An overly enthusiastic beginner hiker in Abisko

When it became clear that Niklas wouldn’t make it to the bus, I sank into my seat and turned to look out the window. Even though I hadn’t slept much the night before, the adrenaline and excitement (and coffee) kept me awake. We headed down a narrow road towards Abisko, and suddenly, the mountains that had been far off on the horizon began to grow closer.

Honestly, I didn’t really have any expectations for Northern Sweden, and what I saw now blew me away (thank god I was sitting down!). This kind of view is something I’d expect in Norway, New Zealand, or maybe Switzerland. But here? Above the Arctic Circle? Isn’t this supposed to be all tundra and reindeers? I stared at the mountain-lake-mountain scenery unfolding outside the bus window, in goosebumps. I tried taking pictures and videos, but it was pointless—it just couldn’t do it justice. I don’t know if it was the lack of sleep or something else, but something really moved in me. To the point of tears. It sounds kind of silly, but I could feel the call of the mountains. Like—this is the restless feeling that’s been pushing me to go explore, to seek for something. And now I’m here. Silence. Peace. Arrival.

I got off the bus in Abisko and took a deep breath of fresh mountain air. Crisp and cool, with warm sun in the background. No sign of the rain that had been forecasted. It was only 9:30 and the local store was still closed, so I started heading towards the hostel. On the way, I noticed two guys with big backpacks unsuccessfully trying to hitch a ride to Narvik. It made me a bit uneasy, since I had the exact same plan for the following day. Check-in at the hostel wasn’t until 2 PM, but thankfully, they allowed me to leave my luggage there. I reorganized my stuff and wondered what to do with the next 4–5 hours. I knew that some of the most incredible hiking trails started right nearby—anything from multi-day hikes to short two-kilometer strolls. But which one to pick? Niklas had mentioned a peak that was reachable as a day hike. Considering I hadn’t slept, spending the whole day hiking and exhausting myself even further wasn’t really an option. I browsed the AllTrails app for a bit and came across Nuolja Summit—a 10 km round-trip, which should take about 4 hours 40 minutes, difficulty level: hard.

Now, something in my brain is clearly broken when it comes to realistically assessing my skills and limits. My rational mind says: Girl, you’re no mountaineer. You haven’t slept. You’ve got a cough. Plus, you have zero mountain gear and this ‘hard’ rating is probably aimed at people who know what they’re doing. But the not-so-rational side of me just listened, nodded absent-mindedly, and said: Mm-hmm, sounds like me! Cool, I’m going then, byeeee! Yeah, try reasoning with that side… I packed a bottle of water and a change of clothes, proudly filled up my hydration bladder, which looks like a hospital IV bag, and grabbed a bag of cinnamon buns, cashews, and crisp bread from the store. The hiker is ready. But before I could even start with my 10 km hike, I had to walk 2 km to Abisko Turiststation where the trails start, because I was staying in Abisko Östra, which is on the other side of the town, along with the hostel and a store. The poor hitchhikers were still standing by the road. I briefly considered telling them they were waiting in the dumbest possible curve where no car could stop, but decided they’d probably figure it out on their own.

The hike started with an epic view of a rushing, turquoise-blue mountain river. Wow, what a force. There’s something humbling about experiencing nature’s raw power up close. Hello, I am a human, a speck of dust. Before heading to the mountain, I did my little nature-prayer ritual—I’ve made it a habit on this trip to check in with nature before entering: I promise to be respectful and leave no trace, and in return I ask for protection, safety, and care. I know, I know—very forest-hippie vibes, probably a case of fresh-air poisoning. But it helps me to feel grounded and the feeling that I’ve not been left completely to my own devices. I began following the red dots with white circles, marking the path. The first part was pretty easy—step by step, steadily climbing alongside the waterfall. Tough, but not brutal. Every now and then I stopped to take in the incredible view, gasped a little, and kept going. The trail was scattered with reindeer poop, though unfortunately I didn’t spot any of the suspects. I noticed the nature was similar to Estonian spring—buttercups, forget-me-nots, delicate early blooms, and a crisp, fresh breeze.

