What matters in life

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

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We have seen a lot in our traveling life. When I think of our e-bike trip through China, I can see the monstrous and criminal pollution, the contamination of the air we breathe, the pollution of the rivers and the merciless degradation of the mountains. I see the people in the cities who can no longer leave their homes without a mask. Children who die because they no longer have fresh air to breathe. Chinese people who have air flown in from the Rocky Mountains in compressed air cylinders just so that their children can breathe clean air for a few hours a day and not a chemical cocktail. I see cities where visibility was barely a hundred meters, even though there was no rain, no fog and no cloud in the sky, to name just a tiny fraction of the human outrages we have seen and experienced. In contrast, the world still seems to be in order here in the north of Norway. What a refreshment for the soul, for our eyes, for our minds. A paradise that we must preserve at all costs. Even if I am seriously concerned about how many people we motivate to travel here through our descriptions and our journey through these last paradises on earth, and contribute to everything going down the drain here too. And yet I see it as our task and duty as documentarists to talk and write about the fact that such paradises still exist on our Mother Earth in the 21st century. These are the true jewels, the true treasures, the true wealth that we humans possess, even if many who live out there in the cities are increasingly forgetting what really matters in a person’s life. For me and Tanja, it is important to preserve our life platform, Mother Earth. So that our children, the children of the people, can continue to enjoy living here. When we look into the fjord from the viewing platform on which we are standing, with the smooth, clear and clean waters reflecting the reddish-brown houses as if they existed twice, when I see the power with which the elixir of life flows through the tidal stream between the narrow passage of two islands, how picturesque, beautiful wave-like patterns form on the tidal stream, and when we see the magical power with which the sun star scatters colorful leaves into the blue sky with a breeze, and when we see the magical power with which the sun star scatters the colourful leaves of the autumn trees into the blue sky with a breeze, Tanja and I know what is important and recognize with every breath the true treasures of all humanity, regardless of skin color, language or continent on which our brothers live.

From the town of Sortland, we follow the Fv 82 road to its very end at the northernmost tip of Vesterålen. There, on the island of Andøya, at the fishing harbor of the small town of Andenes, we are greeted by pretty houses that seem completely deserted at this time of year. Not a single tourist is to be seen in the otherwise busy harbor district. The accommodation and small guesthouses are closed. The streets are deserted. “Do they still have whale safaris here?” asks Tanja. We feel as if we are driving through a museum where people once lived in times long past. The sun is already low shortly before 5 p.m., which is why the beautiful, mostly white-painted wooden houses shine in a pleasantly warm light. We park the Terra not far from the fourth tallest fiery red lighthouse in Norway, which was built in 1859 to cope with the increasing shipping traffic. “Let’s walk around the neighborhood. Maybe we can find an organizer to take us out to sea to see sperm whales,” Tanja suggests. “SEA SAFARI” is written in large letters above the entrance to one of the pretty houses. We push the door handle. “Locked,” I say disappointedly. As we are about to move on, the door suddenly opens. A young couple greets us in a friendly manner. “Unfortunately, we’re closed,” says the woman. We learn that the two of them are from England and only took a job here a few days ago. “We want to experience the Arctic winter here.” “And what will you be doing when everything is closed?” I ask. “We don’t know yet, “we’ve been given a small accommodation where we first have to find our way around. Then we’ll meet our employer. Let’s see what we can do for him,” they explain. “And the whale safaris have actually been canceled for this year?” asks Tanja. “I think this organizer here has closed for the season, but there is another larger organizer. Why don’t you try there?” they recommend. We thank them, wish them good luck and continue our search. Next to the lighthouse, we discover a gray-yellow building that appears to be the Whale Safari Center. The automatic glass door actually opens as we stand in front of it. Inside there is a restaurant and café where four guests are seated. The reception, where you can apparently book tickets for a whale safari, is not staffed. “Look, there’s an information board,” Tanja points to a display. “Our next planned trip takes place tomorrow from 10:45 a.m.,” reads Tanja. “Super! What luck!” I shout happily. “Hopefully they still have a place for the three of us,” says Tanja. “Definitely. I can’t imagine that they’re fully booked during Corona and even more so in the off-season. I don’t even know where the guests are supposed to come from. Everything is deserted here,” I reply. Confident that we will be able to go on a whale safari tomorrow, we get back into the Terra, drive behind the building to a small gravel parking lot and park directly on the quay…