Bad news

Date:
09.08 2020

Day: 07

Country:
Norway

Location:
Parking lot: reference to historical finds

Daily kilometers:
414 km

Total kilometers:
1439 incl. Ferry

Travel time:
17 hours incl. Ferry

Soil condition:
Asphalt / Sea

Sunrise:
05:15 h

Sunset:
9:27 pm

Temperature day max:
27°

Night temperature:
22°

Departure:
09:00 a.m.

Arrival time:
02:00 a.m.

(Photos of the diary entry can be found at the end of the text).

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5:00 a.m. “Uuuaaahhh,” I yawn, welcoming the new day. “Did you sleep well?” asks Tanja, half awake, half asleep. “Super. Considering that we’re here at the harbor in Rostock, the night was incredibly quiet.” “That’s right, it was a good choice of camp,” Tanja replies, slowly peeling herself out of the comforter.

After a delicious muesli breakfast, we are already standing in front of a barrier at 6:30 a.m. that prevents access to the inner harbor area. Only after we have entered our ticket number and other details does it open and we join the queue of waiting vehicles. “I’ll go to the front and have a look at the ferry,” I say to Tanja. I walk through the row of waiting motorhomes, cars and motorcycles in a good mood. On the way to the front, I exchange a few words with one or two people. The atmosphere is pleasant, the weather is perfect and I’m really looking forward to being on the road again. “You have a great vehicle,” says one of the people waiting. “Yes, it’s a lot of fun,” I reply with a laugh. “Looking at the world map on your vehicle, you seem to be traveling a lot?” “Oh yes. It will be 30 years in 2021,” I reply and tell the father a little about our big trip. Minutes later, I’m standing at a barrier. From here I am able to watch the ferry disgorge its cargo. Vehicles of all kinds, with and without trailers, motorhomes, motorcycles and trucks whizz past me. The police pull out one car or another according to patterns I don’t recognize. Some of the drivers have to completely unload their vehicles. “I hope that doesn’t happen to us when we get to Sweden,” I think to myself. After the mobile cargo has left the ferry, the rope barrier is pulled aside. I quickly sprint to our Terra Love and swing myself into the driver’s seat. “Off we go?” asks Tanja. “Yes,” I reply. Dong, dong, it clatters beneath us as we drive over the ferry’s large, heavy loading ramp. The trackers laugh at us when they see the Terra. “Welcome aboard,” someone calls out and waves us into the leftmost lane. “Have you put your handbrake on?” I ask the driver of the van standing close in front of us, because it often happens that vehicles crash into each other when there are waves. The reasons for this are that drivers have forgotten to engage the gear and apply the handbrake. “Sure,” replies the man. “I hope they do too?” he asks with a laugh. A short time later, an announcement is made over the on-board loudspeakers that every passenger must leave their vehicle during the crossing for safety reasons. We get out, take Ajaci on a leash and walk up the steps to the upper deck. There we sit down in one of the plastic chairs, enjoy the sun and watch as the ferry leaves the port of Rostock an hour late. Because a cool wind comes up during the crossing, we move inside. Passengers are made aware of the coronavirus-related hygiene regulations everywhere. Some stick to it, some don’t. We sit in a corner on upholstered chairs. While Tanja knits a new jacket, I read my Viking book. “What do they mean now?” wonders Tanja. “What?” I ask, looking up from my book. “Oh, I’m not quite clear on the knitting instructions,” she replies. “I’ll go to the woman in front. She knits too, maybe she can help me.”

“Successful?” I ask when Tanja returns 10 minutes later. “Bad news.” “She doesn’t know her way around either?” “Yes, she does, but I think we have a problem. The two of them spontaneously decided to go to Sweden because of the overcrowded campsites in Germany. They told me that the Norwegians don’t allow Swedes and travelers from Sweden into their country because of corona,” I hear, which sends my mood plummeting. “What? That can’t be right,” I say, stunned. “And what do we do now?” “My knitting colleague’s husband read on the Foreign Office website that there’s only one chance to enter Norway from Sweden.” “And what’s that?” I ask impatiently. “By driving non-stop to the Norwegian border after leaving the ferry. This means that if we don’t spend the night in Sweden and only stop to refuel and do a dog walk, it counts as transit. At the border, we’ll have to show our ferry ticket as proof and shouldn’t have any problems.” “Does the man know how far it is to the first Swedish-Norwegian border from Trelleborg?” “I think he was talking about 300 to 400 km.” “Okay, then we won’t take five days on the journey through Sweden as planned and we’ll drive to Norway today,” I say, feeling relieved. “No problem, we can take turns driving,” says Tanja confidently.

