The Last Full Day

I wake up in my tent. “Oh, Tent” I think, “will you understand what’s happening when I pack you away tomorrow morning? Will you feel abandoned when I store you under my bed at Farmor’s house and don’t set you up for days, weeks, months? Thank you for being so reliable, dear Tent. Thank you for sheltering me all these months and for not tearing or breaking or falling under any kind of disrepair. I’ll miss you, Tent”. (Clearly I was one of those children who fell a little too hard for the Toy Story narrative, imagining all of her beloved possessions coming to life as soon as my head was turned, tents included). Last night I paid a stupid amount of money to set up my darling tent by a stretch of beach owned by the Rosfjord Sandhotell so that I could go swimming because it’s been hot as donkey balls these past few days. So I was very happily able to take an ocean bath before bed last night. Yup, you read that right – the ocean. Salty, watery proof that I am truly nearing the finish line. I haven’t seen the ocean, much less been in it, for a very long time. All the water I’ve been drinking, splashing around in, dipping my swollen feet in, and taking pictures of since I left Nordkapp has been fresh, drinkable fjord or river or lake water. I was actually a little caught off guard when I dipped my fingers into the water and brought them up to my lips yesterday. 

I roll over in my sleeping bag and turn off all the alarms I had so very optimistically set last night because I was all “oh my goodness, it’s my last day hiking, I should totally wake up at dawn to watch the sunrise and then go swimming in the ocean” none of which happened because it’s freaking cold at dawn and I’m just not that whimsical. 

I wake up for real a couple of hours later and realize it’s probably time to get up. I’m so lazy first thing in the morning, always. But that’s not just because I’m on this trip, I’ve been like that forever and ever. So I groan and moan and grumble a little as I change out of my pajama sweat pants and into my hiking leggings. Then I roll up my sleeping bag, throw all my crap into the big plastic Coop bag I’ve been carrying that I use to shove all my belongings into so I don’t have to put them on the wet grass outside my tent (because my tent and sleeping bag need to go into my pack first but obviously I need to get all my crap outside of my tent in order to pack it away to put it in my bag). Once all that business is done, I head over to the hotel to make use of their bathroom facilities, wall charging plugs, and wifi. 

A couple of days ago I got a very lovely email from a man named Knut who is also hiking Norge På Langs and who (at the time of sending the email) was only 2 days behind me even though he started like 2 weeks after me (I am still in the fight and not a slug – right mr. Olson?). Knut is super speedy and is planning on finishing the same day as me, so I very hopefully suggested we meet up before the end and discuss how the trip went for both of us. Then he told me that he’s hiked the PCT, which is the trail from Mexico to Canada that I’ve been pondering this entire hike, wondering if I’d be able to hack it, considering all the differences between that hike and this one. So that made me even more desperate to meet him since he’s the only person I know of that’s completed (well nearly) both trails. Knut also very kindly included me in the email list of his trip update emails and forwarded me the emails his hiking companion Gail had written earlier on in the trip. Which is what I’ve been sitting here in this hotel lobby reading as I procrastinate getting back on the road. They were much braver than me and didn’t cower and stick to the road like I did in the beginning, but it also sounds like they had far worse weather. I’m very grateful that I seemingly unknowingly started out at exactly the right time because I really have had awesome weather most of the trip. There have been quite a few things I can easily and brattily (not a word? It is now) complain about – the weather during the majority of these past four months is not one of them. 

There are two flies circling this hotel lobby that will not leave me alone and are driving me insane. It’s probably for the best though, because in my pizza stupor yesterday I forgot to stop at a grocery store before leaving Lyngdal sentrum and so now I have no food. Which means I need to walk back about a kilometer, get some grub, and then hike on to Spangereid. But! I have no complaints about a little extra walking because guess what crazy thing I did yesterday?? I bought new shoes! Yup, 2 days and only a handful of miles before the end, I decided to throw some money at the sweet people working at G-Sport so that I could enjoy the last chunk of walking before it’s over. They were in shock over my journey and the state of my shoes (there were more holes in them than Swiss cheese, in certain places I could literally touch the asphalt through them with my feet, and they were being held together by medical tape) and I managed to guilt trip them into giving me a discount (because I’m an asshole). 

I am now standing in the grocery store, wondering what I should dump into my basket. What do I want to eat this last day and a half? Candy, that’s for sure. What else? Dude, you only need food to survive til tomorrow morning, let’s not go crazy here. I buy an assortment of processed “food” that is doubtlessly terrible for me, including a bag of mini lemon muffins that I gorge myself on in the parking lot. 

