The Local's Oliver Gee has returned from climbing the highest mountain in Sweden. He talks about the adventure, facing certain doom, and mosquitoes the size of golf balls.
Published: 6 August 2014 14:03 CEST
Sitting on top of Sweden.
I was 150 kilometres north of the Arctic circle and the mosquitoes wanted me dead. I was already itchy just minutes after leaving Nikkaluokta – a tiny dot on the map that marked the end of the road and the start of the trip.
Thwack, thwack, thwack.
I was armed with a backpack (including tent, sleeping bag, food, clothes, water, and insect repellent), my girlfriend, and a 19-kilometre trek to the base camp of Kebnekaise.
Halfway along at a lakeside pit stop, an exhausted Serb heading the other way got talking to me, scratching his festering ankles as he spoke.
“I'll give you one word of warning, my friend” he said, thwacking a mosquito on his arm, revealing a small pool of blood.
“If you make it to the top, don't look over the edge. I did. It's certain death off both sides. I got a serious dose of vertigo and no one needs that in their lives.”
Lucky I'm not afraid of heights, I thought foolishly. And oh, how wrong I was.
The scene of the lakeside pit stop
Five hours of walking and we were at the base camp, setting up our tent. I was already struggling after lugging the gear, but glad I didn't have to take the cheapest mattress space at the lodge for 520 kronor ($75).
The trek was a little tough on my ankles (I was wearing sneakers), and I eyed up the rack of hiking boots available for rent.
The man behind the desk laughed when I asked if the mountain would be much tougher than the hike that day.
“That first bit was a walk in the park. I could do it in flip flops. If you want to tame Kebnekaise, you're going to need hiking boots,” he said with a smile.
These turned out to be the wisest words I'd hear. I rented the boots for 200 kronor (If you want my advice, bring sturdy boots – read my top five tips here) and we planned to set off at sunrise the next day.
I learned quickly that there's no such thing as sunrise in far northern Sweden during the summer. In fact, there's no sunset either. Just sun, 24 hours a day. So we set off at 8.30 as a fair compromise.
I'd say there were around 50 people doing the climb that day, spaced far apart. Many of them gave up. Most, perhaps. You see, it's a steep ten kilometres from base camp to the peak, followed by another ten on the way down. And the average hike time is around 13 hours. And on this day, the sun was pounding down.
The climb winds slowly into the mountains, and it's several hours before you can even see the peak. Red painted dots mark the track every now and again, and it's recommended you take a compass in case visibility is too low to see them.
See the picture above for a rough idea of the climb. First, you have to veer left, scale the lower peak (to the top left), then descend 200 metres in that big dip (oh cruel, cruel world), before hiking up the other side to the summit (far right).
And this takes hours. About seven for us. The ascent gets steeper, the rocks get looser, the running water from the melting glaciers gets scarcer, until it's just you against the mountain. Man versus nature.
They say you can see ten percent of Sweden from the top of Kebnekaise and I'd believe it. But I was too numb, cold, and tired to think about percentages. Unfortunately, I was also too tired to remember the wise words of the Serb as I looked over the edge.
“Wow, look how steep it is,” I said to my girlfriend, and then immediately froze. I sat down. Off both sides of the peak, there was a sheer drop.
And it was truly frightening. It was vertigo-inducing. It was horrible. I couldn't tell if my legs were shaking because of climbing 2,106 metres in seven hours or because my life had just flashed before my eyes and I wasn't very impressed by it.
But either way, after my peek off the peak I was keen to head down. No one ever needs to be cornered by two cliff peaks.
The next five hours were mostly auto-pilot. One foot after the other. The more and more frequent stops for a rest or a drink of water. The mechanical thwack, thwack, thwack of mosquito patrol.
The scenery, however, was truly stunning. It's more enjoyable on the way down because you're not focused on your goal of reaching the top. And the fatigue means more stopping for photo opportunities.
