How not to go exploring

For all of last week I had been thinking I needed to talk to Ramona about hanging out on Saturday. Sadly, in between shaping steel, relearning to weld and tackling the complexities of SolidWorks, I was way too tired to remember to do this. So it was not until Friday that I did, and not until about 9 PM that it was established that be would go to Sweden the next morning. Being a semi-organized duo of urbexers, we had had this spot in mind for a while and I had already pinpointed it on Google Maps long ago, luckily.

Almost at once it started getting a little interesting though. Have you ever tried reading Google's directions for a route you already know? Notice how they somehow manage to confuse you anyway? 

We made it to Sweden okey, then we drove around aimlessly for a while (according to the GPS, the place we were heading simply does not exist) and when we finally got too worried that we would get lost in the cobweb of roads out in the woods, we headed back to town and went candy shopping. Eventually, I got in touch with my dad over the phone and by the combined forces of Google Maps and the NAF-bible (the Norwegian Automobile Association’s book of road maps) we got back on track.

(a few weeks earlier)

Dad : *wathching TV, looks at me, looks back at the TV, and back at me again* “Is that the NAF-book you're reading?!”

Me: “Yeah, I'm looking for an abandoned hotel I saw...”

Dad: “Oh... “

Finally back on track, Ramona is clearly getting used to the NAF-book and is buzy keeping track of where we are on the map, while I have the unsettlig feeling that while we drive slowly in my little Ford Focus (no off-road truck to say the least) the locals drive just like my local locals (myself included) on the dodgy roads at home: in a way that suggests you know every corner, which is supernaturally fast. 

“So now you have lost your way and cant find the pile of trash you were looking for?”.

My dad wasn’t too far off with this sarcastic attempt at guessing what I wanted when I called.

So what is it we have come for exactly? Cars, a whole bunch of cars rotting away slowly. This has been called a car cemetery by many and is supposedly the biggest collection of decaying cars in all of northern Europe. Different sources give different numbers, but 500+ is not a bold guess to the number of cars, maybe ever as much as a thousand. All from the forties, fifties and sixties, when this was a flourishing business. Now photographers and nostalgic car enthusiasts thrive instead. Before we exit the car, I look at my watch and declare that we have half an hour, tops. This is not enough, by any means, but we need to be back at Eidsvoll by 8.09 pm. “Why haven’t you gotten your lens out yet?” Ramona wants to know.

We track around the woods and see a fraction of it. I take about 150 pix. Even such noobs as us can see all sorts of familiar shapes around us. The VW T1 (van), the old school VW Beetle, a Mini Cooper (a car involved in almost all my dad's tales of his youth) and one that looks like the car Mr Bean drives. The cars are piled up, some missing a lot of major parts, some smashed quite a bit, and they have stuff growing on, in, around and through them. Beetles are smiling wide from bushes, from atop other cars and from between the trees, because it's the only expression they have. We'll be back for sure!

The next morning I woke up anxious and depressed, only halfway recovered from a sugar induced coma-like sleep. This clearly could only be mended by some more candy.