Oh! I need to give a very grateful shoutout to the wonderful Katherine Jones – I would absolutely have lost my mind if you hadn’t graciously let me borrow your Spotify for the last few weeks. You’re a hero.

Oy vey. It is entirely possible that eating 15 mini lemon muffins in 5 minutes was a bad idea. 

Off we go! Walk walk hum hum la la last day last day!

Just kidding, turning around and going back (again) to Lyngdal because my soon to be new friend Knut hikes faster than a freaking cheetah and just texted me to say he’s almost here so I may as well wait and meet him here instead of in Spangereid as previously planned. Yay friend!

I check Whatsapp as I wait and see that my dad has been online, which means he’s off the plane and officially in Norway! I get him to call me, he puts me on speakerphone so Farmor is also there, we talk about my crappy hiker diet, how much my feet have grown, my mature father makes a penis joke (the only audience is his mother and daughter…) and then we hang up. I continue waiting at Pizzabakeren, re-reading Lindy West’s fabulous book Shrill and eating candy (being a hiker is so fun).

Knut shows up, orders a pizza, and I grill him on the PCT, as if I can somehow wheedle him into telling me that I can 100% accomplish it, as if he is some kind of hiking oracle. 

We walk to Spangereid together, chatting about hiking, the people we’ve met, the food we eat, the other people who’ve hiked NPL this year, etc. The kilometers fly by! Suddenly we’re sitting at the gas station in Spangereid, it’s 6pm and tomorrow morning I will be done hiking. How freaking bananas is that?!? You guys… I did the thing… I actually did it. This is way too much for me to wrap my head around. I feel like the beginning of this hike dragged on for so long and then suddenly I just apparated to the finish line. As if this hike was a novel wherein the first chapter never seemed to end and everything happened and then the second chapter was a page long and included the words ‘the end’. I am simultaneously not at all ready for this to be over, and so ready for it to be. I don’t know. I am not emotionally mature enough in this precise moment to really understand how I’m feeling. All I do know is that there will be crying tomorrow. For now though I’m going to pretend I don’t need to be a grown up and deal with my feelings and instead I’m gonna flirt with strangers that I’m never gonna meet on tinder. #Iamnotanadult

Also, today I saw the world’s prettiest cows, look!!

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But I Don’t Want To Be Done

Up and down, up and down. It’s what’s to be expected on a journey where so many of my limits are constantly being pushed, pulled, changed, and defined. Like the limit to how far I can walk in a day before I start sulking. Or the limit to how cold I can be before I want to cry. How uncomfortable I can be in the lumpy spot I chose to pitch my tent and still manage to fall asleep. How long I can be soaking wet and shivering before I lose my mind trying to remember what dry feels like. How many granola bars I can eat in a day. How long I can go without showering before I throw a tantrum over how disgusting I am. The limit to how much pain I can take. During my comfortable, safe, pre-trip life, I never spent much time toying with my pain threshold (unless you count the numerous piercings I’ve had, but those were more about the adrenaline rush than the test of pain). Why should I? We’re taught from a young age to avoid pain, not to embrace it. There’s a song on the soundtrack to that newish movie Suicide Squad called “Sucker for Pain” that makes me chuckle whenever it comes on because I am now somewhat of a sucker for pain – this is purely because I haven’t experienced much of it since I traded in the road for the trail. The ‘pain’ I’ve experienced lately has been all about walking through swamps in freezing rain, slipping on giant rocks and falling on my ass, and pushing myself to go further, go faster than I ever had. Basically the lite version of pain. Not chronic, seemingly endless pain. While I was still road walking, life was an experiment in figuring out just how much pain I could handle that day before it overwhelmed the wonder and the fun of the trip and turned me into Oscar the Grouch. But now, now I’m a little bit of a pain junkie. And where am I going to get my fix in 2 days when this trip is done? (Oh, that’s right, I forgot to mention that this trip is coming to an end a little earlier than previously predicted — instead of being done the 19th I am now planning on being finished at 12pm on Saturday the 17th of September). There are too many things I’m going to miss about this trip. Just today, a lovely stranger in a van pulled over on the road next to me, rolled down his window, and handed me an ice cream and a bottle of water! For no reason! This trip is like an alternate universe in which people are only exceedingly kind and everything is amazing and I don’t want to go back to the real world where people including me (who am I kidding, especially me, mostly me) are grumpy and mean and lame. I’m also going to miss the adrenaline rush of ridge running and mountain climbing and trying not to slide off snow banks into piles of sharp rocks. Actually… I have recently downloaded Tinder, which is kind of taking care of the daily adrenaline rush demand because I have spent 4 months alone turning into a feral cave woman and have forgotten social etiquette, how to flirt, and how to talk about anything beyond hiking… 