I look out of the cloudy window at the vast Baltic Sea and am annoyed that I didn’t find out more about the border regulations before we set off. Because the Danes only allow travelers into their country who have booked accommodation for at least five or six days due to this catastrophic corona crisis and we didn’t want to stay in Denmark for a week just to be allowed to take the ferry to Norway, we decided to enter Norway via Sweden. Who would have thought that the Scandinavians would lock each other out? Although if I had thought a little more, I can understand the Norwegians. Sweden, with its special path and policy of mass immunity, has led to high case numbers and deaths. “I really hope that the Norwegians will let us into their country and that we won’t be in for any more nasty surprises,” I mused.

After an 8 ½ hour crossing, we roll out of the belly of the ferry onto Swedish soil. Here, too, we are greeted by sunshine and friendly customs staff. After a quick passport check, we leave the port of Trelleborg. Just a few kilometers further on, we stop to get our bearings. As we don’t have a Swedish cell phone map, I’m unable to call up the map to navigate to the Norwegian border. “Can you park here?” a motorhome driver asks me. “I don’t know, we’ll only be here for a few minutes and then drive on. Where are you from?” I want to know. “We’re Swedish and live in Gothenburg.” Oh, then surely you know the name of the nearest border crossing to Norway and how far it is from here?” “The border is at Swinesund, about 600 kilometers from here. I think it will take you 7 to 8 hours with your fantastic expedition vehicle.” “Wow, that’s further than we thought. In order for the Norwegians to let us into their country, we have to get there today,” I reply. “Yes, I know, we would have loved to go on vacation to Norway this year, but they won’t let us in. That’s one reason why we’re vacationing in our own country.” “Sweden is also very nice. I think we’ll travel from northern Norway via Sweden back to Germany,” I say and say goodbye. “Have a good trip!” the Swede calls after us.

“It’s a shame that we have to drive through Sweden so quickly now. I would have liked more time to arrive in Scandinavia first,” I say. “If I hadn’t spoken to my knitting colleague on the ferry, you would have had all the time in the world to get here. Then we wouldn’t have crossed the border,” Tanja replies. “Ha, ha, ha, you’re right. It’s crazy where life takes you and how quickly things can change. I’m very glad that the knitting instructions were so difficult to understand.”

The lovely landscape with its green hills and partly harvested fields glides past us. Windmills appear and remind us of another time. I get dog-tired on the rest of the journey, which is why Tanja gets behind the wheel and drives most of the way. We reach the Swedish border at around 1:30 a.m. and cross the Sinesund Bridge that connects Sweden and Norway. Below us in the darkness of the night lies the fjord of the same name. “Maybe there’s no border control at all? Could it be that the officials are all asleep at this time of night?” I ponder as large buildings suddenly appear in front of us. “Looks kind of scary,” I say, as there is not a single vehicle to be seen, let alone people.

Because of Ajaci, we are not allowed to cross the border just like that, but have to declare him to customs. We find the right building. A young officer sits behind a plexiglass screen and greets us in a friendly manner. We hand him our passports and Ajaci’s vaccination papers. A tapeworm vaccination must be entered in the dog’s vaccination certificate. It must be administered at least 24 hours before entering Norway and must not be older than 120 hours. “I wish you a pleasant stay,” says the uniformed man with a smile and hands us back our passports. “Are we finished now?” we ask, a little confused, as he doesn’t ask about our ferry ticket. “Yes, you can enter the country.” “Is it true that you can only enter Norway if you take the direct route from the ferry to the border?” I ask. “I can’t tell them that. That’s a matter for the police and they’re here at customs,” he explains, whereupon we say goodbye, get into the Terra and leave. “So the police check is still to come,” I realize as we slowly drive past the buildings and wait for a policeman to stop us. However, the area remains deserted and before we know it we are uncontrolled in Norway. “Yippie!” I shout joyfully and wide awake. Tanja and I give each other a high five. “Welcome Norway,” Tanja calls out with relief.

A few kilometers past the border, we head for a deserted parking lot at 2:00 in the morning. We immediately crawl into bed and fall into a deep sleep…