The special responsibility of motorhome owners

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

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Because we have no connection to the Internet at Hauklandstrand, i.e. no Internet connection despite the router in our Terra Love, and one of our partners needs a few pictures, we are looking for a new location. I study the map to find a place that looks uninteresting for tourists and where we have a chance to simply stand without one of the stupid prohibition signs telling us off. “The village of Eggum is almost at the northernmost point of the island of Vestvågøya. It looks good there,” I say confidently and at this point I don’t know how I could be wrong. We leave the beach and drive through a tunnel that gives us the impression that the dragon Schmauch lives at its end, just waiting to spit its deadly fire at us. A few kilometers further on, we turn back onto European Route 10, which starts in Å, connects the Lofoten archipelago and ends after 880 km in Luleå in Sweden. A good hour later, we are rolling at walking pace through the tiny village of Eggum. At the end of the village we are greeted by another sign stating that you can only park here for a fee. “Unbelievable, the Norwegians really do charge for almost every patch of ground you could stand on,” I grumble. “I don’t want to defend them, but I could imagine that all hell breaks loose here in the main season. They’re protecting themselves from all the wild parkers. You wouldn’t want cars or camper vans parked right in front of our garage entrance all the time either,” Tanja objects. “No, I wouldn’t like that and the campers have probably brought all the prohibition signs on themselves with their misbehavior.” “Not everyone is misbehaving,” Tanja warns me not to generalize. “Yes, you’re right about that too. It’s a pity that there are always black sheep everywhere who leave their campsites littered, empty their toilets and dump dirty water. It’s absolutely incomprehensible, but it doesn’t cost any effort to take away the garbage you’ve brought with you. They don’t even have to carry it, but can drive their waste to where it can be disposed of without harming the environment and inconveniencing local residents. Of course I would also put up prohibition signs to protect my land. It will be interesting to see whether prohibition signs will soon be erected everywhere in Germany too, forbidding you to spend the night in a freely chosen place,” I say sourly. “I’ve already heard that it must be bad in some parking lots in front of tourist attractions. The local authorities won’t stand by for long,” says Tanja. “That’s probably what will happen, and as motorhome owners we are somehow also role models. Such a vehicle costs a lot of money, goes almost everywhere and is seen as something special by many people. Many consider us to be privileged. Maybe not so much in Norway, but certainly in many other countries. When you hold such a privileged position, you automatically have a special responsibility as an ambassador for your country and culture. “Anyway, let’s turn back. I think I saw a place a few hundred meters down the road where they dry their stockfish in summer,” I say, turning the Terra around and leaving the pretty village of Eggum behind us.

“You want to drive up there?” Tanja is skeptical, because the plateau consists of fist-sized, sharp-edged boulders. “Ha, ha, ha. You’re funny. We’re sitting in a serious off-road vehicle with 24 gears and three differential locks, which is also equipped with heavy, coarse-tread off-road tires. That’s a laughable joke for our Terra.” “That’s all right. I know. I just wanted to ask if those sharp-looking rocks could damage our tires.” “They can’t,” I say, giving in, engaging the first reduction gear to be on the safe side and steering the Terra at walking pace onto the plateau right by the sea. “No wonder there’s no prohibition sign here, because a normal motorhome would be exposed to extreme stress on the ground,” I say, satisfied with the wonderful pitch for the night. While Tanja uses the last rays of sunshine to take Ajaci for a walk on the nearby small, paradisiacally beautiful beach, I use the time to study the aurora forecast for tonight. “Doesn’t look so great,” I say to Tanja later. Nevertheless, I go outside at 10 p.m. equipped with a tripod and cameras and watch the sky expectantly. The atmosphere at night is different to the last two days on the beach, but no less impressive. At the end of the illuminated road, the lights of Eggum shine towards us in a dark orange. Above the remote hamlet lies a diffuse greenish aurora in which countless stars twinkle. On the other side, exactly opposite Eggum, the moon is rising. “Wow!”, I exclaim for the hundredth time on this trip, as the moon slowly creeps behind a carpet of clouds, behind which pulsating northern lights unite in a broad band. The street lighting bathes the otherwise dark black rocky ground of the region in a warm, sparkling light. I stand there fascinated, listening to the soft clicking of my camera as it freezes the ever-changing natural spectacle in pictures every 10 seconds.

Because we like it here, we decide to spend the next day here to write down our experiences and archive pictures…