I have too many feelings about this trip coming to an end, which is why I’ve been avoiding blogging. I’ll try to figure my shit out and get back to you guys asap. 

50 Shades of Cold

1. When your hands are freezing and you try to shove them into your pockets but your pockets are being flattened by your pack’s hip belt so you scratch the heck out of your super raw hands on the zipper edges of your pockets and it feels like your hands just might start bleeding

2. When your nose is constantly running because it hates the cold as much as you do

3. When you teach yourself to sleep without suffocating curled up inside your sleeping bag because the air outside is too cold for breathing

4. When brushing your teeth is out of the question because it’s just too cold to spend a second longer outside your sleeping bag

5. When you learn how to fall asleep even though your bladder is about to explode because leaving your tent and exposing your pale ass to the frigid wind is the dumbest idea ever

6. When you have to remember to tuck your phone into your sleeping bag so the cold doesn’t drain the battery

7. When you can’t remember what being warm feels like

8. When you’re a stubborn ass who doesn’t like wearing her rain pants so your leggings get soaked and it feels like you’ve peed yourself

9. When you’re so cold you actually consider peeing yourself because it would be warm and you’re too cold to stop, pull down your soaking wet leggings, and go (and the only reason you don’t is because you already smell bad enough without adding urine to the mix)

10. When you’re shivering so violently you cannot hold a pen to write your name in the trail register

11. When you ask yourself for the thousandth time why you didn’t bring a hat

12. When you spend too much money on a hat

13. When you endure the awful songs your iTunes shuffle plays because taking your hands out of your pockets to skip them would be too painful

14. When you’re so cold and miserable that you start crying because you’re thinking about what the people that died on the titanic must have gone through

15. When you have to wear your gloves while reading your kindle in your tent because otherwise you’ll have icicles for hands

16. When you spend over 4 hours sitting in a gas station because outside sucks

17. When you sleep in a public toilet (haha remember that one?)

18. When your candy freezes.

19. When your Nutella freezes.

20. When your phone dies even though it’s at over 30% because of the cold and you have to stop and hope you don’t freeze to death while you charge it until it turns back on.

21. When you finally get to shower and you turn the water on so hot you start wondering exactly how bad a second degree burn might be

22. When your gloves are made up of 40% fleece and 60% snot because you’re gross and blow your cold, snotty nose on them

23. When you’re so cold you actually consider abandoning your poor sister who travelled so far to hike with you because she is slower than you and you can’t stop hiking for fear of dying (but you don’t, because that would make you a terrible person)

24. When you’ve been wet and cold for so long that time has ceased to exist. You have always been this cold and you will always be this cold

25. When your feet are so cold they genuinely feel like glass and you worry that you’ll accidentally kick a rock and your feet will shatter inside your shoes

26. When you clench your teeth so hard against the cold that you give yourself a headache

27. When the constant cold makes you borderline delirious and you make terrible decisions – like crossing deep white rapid rivers that no sensible person would consider crossing

28. When you start googling signs of frostbite

29. When it’s so cold even Rudolph freezes to death —


Ok so maybe that wasn’t 50 shades exactly, but it was enough. Enough cold. When I was talking to my dad on the phone and telling him about how I didn’t want the hike to end, he joked that I could just turn around at Lindesnes and walk back the other way. Which, as I mentioned in a previous post, I would happily do if it were not for the lack of funds and the gods damned cold. I really cannot express how grateful I am for the DNT and their cabins and also the incredible individuals along the way who have sheltered a cold and smelly hiker. A big thank you to Hilde Pirie and Anne at Hordatun in Røldal for being what the thru-hiking community refers to as ‘trail angels’ – there is some seriously good karma heading your way ladies!