After almost exactly 12 hours, we reached the base camp again and collapsed. We joined the rest of the zombies limping around, taking a sauna, drinking soup. Asking others we'd passed along the way how they'd fared.
And as I sat outside the lodge in the evening air with my heavy hiking boots by my side, I felt overcome by a very primitive sense of achievement.
Man verse mountain. Achieved. Unlocked. Done. Now to get some sleep before tomorrow's 19-kilometre hike to the bus stop, I thought.
How a rental car shortage in Europe could scupper summer holiday plans
After long months of lockdowns and curfews Europeans are looking forward to jetting off for a bit of sun and sand -- only to find that their long awaited holiday plans go awry due to a shortage of rental cars.
Published: 4 July 2021 10:12 CEST
Tourists wait outside of rental car agencies in Corsica. Photo: PASCAL POCHARD-CASABIANCA / AFP
In many areas popular with tourists cars are simply not available or subcompacts are going for a stiff €500 euros.
Car rental comparison websites show just how expensive renting a vehicle has become for tourists this summer.
According to Carigami, renting a car for a week this summer will set tourists back an average of 364 euros compared to 277 euros two years ago.
For Italy, the figure is 407 euros this summer compared to 250 euros in 2019. In Spain, the average cost has jumped to 263 euros from 185 euros.
According to another website, Liligo, daily rental costs have nearly doubled on the French island of Corsica. At the resort city of Palma on the Spanish island of Mallorca, rental prices have nearly tripled.
Today’s problem is a direct result of the coronavirus pandemic.
Faced with near absence of clients, selling off vehicles to raise cash made a lot of sense for car rental firms struggling to survive.
“Everyone drastically reduced their fleet,” said the head of Europcar, Caroline Parot.
Until the spring, most companies still had fleets roughly a third smaller than in 2019, she said.
Car rental firms are used to regularly selling their vehicles and replacing them, so rebuilding their inventory should not have been a problem.
Except the pandemic sent demand for consumer electronics surging, creating a shortage of semiconductors, or chips, that are used not only in computers but increasingly in cars.
“A key contributor to the challenge right now is the global chip shortage, which has impacted new vehicle availability across the industry at a time when demand is already high,” said a spokesman for Enterprise.
It said it was working to acquire new vehicles but that in the mean time it is shifting cars around in order to better meet demand.
No cars, try a van
“We’ve begun to warn people: if you want to come to Italy, which is finally reopening, plan and reserve ahead,” said the head of the association of Italian car rental firms, Massimiliano Archiapatti.
He said they were working hard to meet the surge in demand at vacation spots.
“But we’ve got two big islands that are major international tourism destinations,” he said, which makes it difficult to move cars around,
especially as the trip to Sardinia takes half a day.
“The ferries are already full with people bringing their cars,” he added.
“Given the law of supply and demand, there is a risk it will impact on prices,” Archiapatti said.
The increase in demand is also being seen for rentals between individuals.
GetAround, a web platform that organises such rentals, said it has seen “a sharp increases in searches and rentals” in European markets.
Since May more than 90 percent of cars available on the platform have been rented on weekends, and many have already been booked for much of the summer.
GetAround has used the surge in demand to expand the number of cities it serves.
For some, their arrival can’t come fast enough.
Bruno Riondet, a 51-year-old aeronautics technician, rents cars to attend matches of his favourite British football club, Brighton.
“Before, to rent a car I was paying between 25 and 30 euros per day. Today, it’s more than 90 euros, that’s three times more expensive,” he said.
In the United States, where prices shot higher during the spring, tourists visiting Hawaii turned to renting vans.
In France, there are still cars, according to Jean-Philippe Doyen, who handles shared mobility at the National Council of Automobile Professionals.
“Clients have a tendency to reserve at the last minute, even more so in the still somewhat uncertain situation,” he said.
They will often wait until just a few days before their trip, which means car rental firms don’t have a complete overview of upcoming demand, he added.
He said business is recovering but that revenue has yet to reach pre-pandemic levels as travel is not yet completely unfettered.