Fjord

I remember them like in this picture, the fjords. I remember them because I was in Norway in 1990: with the camper van, my family. We travelled in a camper van every summer, for several weeks, to always different parts of Europe: it was very nice. For me, that summer break represented the beginning and the end of the year, other than Christmas and New Year!

Here is a page from the motorhome's logbook: it was an old imitation leather diary, a gift from a bank. The dates at the top don't count: that diary filled up over several years, like a notebook. Page by page there are written down the nights we slept and where we were. Occasionally a few whys also appear. Sometimes I think I should put it online in full: it might inspire other journeys.

The diary is rather technical: there are fuel stops, there are the names of places where we slept, and next to them, sometimes, a number of small asterisks: the quality of service provided by the universe in that place, at that time. The asterisks also represent emotions, which otherwise rarely appear.

And there is one thing, about the diary, that fills me with tenderness every time I open it and look at it, even now: there are the handwritings of the whole family, alternating, in no particular order, sometimes with alternating lines. On these two pages I recognise Mum's handwriting and Dad's, and then there are things written perhaps by me, perhaps by my brother.