The Arctic, a nomad and a search for the northern lights

Seeing the Northern Lights was the first dream on my bucket list.

I came across the idea of having one way before I became nomadic, in my early 20s. I returned from visiting a friend in Jerusalem and hitchhiked to Tel Aviv with an orthodox guy.

He and his wife had sat down to write a bucket list a few years earlier, and since then each year they choose one dream and work towards making it a reality.

Inspired young me decided to sit down and write my own bucket list; over the past years, I fulfilled many of them, though some remain a mystery (learning to play the harp Adi? Really?)

This winter in Norway, I decided it was time to try to fulfill this one.

Do you know the phenomenon where you enter a dark room and you don't switch on the light? After a few moments, you start to see again, barely at first, but as time goes by, you see more and more details?

What happens to the eyes that are accustomed to little exposure to light when they encounter the light of a candle, stars, or perhaps even the northern lights?

I had to check for myself ?

Dozens of sleepy tourists wander around Troms? at 1 a.m., looking up to the sky, seeking a glimpse of the lights. Aurora Borealis is one of the most enchanting phenomena in the world, one that attracts many people from all over the world who wish to witness it. In recent years, the number of visitors has been steadily increasing, what the locals call Northern Lights tourism. Full of hope and covered in too many thermal layers, the tourist bus drives for hours in the hope of witnessing the magic.

The first night I arrived in Troms?, even though I was tired from the long day of travel, I was tempted by the information that popped up in the dedicated app I had downloaded—a high possibility of seeing the lights. And so, at 1 a.m., I found myself walking the island and trying to escape the city lights until I reached a lake. The wait is mixed with excitement—a blend of cold, excitement, tension, and hope. Like watching the sky waiting for a shooting star. After an hour of listening to music and jumping up and down to warm, I decided to go back to the apartment. It's okay, I told myself. I have 10 days here, and it's plenty of time.

The next day an arctic storm arrived in the area that covered the sky with a thick layer of clouds. After a few days of an exciting storm (the combination of icy sidewalks and strong wind is something special!) I left town with a friend for the weekend. The sky was still cloudy, and I had come to terms with the fact that it's okay if it doesn't happen this time; it just gives me another reason to return to this beautiful area. Everything has its timing, and some things can't be rushed.

Although I really meant all those things, I downloaded another northern lights app just to get a second opinion. No, it said there is no chance of seeing the aurora tonight.

Then I heard a shout from outside: "Adi, come now!"

Like a dream, a window opened in the sky; in front of us, the aurora was revealed in its glowing green colors, dancing between thousands of stars. The aurora danced, and so did we. We danced and cheered, and after a while just stood there in silence in front of the sublime beauty, breathing deeply and surrendering to the connection with nature.

In the busy fast-faced modern life, I don’t find it surprising that people are willing to invest a lot of energy and resources in order to experience one moment of wonder.

Moments of awe and wonder become rare and precious because they demand a rare combination: time to observe, attention to nature, synchronization, and a touch of magic. They activate something ancient deep within us that we long for - to be fully present in front of the beauty of the world.