Western Fjords, 2024
Date: June 2024
This was the kind of trip that reminds you how good life can be when you're surrounded by people you love and the world feels wide open.
It started in Bergen, where Cole—my best friend since the Malibu days—flew all the way from California to meet us. Greeting him at the airport was hilarious. I had only been living in Norway for a month, but I was already dressing like a Scandinavian mountain man. His reaction said it all. That’s the kind of friendship we have—built on belly laughs, inside jokes, and moments that say, “we’ve been through it all.” Just seeing him made me smile, knowing we were about to create a whole new chapter of memories together.
The next day, Juni, Malena, Cole, and I piled into a car and started driving north. Seven hours later, we arrived in Hoddevik, a remote surf village cradled between towering cliffs and the North Sea. For the next few days, we let go of everything else. Cole and I, both raised on SoCal beach breaks, couldn’t believe we were paddling out into 8–10 foot waves under Norway’s midnight sun, with rain misting our wetsuits and mountains rising out of the ocean behind us. It was surreal. We caught waves, laughed in the lineup, and shared a silent knowing that this was one of those rare, “this is it” moments.
From Hoddevik, we continued on to a cozy cabin in the mountains above Leikanger, overlooking the fjords like something out of a Viking myth. The air was cold, clean, alive. Then came Åndalsnes, a place I hadn’t explored before. The mountains here were massive—rugged and endless. We set out to hike the full Romsdalseggen Ridge, a demanding trail that pushed all of us. The elevation gains were real. The views? Even more so. And at the top, we shared a pint of beer, the taste made sweeter by the work it took to get there. That evening, we built a campfire outside our cabin and sat beneath the glowing sky. Cole helped me with the fire, like old times, and we talked long into the night while the sun hovered just below the horizon, refusing to fully set.
Next stop was Geiranger, a UNESCO World Heritage Site and one of Norway’s crown jewels. We took a RIB boat tour across the glassy water, past farms clinging to cliffs and waterfalls cascading straight into the fjord. The Seven Sisters, the Suitor, the stories of the families who once lived between those walls of stone—it all felt mythical.
Then we arrived at my personal favorite: Olden Fjord. We stayed in a rustic farm cabin just ten minutes from Loen. One evening, we found a hidden campsite right on the water, complete with firepit and chairs waiting for us like they’d been placed by fate. It felt like a dream. Another day we hiked to the foot of the Briksdal Glacier, blue ice shining in the light, and toasted with Viking mead and cider—a nod to the wild ancestors who once roamed these lands.
The final stop was Øvre Årdal, where we stayed in an old Norwegian farmhouse tucked deep into the valley. The home had photos of the family still on the walls. We later found out the owner’s mother had passed away in the house—not exactly comforting knowledge at night. Jokes and pranks flew fast. Shadows moved. Doors creaked. We laughed and scared each other senseless like kids at summer camp.
On our drive back to Bergen, we made a final stop in Lærdal, where we stumbled upon a lively market tucked by the fjord. Live music floated through the air. Artisans sold handmade goods. Locals offered food and smiles. Cole and I stood there in awe—two Americans humbled by the warmth of this tight-knit Norwegian community. It was the exact opposite of L.A.—real, grounded, human.
At the end of it all, the four of us looked back at the road we’d traveled and agreed: this was the best road trip we’d ever taken. Not because it was perfectly planned, but because it was shared. The landscapes were staggering. The memories were deep. The laughter was constant. We left that trip fuller—in spirit, in story, and in connection.