The Pursuit of Happiness

I’m ladling water into my crumbling old Imsdal water bottle out of a steel bucket that I filled up at the river outside this cabin, and all I can think is ‘I hope I get to stay this person’. My trip is so very suddenly coming to an end, and I’m afraid that rejoining society will somehow make me forget how happy ladling water out of a bucket makes me. I woke up feeling so anxious this morning. Anxious about how far I have to go in the next few days, anxious about not having any more rest days, anxious about not appreciating the last fleeting moments of this trip as much as I possibly can. I still can’t believe it’s almost over.

I’ve fallen into the habit of saying “because, while I’m originally from Norway, I grew up mostly in Asia and so I wanted to see my homeland” as an answer to the “why are you on this crazy trip” question. It’s not a lie, and it’s a lot less intimate than telling a virtual stranger (a very nice one, but still a stranger) that after graduating from college I made a lot of brash decisions that left my life, self confidence, and emotional stability in complete shambles and I needed to do something that would make me feel like a capable person again. My incomplete answer generally leads to people asking where in Asia I grew up, to which I usually reply “mostly Dubai, and a few other places”. “What was it like living in Dubai?” the other hikers ask, grimacing and spitting out ‘Dubai’ like it’s a dirty word. I try not to be offended, to not judge these people because they have a negative perception of a country they don’t know much about (and I manage it; I am completely capable of not feeling self righteous and defensive – something my very proud and judgy as hell pre-hike self never would have been able to do because she thought she was right about everything and that opinions that didn’t agree with hers were somehow lesser). They are after all, mountain people – people who choose to spend their free time in the Norwegian mountains, so maybe not the kind of people who can appreciate what Dubai has to offer – in the same way that someone who loves romcoms might not appreciate an action packed gangster movie. Neither preference is wrong, they’re just different. The few people I’ve met during this trip who have been there start spewing half truths to the people who haven’t; “all there is to do there is shop” they say, “it’s just buildings,” “did you even feel safe living there??” they ask me. Of course I did. I try to tell them about the beauty of the desert, about the culture and the people. What I don’t tell them is, in the back of my mind I’m also thinking “the luxury is pretty damn nice too…”. And that’s the part that makes me worry about returning to the real world – because, while this trip has taught me just how little I need to be happy and turned me into the kind of person who now thinks having the old, smelly, wooden port-a-potty less than 5 meters from the cabin so you don’t have far to go in the cold dark when you need to pee at night is the height of luxury, I’m also the girl who grew up with everything. I’m a city girl who just realized she also loves the mountains. The past few months have taught me to value hot showers and pillows and dry socks more than I ever thought possible; I’m so freaking blissfully content most of the time because I have these little things and they’re all I need. And I’m also very happy with myself. I’m proud of my strength and my perseverance. I’m also happier with my appearance than I think I have ever been before. Maybe that sounds vain and arrogant, maybe it is. I’m not saying I suddenly look better than I did before, in fact by society’s standards I probably look worse – with my birds nest hair, under eye bags, and stinky clothes. But spending 4 months away from TV, magazines, constant internet, and people who aren’t just as unkempt and smelly as me has also meant spending 4 months away from the pressure of feeling like I need to look perfect and spend endless money on clothes and make up and haircuts to look pretty. Yeah, my forehead is too big and my skin isn’t great and even after 6 years of braces my teeth are still crooked and my overbite is embarrassing, but I’m strong and maybe even a little bit brave and I walked really fucking far all on my own and isn’t that more important? I’m happy with myself and I’m ecstatic when I have a soft pillow to rest my head on at night and I’m so thrilled I could cry when I get to eat an entire cheesy pizza. I just really hope I stay this happy when the trip is over. I don’t want to go back to being the girl who didn’t feel like she was enough, because I am. 


