Travelling for me is not about ticking boxes. Not about doing ten activities in one day or chasing thrills like a reality show contestant. For me, travel is about people. The strangers who become stories. The conversations that quietly sit in your heart long after the photos are forgotten. I have already written pages about Tromsø. The lights. The snow. The frozen eyelashes. But when I look back, the real glow also came from the people we met. Like Håkon. I was sitting alone at a table in Sann Café, guarding my mushroom soup and freshly baked bread like a squirrel with winter supplies. The rest of the family had gone to order. From the corner of my eye, I had noticed the man at the next table earlier. He was enjoying a glass of Chardonnay with something called a Norwegian Sann burger. Which, let us be honest, is just a beef burger wearing a Scandinavian accent. He introduced himself. Håkon. From Tromsø originally, now living near Oslo. A teacher. In town for the annual film festival. H...
A few weeks ago, I was running a routine telephone clinic. As I glanced through the notes before the next call, I knew this would not be an easy conversation. She was a follow up patient, someone we had seen only a week earlier. That day, I had to do what doctors dread saying the words clearly and honestly. Her bowel cancer was advanced, widespread, and carried a poor prognosis. Continuing aggressive treatment for her head and neck cancer would only cause more suffering, without benefit. She already sensed this, but hearing it confirmed felt final, heavy, irreversible. When I asked how she was, she answered with unexpected calm. “I have accepted my illness,” she said. “And I know I am going to die soon. What is hardest is the waiting.” She spoke of the uncertainty, not knowing how, or when. The endless waiting that made her restless, unable to plan, unable to settle. She had always dreamed of going to Orlando. But travel insurance was impossible. Her husband, kind and determined, had e...