500 miles – and braids

Norway, I have a question. Why so many hairdressers? More than 90% of the girls plait their long blond hair, they do not need a hairdresser for that. I have seen of few originals with bright colored hair (like my Little poney, really). But you don’t need 3 hair salons per streets for that. There, it feels good to talk about it.

Today I was looking for a place to grab a cappuccino. In a city which seems to hibernate on a sunny Sunday, it was more challenging than expected. Closed hair dressers, everywhere. Open coffee bars, nowhere. Well, yes, one, next to the church.

Bon gout. Walking up to the Church, I am magnetically attracted by the window of Noe. My heart capsized. Heels, beautiful simple classy heels. A world of colorful heels. I am like a kid in a candy store. I can picture myself in each and every color, I know already which dress will be perfect with them.

I do love my comfy leggings + fit like a glove nikes + messy braided hair look. But oh! I miss walking on heels, feeling tall and pretty, be feline and powerful. I don’t know what it is with heels, but the higher they get the more confidence I acquire. Such a girl.

Last sips of coffee and I start walking again. Gracefully, comfortably. I have the allure.

I do not really know where I am, and I have no clue where I am heading to. Two girls (blond, braided hair, both) on the way give me directions. Apparently I went the opposite way to the touristic path, and if I keep right I will be  »soon » on top of blablabli Mount. Sounds good to me.

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After 3 hours of unexpected hiking/climbing, reward!

I do not (only) refer to the refreshing apple-blueberry juice and the (delishh) guacamole-cheese sandwich I carried in my bag all the way up.

But the view! Sitting on a rock, facing the sun, day dreaming mode on. Down the cliff, a huge lake with small rocky islands is inviting me for a swim. I am already swearing to myself in pretty French how stupid I am for not packing my bikini with me this morning.

That was before I touched the water with my fingertip. Brrra, I am not in that advanced viking stage yet.

Right on schedule for teatime, I am back in the city center. Keeping the buzzing city in my back I walk towards narrow streets. They shimmer with wooden houses in dozen of colors. There is that white one with green window frames and a bright red door. And the blue one with the white frames. And the yellow one, with a view on the bay. Notting hill in Norway, with a Swiss touch – the city reminds me a lot of Bern.

The street ends with a park. Bench. Legs must rest. On the horizon I can see the outline of Oygarden where I will be cycling tomorrow. For now, I lay back and smile: I just remember I have an avocado waiting for me at home, and I am cooking in my head.

 

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