Guardian Angels & Human Angels

I knew the hike from Finse to Kjeldebu hytte was going to be miserable. I put it off for a whole day because the weather was obscene on Friday (please see the video below of real Norwegians taking pictures of the ludicrous weather as proof that I wasn’t just being a wimp, it really was insane) and spent the day stinking up the Finse hotel lobby, stealing their internet, and watching You’ve Got Mail on Netflix instead. ​
While the weather wasn’t much better on Saturday (one German man declared the wind to be blowing at 100km/hr and emphatically told us all it would be impossible to hike), I had officially run out of money, food, and time so I needed to get my boney booty on the trail. As I mentioned, I knew it was going to be a miserable hike; the weather sucked and the distance between finsehytte and Kjeldebu is one of the longest between cabins on my route (my map puts it at a 9 hour hike). I knew it was going to be a long day of being cold and wet and miserable. I knew the terrain would be slippery and muddy and swampy. But I also knew I would be arriving at a warm and dry cabin at the end of it all, so I was actually in a pretty ok mood. I managed to hold on to this optimistic mood as the wind tried to knock me over repeatedly. I kept smiling as I trudged through endless mud puddles and balanced precariously on slick rocks. I even managed to laugh when the trail required me (multiple times!) to climb up onto snow banks angled at 45 degrees where one wrong step would have seen me flying down a slide made of ice into the freezing lake many meters below. My smile faltered when the trail wanted me to cross an uncrossable (in my opinion anyway) river. I spent a solid half hour wandering off trail to find a better place to cross, where I still needed to wade in past my knees and plunge my hands into the freezing water up to my elbows in order to grip the taller rocks so the current wouldn’t drag me away. I actually resorted to screaming in an attempt to release some of my frustration and fear when the trail lead me to another uncrossable river, where I had to spend yet another half hour trying to find the safest place to cross. I almost dissolved into tears and genuinely feared for my life when, after crossing a bridge over roaring rapids, I saw the river had grown and eaten away the trail. I knew if my dad or my morfar were there they would tell me to turn around, but I had walked all day and crossed so many scary fucking rivers and almost fallen off snow banks and I was wet and cold and exhausted and so very close to Kjeldebu that I couldn’t make myself go back. So I did the dumbest and most dangerous thing I have done on this trip so far; I waded into the river with its strong as hell current, almost getting dragged away in the process, and threw myself at the nearest bit of dry land. You know that saying “there are no atheists in foxholes”? It always used to piss me off when people said that, as though an atheist couldn’t be strong in their beliefs. Well, today I am forced to eat humble pie and tell you all that the first thing I did when I got across that river was thank Jesus. That is how scared I was. Now, I’m not saying crossing that river made me find God, but as I made my way to Kjeldebu and thought about how insanely stupid and lucky I had been that day, I got the feeling that someone had been looking out for me. So thank you, Farfar. 

When I did finally reach Kjeldebu, I was pleasantly surprised; I hadn’t seen a soul on the trail all day and had expected it to be a tiny, rarely visited cabin but instead it was made up of four different buildings and there were people all over the place. The hyttevakt came and found me and showed me to the last empty room. I showed her the video I had taken of the Jesus river and suggested she consider calling finsehytte and tell them to warn others heading this way. She said she had never seen the water so high, thanked me, and said she would call finse. I told her that as I had seen no one else on the trail, I had assumed it wasn’t a regularly maintained route and that maybe the DNT wasn’t aware of how dangerous it was. She explained how the last time she walked that route the crossings were all easy and that it must have been all the rain from the past couple of days. She also said I had no scary river crossings to fear as I continued on to the next cabin, so I was able to sleep soundly knowing that. I was also able to sleep soundly last night because I went to bed drunk as a skunk. The wonderful people I was sharing a cabin with were all there on a kind of work bonding trip, and damn did they know how to have fun! It was exactly what I needed after the most stressful day on trail to date. There was swing dancing and shots and moonshine and some very crude jokes and drunken arm wrestling and so much laughing. Not only did these exceedingly kind and generous people pay me enough compliments on my hiking accomplishment to make me blush down to my bones, they also fed me, boozed me up, and erased all the anxiety, tension, and fear I’d built up on the hike. I wrote down the name of this blog for a few of them before we parted ways, so if any of you are reading this – thank you!! Thank you so, so much for being so very inclusive and sweet to a wet and exhausted girl and for making me laugh more than I have in a very long time. You are all angels!


Contrary to what the above image might imply, this trip is not all scenic routes and rainbows (as made evident by this post).

Taco Brain

I can’t put into words how much I’m dreading this trip being over. If it wasn’t starting to get cold as polar bear balls (and if I hadn’t already run out of money…) I would honestly just turn around at the finish line and walk the trip again in the opposite direction. Alas, I need to get a job and I don’t really want to get frostbite, so I’ve decided to cap this journey off at exactly 4 months and make September 19th the day I reach Lindesnes, take my pack off, and probably sob hysterically because the most amazing thing I’ve ever done in my life will be over. 

