Adventuring in remote parts of the world has many plus points, however the one significant downside is often the complication of actually reaching said remote location. Kvikkjokk, our chosen entry point for our Kungsleden hike was no exception. The long journey north began at Stansted Airport on a blisteringly hot September day … oh the irony of the fickle British summer weather! We proudly presented our little box to the Ryanair checked luggage desk, “any vapes?” he enquired; “nope just tent pegs, walking poles and two tiny pen knives that you’d struggle to carve butter with, let alone hijack a plane” I chirped back at him … I felt my humour was lost in the moment as he nonchalantly waived us away to the irregular shaped baggage department. Next we had to negotiate the departures lounge, the duty free and the plethora of ultra processed food offerings. Maurice and I respectively lathered ourselves in Molton Brown and Penhaligons, taking full advantage of the last opportunity to smell anywhere near decent for the next 2 weeks. Next we went in search of a coffee purveyor who would accept that most traditional form of payment … good old fashioned cash! A task that proved to be much harder than it should have been. In fact, the whole airport experience was the antithesis of everything we were hoping for on this trip and the moment of take-off couldn’t come soon enough.
Through clear blue cloudless skies, the flight was short, smooth, and in no time at all we were descending into Stockholm’s Arlanda airport. Right on cue, as soon as the pilot actuated the spoilers, a bank of cloud appeared on the horizon and we landed beneath dreary grey skies … typical! Reunited with our little box of sharp, pointy and lethal items, we set about repacking our bags. Once everything was squared away we set off in search of the train station. We had plenty of time to spare, but decided to suss things out first, giving ourselves time to then relax and grab dinner before the overnight train. Needless to say there was a complication; the train had been diverted because of engineering work, so we had to catch a rail replacement bus service to Uppsala and get the train from there. A nice reassuring man with near perfect English explained where to go and at what time, so we relaxed and went in search of meatballs!
At the allotted time we made our way to the appointed place and found nothing … no rail replacement bus service, no sign of a rail replacement bus service and nobody to ask about the rail replacement bus service. Other buses, destined for random places with far too many consonants, came and went. Time ticked by and our relaxed disposition started to wain. Finally we figured out which local bus service would get us to where we needed to be and with just minutes to spare we found the right stop and climbed on board. Once at Uppsala station a similar kerfuffle ensued as we tried to find the right platform. Finally, at just before 11pm the big night train arrived. After a bit of a battle with REALLY heavy sliding doors, we found our cabin, figured out how the bunks worked and climbed into bed. As the motion of the train rocked us to sleep, our journey north continued. Tomorrow we would wake in the Arctic Circle!
ZENLIGHTENED VOYAGER 