out and falling apart in the freezing cold.

This is a world apart from the home I left. I’m inside the airport building, but I can already feel the level of humidity which can only be more intense once I leave. The air is a welcome change, but also quite hard on my lungs. I find myself thinking about my asthma medication, stored safely at the bottom of my carry-on, out of reach. It’s not that bad, but I’ll probably feel the abrupt change for a day or two.

Fortunately, there are very few lines at customs and immigration, and everything goes very well. I head home and then to the northbound MARTA train. Well, not before I received my second shock of the day.

Norwegian hospitality versus southern hospitality

Heading to the bathroom, I hear a voice behind me: «What a nice backpack!» It comes from a middle-aged man wearing khaki pants and a button-down shirt.

«Oh, thank you!» -I say surprised and perplexed. When I’m about to turn around, he continues with:

“What type is it?”

«It’s an osprey.»

«Good. Does it transport well?»

«Yes, it does.»

«Looks like it. I’ve been looking for a new package…» he continues.

And it continues.

I’m not upset, but I am very surprised. Did I just get stopped by a stranger who wanted to have a casual chat? What the actual fuck?!

Then I realize. Of course, he’s probably asking for marriage and I just fell into his trap. However, he seems more like a casual grandfather. The guy who’s still young and cool enough to go on adventures with his young grandkids. And he’s been talking for a while now, and it’s about backpacking and traveling. He doesn’t seem to address any topic that would lead him to ask me for something.

Oh no! I’m such an idiot! It surprises me: there is another, perhaps more likely, reason for this. It’s a decoy! I’m about to have my wallet stolen! As I smile and try not to let my inner emotions show (although my muscles are definitely tensing around the bag containing my passport and money).

“In fact, I’m going to Spain in the summer to do parts of the Camino de Santiago,” he says. Then he asks me where I’m going hiking. I mean, he sure is a very knowledgeable person for a decoy. Or maybe they’re just targeting bemused-looking newbies like me. You’ve read about some things about backpacking.

So I’m sorry. A very soft brush against the back of my backpack. There’s no way I would have felt it if it hadn’t been for my hyper alert being on full blast. I quickly turn to look at the attacker. It was the end of a leather bag belonging to a blonde woman among a group of other women. This doesn’t seem right. Why use so many people to steal wallets? It feels too orchestrated to be realistic. And if the smiling gentleman in front of me wanted things to go unnoticed, shouldn’t he prolong the conversation for so long?

At this point he could tell the police that he has blue eyes, white hair, that he is between 55 and 60 years old and that he wears sneakers. I know he’s about 6 feet tall and is the antonym of the picture you’d paint if you Googled «daring and skilled pickpocket expert.» And I can’t continue convincing myself that my head is interpreting a likely scenario. Why try to steal from the back of my backpack? It only has two things attached: a cheap sitting pad and some worn-out trekking poles.

One good person a day

I realize this guy just wants to chat about travel and backpacking. He even offers to help me if I need anything in the next few days. She has a friend who hiked the trail a few years ago and suggests she can connect us so I can ask someone who has done it for advice if I need it.

When we part a minute later, I’m still as perplexed as I was at the beginning. What just happened would never, under any circumstances, happen to me in Norway. Is this normal? I’m not sure I can handle this level of friendship. The confusion lasts all the way to my hotel, while I keep an eye out for more nice people. I’m not sure my heart can handle more than one a day.

Lights out at 8 pm

Finally it arrived. Lying in bed and one pizza delivery later, I look at my watch. It’s only 8 in the afternoon, but in my head it’s 2 in the morning. I passed out before my head hit the pillow. I’m already looking forward to a new day tomorrow.

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