Leaving Narva and the Russian border far behind, we continued the journey southwest towards Tartu, Estonia’s second city. Along the way, Lake Peipus occasionally popped into view, a massive 3,500-square-kilometre expanse of water that once hosted the Battle on the Ice in 1242—a dramatic medieval clash between the Teutonic Knights and Alexander Nevsky's Russian forces.
We arrived in bustling Tallinn on an uncharacteristically sunny day following weeks of forests and frozen lakes in Scandinavia. I should mention early on that Estonia also classifies itself as Scandi, and it is clear from the shape of their Nordic pennants and generally relaxed pace of life that they fit quite nicely in the club.
The drive from northern Oulu to southern Helsinki could generously be described as consistent. The road stretched ahead in an unbroken line, flanked by forests so dense and uniform they could have been cut and pasted repeatedly along the route.
The border crossing into Finland was like entering a new world. Conspicuous by its absence in Norway, snow blanketed the ground in every direction, the first proper sign of winter we’d seen on this trip. After weeks of rain, grey skies, and damp everything, it was almost a relief to finally encounter the season that had been nipping at our heels since Oslo.
Our journey continued north with Mo i Rana as our first stop, a town that, despite its wonderfully peculiar name, seems mostly to exist as a waypoint on route to somewhere else. We camped near yet another ski slope, a feature that was quickly becoming a recurring theme of our Norwegian voyage.
Our journey through Norway pressed on, with our spirits high but our wallets visibly wilting, as we descended into Geirangerfjord—a place that doesn’t politely introduce itself so much as throw its arms wide and yell, “Behold!”
Our three-week Norwegian escapade began with high hopes and the kind of optimism that only comes from seeing a campsite as absurdly scenic as the one we’d found just south of Oslo.
If the warnings we’d received were anything to go by, Gothenburg was going to be Sweden’s dark underbelly—a city where danger lurked behind every corner. We braced ourselves for chaos—Scandi-style, of course, so perhaps some overly competitive knitting circles, rogue moose with a vendetta, or cafés occasionally running out of oat milk.
Crossing the Øresund Bridge from Denmark into Sweden is one of those experiences that manages to be both jaw-droppingly stunning and a direct assault on your wallet.
