A strawberry field and a cotton shopping bag. Norway. Summer 2024

Our day in Horten was to be leisurely — a gentle stroll down to the Oslofjord for a refreshing swim and a short walk through the nearby forest. I longed to satisfy my passion for berry picking. During our first week in Norway, we didn't have enough time to go foraging because we were always busy hiking, hitchhiking, or talking to our hosts. Which was great, but I still needed my precious moments in the woods since wild blueberries and strawberries just don't grow in Portugal where we live. So we set off carrying only a simple tote bag with a bottle of water, a towel and a bathing suit (skinny dipping was out of the question because the beach was too close to town). Our trusty old backpack stayed behind– we were expecting to have an easy walk and a slow, relaxed day.

As we reached the fjord, a light drizzle began to fall, dampening our enthusiasm for a swim. Instead, we walked along the shore, our eyes drawn to the green hills of Løvøya island. It seemed like a perfect spot for berry picking. Løvøya greeted us with private jetties, yachts and quaint summer cottages peeking through the foliage on the slope. People were busy preparing their cabins for the holiday season - cleaning the yards, trimming the hedges and mowing the grass. We walked straight up into the forest, where a carpet of wild strawberries lined the ground. Each tiny berry burst with a taste of summer evoking memories of childhood treasure hunts. We lingered until the red soft sweetness became almost overwhelming. When my craving was finally satisfied, we noticed a well-trodden path leading up. We followed it, hoping to get a bird's eye view of the surrounding landscape. Although there was no vantage point marked on our offline map, we found ourselves on huge flat rocks overlooking the fjord. It was a magnificent sight - the infinite stillness of the water, the eternal silence of the cliffs, and the admirable resilience of the pines against the wind.

Beneath the imposing boulders, we discovered a canopy of bushes full of ripe blueberries. Distracted by the allure of berry picking, we moved along a narrow path, sipping the juice of the wild forest, which stained our hands purple. The trail became barely visible. Sensible walkers would have turned back, but not us - we persisted and even had to climb down a wooden ladder that secured a steep section. The leisurely stroll unexpectedly transformed into a real hike, our shopping bag now comically inadequate for the occasion. At one point, the path turned into a river of small, wobbly rocks. We squeezed between massive boulders and dense trees, enveloped in a twilight world where sunlight rarely penetrated. Fortunately, the route had been occasionally used by local hikers: between the trunks, thick ropes had been tied. We had to cling to them to avoid slipping onto the cliffs below. Eventually, like a gift from the forest, a wide sunny clearing appeared between the trees and we walked safely down to where we’d started. The elderly couple we'd passed earlier, still busy trimming the hedge around their cottage, probably never imagined that anyone in their right mind would embark on such a hike with our peculiar "gear". But therein lies the magic: the best adventures are the ones that unfold spontaneously, unplanned, and unscripted.