While I’ve been walking these past few months I have mostly been dreaming about tacos. Or how simultaneously hot and stupid I’m going to look in a bikini when I visit my parents in Dubai (hot because my calf muscles are now made of steel, stupid because I have backpack strap tan lines). However, I have taken some small breaks from being a vain glutton, during which I spared a thought or two for what I might do with myself when this hike is over. Initially, (to the absolute horror of my immediate family) I decided I wanted to see if I could find work as a deckhand on a fishing boat because clearly I’m a masochist who thrives on forcing myself to be cold, wet, and slightly miserable for extended periods of time. I haven’t completely abandoned that plan (so don’t rest too easy mamma), but I don’t think I’m quite ready to trade in the Norwegian mountains for the sea just yet. Thankfully, Fate decided to step in while I was passing through Iungsdalshytta in Skarvheimen, where she introduced me to some of the loveliest people this world has to offer (pictured below!) and also planted a little idea seed in my taco obsessed brain. The idea – get a job in the mountains and then you don’t have to rejoin society! How did Fate introduce this most wondrous concept you ask, in two ways: First, I crossed paths with my very first ‘hyttevakt’ or ‘cabin guard’ whose job it is to check in on one or more cabins in a particular area, make sure visitors are signing themselves in and paying, and generally maintain the cabin. Holy poop, I thought, I can turn this hiking from one cabin to the next thing into an actual job?? So that’s idea number one: become a hyttevakt. Idea number two presented itself when the amazingly kind people who run Iungsdalshytta were slightly overwhelmed by visitors and jokingly begged me to postpone my finish date and join their staff for a few days. I apologized and said I couldn’t stay, but maybe I could come back next year instead? They jumped at my offer and demanded my contact info so they can get in touch with me about working during their Easter and summer seasons next year. So that’s idea number two: work at a DNT hytte where I can learn how to bake homemade bread, milk cows, churn butter, and ski! The only issue being that these are both purely seasonal positions. So the plan is to talk to the people at the DNT office in Stavanger when my trip is over about what kind of jobs one can have with them year round. 

I’ve always shrugged off the idea of living and working in Norway because the thought of speaking Norwegian all the time makes me nervous. However, if this trip has taught me anything, it’s that throwing yourself into uncomfortable situations is something that should be done on a regular basis. So that’s the plan, for now anyway, there is still a good chunk of thinking time between here and Lindesnes, so it could change again. I’ll keep y’all posted.

Here I am with a few of the amazing people from the Ut På Tur i Eiker group that I was lucky enough to meet at Iungsdalshytta. Thank you Arild for sending the picture! 

I Wrote This Last Night

I haven’t truly been alone for a long while now. I mean completely, utterly, no other human for miles in any direction kind of alone. Maybe I haven’t been this alone at all during my trip? When I started out, way up north, there were a lot less people, sure, but as I was road walking for the most part and camping just off the highway, there was always the chance (even the likelihood) that a car would pass by at some point in the night. Then there were the more populated road areas and eventually the trails and cabins, where I usually met at least a couple of other hikers. The most recent night I can remember spending alone in a cabin, I was close enough to civilization that I had cell service, so I was able to call my mom. Before this trip started, one of my biggest worries was how I would deal with my slight fear of the dark; a fear I fortunately didn’t have to face – until right now. I am currently sitting in a cabin in the middle of nowhere, with no cell service, no electricity, and only a handful of candles to keep me from total darkness. And I am freaking the freak out. I heard voices earlier, which made me to run from room to room, peeking out windows as I tried to find the owners of the voices. I couldn’t see anyone. Suddenly I noticed a face at one of the main room windows and almost crapped myself. It’s fine – it’s just two dudes out hiking, stop being a psycho, I told myself. They wandered off into the rain shortly thereafter and I was left alone with my kindle. The reason I didn’t have to deal with my childish fear of the dark until now is because for the first two months of my trip the sun didn’t go down; no darkness = no fear! Then, when the sun did start setting, I was constantly surrounded by people; my sister, fellow hikers, lovely Dutch people, other camping site guests, etc. Now I am completely alone (or at least I fucking hope so!!!!!) and terrified. I closed all the curtains because I kept imagining horror movie villain faces peering in at me through them. One of the kitchen windows didn’t have curtains so I hung a blanket over it because I am so freaked. Ughhh this is the plot of way too many scary movies – stupid white girl trapped alone in a cabin in the woods. I’m definitely going to die tonight. Frack. Did I mention th door only locks from the outside?


Update: I didn’t die. But it was probably a pretty close call.