Senja på langs – Crossing from Southwest to Northeast
I’ve already mentioned Senja in my previous post, but this island has been calling to us for the past two years. Since we love long journeys, we decided to cross it from the southwest to the northeast, following the so-called Senja på langs – a trek that isn’t well-known and about which you can hardly find any information.
So here we are.
We didn’t plan it much, thinking of it as a kind of “low-key” trip that wouldn’t require serious preparation or attention. After all, we were still close to Tromsø – it felt like a “mini journey,” nothing like our adventures in Iceland or Lofoten.
Well… it wasn’t that long in distance, but it turned out to be quite challenging at times – especially because for five days there was literally zero civilization around us. No shops, no houses, no people. Just us, relying entirely on ourselves.
This journey reminded me of some truths about myself and revealed a few new ones:
1. I don’t vibe with expectations or fixed targets.
In this case, we had to be at our final destination by Sunday to catch the ferry. That time pressure made me feel like we had to rush. I missed the chance to just wander, wake up slowly, enjoy a quiet morning, and walk at my own (slow) pace. I realised how deeply non-goal-oriented I am. I don’t like comparing my pace or kilometres to anyone else’s. I don’t like to push.
2. My health needs my attention.
I’ve been postponing dealing with the papilloma virus for years – partly out of fear of the whole process with doctors, endless waiting, and multiple appointments. But on this trek, the pain from a wart on my foot became unbearable. Every step felt like being stabbed from below, and with narrow shoes it was such an agony. I walked with tears in my eyes, thinking of all the people with chronic pain I’ve met lately. I remembered how my dad never understood my mum’s pain, and realised I’m in a similar situation: when I describe my pain to M., he just doesn’t get it. Not because he’s unkind – simply because he’s never felt it himself.
3. Isolation is not for me.
I love my space and my moments alone, but complete isolation would never make me happy. However, what saddens me most is when someone so close feels distant – when the connection shifts, or they relate to me in a different way. It’s as if that distance quietly drains my energy, pulling me away from my own inner strength. It leaves me feeling weaker, less anchored in myself. So I came back a lot in my thoughts to those moments, when I was surrounded by some human being yet felt alone.
4. Change of the dynamics
During this journey and in general the trip to Norway I feel that the “in love” feeling has faded into something more structured, almost strict. The warmth is still there somewhere, but small things now seem to tip into blame so quickly. It feels like we’re in the middle of some transformation – I don’t yet know if it’s growth or distance.
When I spoke about it, M. said there was no such change. Yet for me, the shift in our communication feels undeniable. Things that once flowed without thought now feel heavy. Gestures once offered freely are suddenly pointed out. Small expenses become a topic for discussion, where before there was simply the quiet trust of building something together. Even the tiniest action seems to need mentioning, or else a faint, unspoken tension hangs in the air.
There is less flexibility now. Less ease. And I find myself missing the softness.
5. I’m tired all the time.
Even after sleep. Without coffee, I feel like I can’t function. I wonder if I’m self-medicating ADHD and low dopamine, or if it’s just dependency. If it’s dopamine, what activities actually give me flow? Probably being surrounded by people, energy, and kindness. I also wonder if I’m exhausted from not being understood – or from being with someone but still feeling alone – at times.
6. The weather rules everything.
One day it’s pouring and we’re all on the edge of our strength, the next day the sun appears and everything changes. On day three, sunshine quite literally saved us.
THE JOURNEY
DAY 1
When we arrived in Harstad after a three-hour boat ride, I stepped onto the dock feeling like an excited explorer, eager to wander and discover. But the moment I looked at M., I knew my idea of going for a walk would be dismissed—that same tense atmosphere I’d mentioned before.
Still, I brought it up, and as I expected, the reaction was surprise, almost shock, that I wanted to go anywhere since we had a long 9-hour hike ahead. So, I reframed my suggestion and proposed a walk to the nearby lake. It was beautiful there—I think we both really enjoyed it. We sat on a bench together, I danced for a while, and later I took Cosma for a solo walk.
Later, we caught another ferry and hiked on a road for three more hours. We were pretty tired, so we decided to camp just outside the last village before starting our mountain trek.
DAY 2
In the morning, Cosma started barking fiercely at a group of sheep, scaring them so badly that three of them jumped into the lake, swimming in confusion. One barely made it to shore. I had tears in my eyes watching it all, feeling a deep sadness and guilt that Cosma had caused this chaos. I reflected on the moments just before, when she was barking so intensely.
I observed how the sheep communicated with each other, waiting for the last one to get out of the water. I even noticed the sounds of the sheep drinking while breathing—it was almost surreal. Afterward, I went for a swim and noticed how warm the lake felt, especially after getting used to the icy ocean temperatures in Hamna.
