Ronny and Jimmy

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

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Suddenly there’s a crunch on the ice. “An ambulance,” I say, looking out of the window in surprise. “What do they want from us?” wonders Tanja. “Hello,” I greet the two men in a friendly manner as they are about to get out of their ambulance. “Hello, we just wanted to find out if you’re all right?” asks one of the men. “Yes, thank you for asking, we’re doing very well.” “I apologize for opening the door and not introducing ourselves right away. My name is Ronny and I’m the emergency doctor for this region and this is my colleague Jimmy. We drive past on the coastal road every day and wondered who would stay in such a remote place for so long. We’ve never seen this before at this time of year and wondered if everything was OK?” “Oh, that’s very kind of you. Great of you to ask.” “It’s our job to be there for the residents of the island. We’re often called out for emergencies and if we can’t help, we drive people to the nearest hospital.” “How far is the nearest hospital?” Tanja wants to know. “About three hours’ drive from here. Sometimes longer, depending on the weather.” “You have a responsible job,” I say. “Yes, but when there’s nothing going on, life out here can be pretty monotonous. Where do you actually come from? You have a fantastic vehicle. My dream. Have you been on the road for a while?” Ronny wants to know. “For about 30 years. But we’ve only been in Norway for just under four months,” I reply. “30 years? Unbelievable,” Ronny and Jimmy are amazed at the same time. “In order not to let the 30 years just stand in space, we talk about ourselves and our travels, and time flies by. “That’s awesome. We’d love to talk to you for longer, but we have to finish our tour before it gets dark,” says Ronny after an hour and a half, with audible regret in his voice. “Thanks for the stories. We’ll see you again,” the two say goodbye and drive up to the road in their ambulance. At the top they honk again and disappear around the next bend. “The willingness to help is fantastic,” says Tanja. “Yes, and I think it’s nice that people in remote regions still have time for each other.”

In the few hours when the wind is holding its breath in preparation for the next storm, I let our flying eye, as we have named our drone, fly over the sea and along the beach. A little overconfident, I fly up to the snow-covered mountain ranges. At this distance, it is no longer visible to the naked eye. “I hope you don’t lose them,” warns Tanja, standing next to me. “The view from up there is really impressive,” I reply, showing her the display. “Very impressive. But watch out anyway. We’ve crashed a drone before.” “That wasn’t me. Someone else was flying it.” “Never mind, it showed us how easily one of those things can crash. Why don’t you let it hover over our heads?” she suggests. While the plane finds its way back from the mountains to us on the beach, Tanja, Ajaci and I go into the Arctic sea up to our ankles. As the drone stands above us, we spread our arms and look up. We jump up and down in rubber boots, protected from the cold water. We dance, trudge like little children into the outgoing waves and shout our joy to the sky again and again. Our flying eye shoots unforgettable pictures and captures the moment of joy, so that we will remember the carefree time later when we look at the pictures…