Vegard Skjefstad

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Me Tarzan.

Last Friday evening I did something I haven’t done for years. I grabbed a sleeping bag, put on layer upon layer of warm clothes, packed an axe and a few matches and set foot for the woods. Hans Olav joined me in my quest for the promised land; a place with no internet connection, no support e-mails and poor cell phone reception. Please say hello to an old friend of mine; The Forest.

Since it had been a long time since I set my foot in a forest, at least to sleep there, we decided that it was best not to overdo the adventure. Actually, we didn’t go any further than Sognsvann, and didn’t walk more than about 300 meters from the final subway stop. But that really didn’t matter, there was no internet connection or support e-mails in sight. Not even a single human being. But we did have cell phone reception. I guess the sane thing would be to leave the bastard (the cell phone, that is) at home, but I decided I probably should bring it if the shit really hit the fan at work. Yes, work still follows me around like a ghost.

On our way to Sognsvann we bought two bags of fire wood – I suspect that people get really pissed if you chop down the trees around the lake – some food and of course Marshmallows. If you’re going to have a campfire, you need Marshmallows. To get them right is an art. If you’re grilling them too long they’ll either ignite or turn into coal or both, if you’re not grilling them enough they’re just plain Marshmallows – and that you can eat every day.

We spent a few hours in the woods, but decided that to stay there during the night was a little harsh. It was just too cold, at least for me. Still, even if we I chickened out, it was a nice few hours. If we kept our mouths shut, we could hear…absolutely nothing…and it sure has been a while since I heard absolutely nothing.

The next day both me and Hans Olav felt really hung over, which was strange since the we’d only been drinking hot cocoa. I suspect that it might be that the fire wood we bought had been sprayed with something to make sure it ignited easily. Hung over without the fun of being drunk? Yeah, it’s a drag…