We hiked over the mountain, growing tired by 8 pm. We camped at a stunning spot by another lake, ate lasagna pasta, and watched The Octopus Teacher before falling asleep.
DAY 3
We woke early and set off hiking over mountains and through breathtaking landscapes. We stopped briefly at a small hut that appeared unexpectedly, where three other girls joined us. I ate some very spicy noodles that warmed my body so much I had to jump into the shallow lake next to the hut. The water was warm, and I felt like I was in some ancient dinosaur era.
I realized I don’t thrive in group conversations—I struggle to navigate them—so when the girls arrived, I quietly hid behind M.
We thought the rain had passed and continued hiking, crossing some hills, but within an hour or two, we were completely drenched and exhausted. A rainbow appeared, and the sun peeked out just before we decided to set up our tent. The whole experience was exhausting and cold, and I think we were both a bit scared about what lay ahead. M. managed to pitch the tent while I gathered stones, and then we hibernated inside. At that moment, I would have given anything to teleport back to Hamna. The image of all our wet clothes, sleeping bags, and gear felt overwhelming. Luckily, the next day the sun shone bright, and we managed to dry almost everything—except our shoes, of course.
DAY 4
We crossed a beautiful mountain pass and I loved being so deep in the middle of nowhere. The day was tiring, though. After lunch at 6 pm, we pushed ourselves to cover more ground, trying not to fall behind the guy whose track we were following. The first part of the afternoon was peaceful and bathed in soft sunlight, painting the nature in warm shades of orange, green, and yellow.
But I felt a lot of pain—my body was screaming at me to stop, to change something. My feet felt completely broken. At one point, I forgot my hiking poles while peeing, and when I went back to get them, I again felt that dense, tense atmosphere when I mentioned it to M. He insisted we needed to speed up, even though I was barely holding on. Tears welled up as he kept moving ahead, fifty meters in front of me.
We fell asleep quickly that night, not even brushing our teeth. The valley where we pitched our tent felt so peaceful and isolated, far from everything. That’s when I really felt that this was a proper journey.
DAY 5
Mostly a day of hiking through jungles and mountain passes. The sun was shining, and we ended up in a free hut. Norway has a network of simple, free-to-use cabins scattered across the wilderness. These basic shelters—often called åpne buer or nødbuer—are usually unlocked and open to hikers needing a place to rest or take refuge. They typically have wooden bunks, a wood stove, and basic facilities, with no bookings or fees.
We absolutely loved it—it felt so cozy! We lit a purple lamp and candles, and shared a little connecting dance. It was a beautiful moment, rare for us these days—just being soft and gentle with each other. I realized how much dance means to me. I also appreciated that M. doesn’t have a phone and was actually reading—a rare occasion!
We tried the real food from TURMAT that Michel brought for himself, and it was so good! I wish it were cheaper, though. At the same time, it felt a bit too premium—I thought it would be nice to have more “basic” food like Huel for a while. I spent a lot of time thinking about what food I’ll take with me to Nepal.
DAY 6
This was our longest day in terms of knowing we had to reach the port, mostly hiking flat terrain through jungle. I actually loved the jungle—the rhythm of moving through it put me into a flow state. We had a wonderful bonding moment at a lake where we rested on a random house terrace, took beautiful photos, and kept going.
At another lake, I tried to save our water by refilling from it, but when I tasted my coffee, I almost vomited—it was salty! That meant we were very close to Lysnes, the port.
At the port, we were pleasantly surprised by a 24/7 grocery store. After an adventure like this, something as simple as that can make your day. I ate a lot—fish, cottage cheese, crackers, vanilla pudding, tomatoes—and felt so good. Then I got stuck inside the store because it was warm and comfy, totally “brain-rotted” on my phone—but honestly, I didn’t mind.
That night it rained, and we cozily watched a Netflix documentary about the 14 peaks, featuring Nims, a mountaineer. Michel said it was mainstream, but I loved it. It brought me closer to mountaineering—fitting, since we’re hopefully heading to Nepal soon.
On the way back to Lysnes, I listened to a podcast about a man recovering from addiction. His talk about loneliness, sadness, and emptiness resonated deeply with me. It made me think of my dad and brother—and made me sad.
This journey across Senja reminded us once again of the beauty and challenge of disconnecting and moving through nature—and through my own thoughts and feelings. M. destroyed his phone again (haha, this has become a tradition), so for him it was another push to disconnect. For me, it was a reminder that I need to start listening to my body more and stop postponing healing until it becomes urgent. And of course – as always – it was sooo wonderful to be with Cassoumi and just have her cheerfulness around us <3
