Close to madness

Date:
20.08.2020 until 21.08.2020

Day: 018 – 019

Country:
Norway

Location:
Homborsund lighthouse

Daily kilometers:
84 km

Total kilometers:
2073 km

Sunrise:
05:54 pm

Sunset:
21:04

Temperature day max:
20°

Night temperature min:
16°

Departure:
3:30 pm

Arrival time:
21:00

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

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“What’s that noise,” I ask myself half asleep. “Rain,” I diagnose the pattering on our cabin. “What did you say?” asks Tanja, who is also about to wake up. “Rain. The first rain since we left Germany,” I reply. “Luckily we’re not in a tent,” says Tanja, reminding me of the many weeks of rain in Russia and Siberia when we crossed the country on our bikes. “Yes, and it’s good that there aren’t millions of mosquitoes buzzing around us,” I say happily. “I don’t remember it. It’s only when I think about it that I could scratch myself all over,” says Tanja, yawning. “And the countless ticks. They’re all waiting outside the door now, but we won’t let them in,” I joke.

Before we set off, I write two texts and look for the matching pictures. Then we set off to find a fast food restaurant where we can use the Wi-Fi. “There’s one there in the shopping center,” Tanja navigates me. I find a parking space, pack my laptop, the new hard disk and the power cable. The restaurant is poorly frequented, the floor is sticky, the toilets are dingy and the atmosphere is not very pleasant. “It’s interesting how different these restaurants are, one is spotlessly clean and this one doesn’t make a good impression,” I note. “Would you like a cappuccino?” asks Tanja. “I’d love to,” I reply, plug the laptop into the socket under the seat, boot it up and log into the free Wi-Fi. The computer is downloading a few updates when Tanja reappears and puts the cappuccino on the table. “Thank you,” I say, reaching for the paper cup, my thumb catches unhappily on the edge of the cup and the dark yellow, hot torrent pours over the table on which my laptop is sitting, onto my shirt and trousers. “Shit!” I swear, jumping up and saving the laptop from the dangerous tide. “Did he get something on him?” is Tanja’s first reaction. “I think we were lucky this time,” I reply, my heart pounding, thinking of the disaster two weeks ago when Ajaci’s tail got caught in the laptop’s power cable and ripped everything off the table. “Hi, hi, hi, you shouldn’t bathe in your cappuccino, you should drink it,” jokes Tanja with relief. “Ha, ha, very funny,” I respond a little sourly, wiping the suds off my shirt and trousers. One of the employees rudimentarily wipes the table, the floor and the seats, then I take my seat again. “Hope that stuff comes out again?” I ask, pointing to my shirt and trousers. “I hope so too. Shall I get you a new one?” asks Tanja. “God forbid. I’ve had enough for now.” I start typing a few lines into the laptop. “Is that your vehicle out there?”, a 30-year-old man in tattered clothes suddenly asks me, leaning forward. “Yes,” I answer curtly, because I don’t feel like making small talk. “You’re from Germany?” “Yes, we are.” “They’ve closed the borders again. Germany is back on the red corona list. Did you know that?” he asks, having a coughing fit. Because the weird bird coughs on Tanja’s neck, she immediately gets up and sits down in another place. “Excuse me, but I’m online right now,” I say to stop any further communication. “What kind of tires do they have on their expedition vehicle?” he asks a minute later, accompanied by a cough, shoving his hamburger and fries into his mouth. Beep, beep, beep sounds incessantly from the kitchen as I try to get rid of the person I’m talking to. “And they’re going to the North Cape?” Beep! Beep! Beep! Cough! Cough! “I’ve never been up there, but I hear it’s beautiful.” Beep! Beep! Beep! Cough! Cough! “They can see the northern lights in winter.” Beep! Beep! Beep! Cough! Cough! “But I’ve been to Lofoten before.” Beep! Beep! Beep! Cough! Blow! “Sorry, but I have to work,” I try to remain patient. Beep! Beep! Beep! Cough! Cough! “I’m going mad,” I hear myself say. My shoes make smacking noises on the sticky floor beneath me, the seat next to me glistens with brown cappuccino stains, my trousers and shirt are possibly stained beyond repair and I long for our Terra. “Let’s go,” I say to Tanja, who is sitting two tables away from me.

Barely a hundred kilometers further on, we park with another motorhome in an idyllic spot surrounded by trees. The next day we go on another hike along the windy, heather-covered rocky coast. Our destination is the Homborsund Fyr lighthouse, one of the 212 lighthouses that once dotted the 83,000-kilometer Norwegian coastline. At the end of the headland, we discover Homborsund Fyr on the small rocky island of Store Grønningen off the coast. “Is it still occupied?” asks Tanja, sitting next to me on a rough rock. “If it’s still in operation, I don’t think there are any lighthouse keepers living there. Like most of the others, it must have been automated,” I reply. “Must have been a very lonely life,” says Tanja, pointing to the buildings that look lost in the choppy sea. “It must have been a lonely life. But the people weren’t stressed. Speaking of which, the motorhome driver in our parking lot told me that the tower is open from the end of June to the beginning of August. Maybe you can rent a room during this time,” I ponder. “Would be a good place to write your next book undisturbed.” “I love it quiet, but I think that would be a bit too quiet for me. Unless you were on the island with me.” “I’ve been to so many lonely places with you. As you know, I wouldn’t mind that. As long as I have enough to knit with.” “Well, that would make a lot of sweaters,” I reply with a laugh…