Bonum Cursum

I am in the Norwegian mountains, and it feels like another world. The air is sharp and fresh, the landscape vast and wild — rocky valleys, icy streams, high ridges, and skies so open they seem to go on forever. But it’s not just the nature that makes this place feel different. It’s the way everything here is shaped around freedom, trust, and simplicity.

The trails are marked, but not in a rigid or overly organized way. You follow red „T” symbols painted on stones or wooden posts — markers placed by the Norwegian Trekking Association, or DNT. They show the general direction, but not every detail. Often, I find myself choosing my own way over rocks, around snow patches, or across soft, mossy ground. There is no one right path. Just a direction. That’s what I love most — I’m not on a man-made trail; I’m part of the terrain, reading it, responding to it, one decision at a time.

Navigation here is unlike anywhere else I’ve hiked. There are no fences, no gates, and almost no signs beyond the red T’s. I carry a map and compass and actually use them. GPS might work, or it might not — especially when the clouds drop low and I step into some quiet, hidden valley. The weather changes fast. One moment I’m in sun, the next I’m walking through fog or light rain. It’s unpredictable, but never scary — just a reminder that I’m in real nature, and I have to stay alert and humble.

Along the way, I come across cabins — called “hytter” — placed in some of the most stunning and remote places I’ve ever seen. Some are staffed, with warm meals and friendly hosts. Others are self-service: I use my DNT key to unlock the door, and inside I find food, warmth, and shelter. They’re simple and quiet, and always feel like a reward after a long day’s hike. Sitting by the fire, drying my socks, looking out at a still lake or snow-covered slope — it feels like magic.

This whole system — the trails, the cabins, the maps — is run by the DNT. But they don’t try to control your journey. They offer tools, not rules. You’re trusted to take care of yourself, to clean the cabins after you use them, to be safe and respectful. It’s a balance between freedom and responsibility. That idea is at the heart of something Norwegians call friluftsliv — a deep love for outdoor life, and a way of living simply and close to nature.

Every day in the mountains is different. A new ridge, a new stream to cross, a new silent place where I stop just to breathe. I’m not rushing, not chasing a goal. I’m here to be here. The red T’s help me along, but in the end, it’s my own path I’m walking.

And honestly, I wouldn’t want to be anywhere else.