We are in Orsa, Sweden, on a ski trip with my family.
Yesterday, the temperature was minus seventeen degrees.
Just seeing that number already feels cold.
The air is sharp and clear.
Every breath reaches deep into my lungs, icy and pure.
Yesterday, I went skiing for the first time since I was thirteen.
I stayed on the gentle beginner slopes.
When I looked up, I saw impossibly steep hills,
and quietly drew a line in my heart:
That’s not for me.
Still, even sliding down the lower slopes is more than enough fun.
Especially the lift that feels like a Tarzan rope in a playground.
For my daughters, minus seventeen degrees is probably their first time.
Last night, my younger one didn’t feel well,
so we’re still deciding whether to ski today.
We still have tomorrow, so there’s no need to push ourselves.
When I put on my ski boots,
I thought, as expected:
This might be too much for me.
They lock your feet tightly in place.
They’re hard to walk in.
There’s no escape.
I’ve always been bad at things like this.
When I feel trapped,
my chest starts to feel restless.
But strangely,
once I start skiing,
I forget all about it.
I remembered that it was the same in my first year of junior high.
On our school ski trip,
I had so much fun with my friends.
I wanted to do it again and again.
And yet, somewhere inside me, I thought:
But I never want to wear these boots again.
The same goes for winter clothes.
So many layers.
It takes forever to take them off.
Looking back,
I realize I’ve been like this all along.
Not a discovery—
just a quiet understanding.
Still, the ski slopes are beautiful.
A world of only white and blue.
Almost silent.
Clean and gentle.
When I’m there,
my worries fade a little.
Yesterday, there was one unforgettable moment.
At a food stand, I ordered a hot dog.
The man asked me something.
To me, it sounded like:
“Blood sauce?”
…Blood?
Without really understanding, I said, “Yes.”
(Even after living abroad for so long, this is still my bad habit 💦)
What I got was a hot dog with ketchup.
It must have been a misunderstanding.
Definitely.
But for just one moment,
in that snowy landscape,
it felt like a horror movie was about to begin.
Today, everything outside is quietly white again.
The cold is still severe.
Watching my daughter,
I’ll decide whether to rest or ski again.
Either way,
I feel this trip will someday become a memory
that makes me smile.
Along with that “blood-stained” hot dog
I ate in minus seventeen degrees.
.Randers Tanker. 