I took a little break to devour on of the cinnamon buns and thought to myself: this is wild. I’m just sitting here in the middle of the day. I also realized I’d been carrying way too much water with me—nature provides natural taps, duh! Eventually I reached the base of the waterfall, which was quite high up, but suddenly the red trail markers were gone. Weird. But since the path was continuing, I followed. It quickly turned super steep and narrow, with nothing to grab onto. I sat down to assess the situation. My heart was pounding from exhaustion or maybe the height—either way, I was getting a bit dizzy. I’m not really scared of heights, but damn, this was high! And nothing but emptiness around me. I looked up—the summit wasn’t far, and I had seen other hikers earlier, but now I couldn’t tell where they’d gone. I was fighting an inner battle: is this the moment to listen to your survival instincts and turn back? Or is this one of those “don’t be a wimp” moments where you push past your fear? I am in control of my own mind, right? So…? Okay, let’s try to go just a bit further. I stood up, turned around, and started counting 100 steps aloud while focusing on my feet. Then sat down again. Breathed. Calmed down. Got up. Another 100 steps. I repeated the cycle 4–5 times until the path got so tangled with tree roots that I started to worry—even if I did make it to the top, I might not be able to hike back down. A few curse words and almost half a tear later I reluctantly turned back. I so wanted to conquer that mountain!

Hiking down, I learned another rookie lesson—I’d naïvely assumed that going up was the hard part and the descent would be quick and easy. Ha. Good one. Turns out, downhill is where your knees turn to jelly and your ankles are at constant risk of being injured. So I slowly tiptoed down, taking care of my precious legs—I’m going to need them for a little longer. I also tried to find a good spot to take a cold dip in the river—I always have my swimsuit in the backpack—but couldn’t find a safe spot to get in. Hours later, I finally managed to got back to the hostel and was able to check into my room. To my surprise—and slight disappointment—I had the six-bed dorm all to myself. The season hadn’t really started yet, with outdoor temps as low as 12–14°C. In a way, it was nice to be alone—especially with the nightly coughing fits I’d been having—but I’d hoped to meet other backpackers, share stories, maybe even continue traveling together for a bit. I had a quick lunch and collapsed into bed. Oh man, it felt good. I spent the rest of the afternoon horizontal, enjoying the luxury of free Wi-Fi.

At some point, Niklas messaged to say he had made it to Abisko. We agreed to head out in the evening to look for a swimming spot by the lake before going our separate ways again. I had to be back by 8 PM sharp—sauna was only open from 8 to 9, and I wasn’t about to miss that. So I made myself a cup of tea and set off with it toward the lake. Niklas met me halfway, and we shared our day’s adventures—my (un)successful mountain climb and his visit to Kiruna’s new town. The lakeshore was cold and windy. We explored a few places to get in the water and finally settled on a wooden dock  at someone’s boat shed. The water was clear, icy, and crisp—perfect for winter swimming in Estonia. Yet the water somehow felt really soft on my skin. After a refreshing dip, we dried off quickly and sat in the sun. So lovely, so simple. We didn’t talk for long—my sauna time was approaching. On the way back, Niklas gave me a piece of advice: “On this trip, take at least one day every now and then where you do absolutely nothing. Just lie in bed, watch movies, eat pizza. No adventuring.” I paused for a moment to digest the idea and realised it’s actually really solid advice. A psychologist once told me something similar after my burnout: “Lie down until you want to get up, not until you start to feel guilty”. Travelling can make it hard to pause—there’s so much pressure to see, to do, to experience. You came all this way, so now do ALL the things! But really—you don’t have to. No one can stay hyped and adventurous every day for weeks or months on end. I came here to live, not to exhaust myself.

We said goodbye with a long, warm hug and wished each other luck on our upcoming adventures. I walked back to the hostel to enjoy my precious sauna hour. Until now, all I’d seen in Sweden were those weird steam saunas—but this one was the real deal. Big, round, a stone heater in the middle like an altar. Another girl from the room next door joined me—we chatted a bit, though it was a bit too hot for me to stay longer. She’d recently moved to Kiruna for work and came to Abisko for a weekend break. It felt funny to think someone would come to the next town for a getaway, especially someone who wasn’t into hiking. But hey—to each their own. We shared mutual frustration over the lack of (good, or any) coffee in this tourist-friendly town, and agreed there’s definitely a gap in the local market. Maybe I should open a coffee cart at the bus stop. She also told me that the big red church in Kiruna had held its final service last week—and for a whole day they were offering “drop-in weddings” so that anyone who wanted to get married could do so before the building was relocated. Yes, they’re literally lifting the church up and moving it to a new location. With divine assistance, I assume—because I cannot imagine howelse would you move a church.

Exhausted from the cold swim and hot sauna, I crawled up to my top bunk and slept like a rock. And that wrapped up the Sweden leg of my trip. Next stop: Norway.

Until next time,
Kärt