Two Tickets, One Dream: A Journey from Fjords to Fables”

“Two Tickets, One Dream: A Journey from Fjords to Fables”

What if, by a stroke of serendipity, life handed me not a cheque, not a crown, but two free plane tickets—slender paper wings promising boundless skies? I would not squander the chance to dance with destiny. I would board one flight that sails through northern light and another that lands softly amid candlelit cafés—my heart split between Norway and Paris, the austere and the amorous, the sublime and the sentimental.

Norway: Whispers of the Fjord

Norway is no ordinary escape—it is a reverent pilgrimage into nature’s ancient diary. With soaring fjords that speak in echoes, pine-cloaked mountains wrapped in mists, and waters that shimmer like liquid sapphires, Norway is poetry carved in stone and sky.

I would begin in Bergen, nestled like a secret between sea and slope. There, the wooden wharf houses of Bryggen still whisper Norse sagas—of sailors who chased horizons and of dreamers who scribbled stardust in the margins of history. The North Sea breeze would ruffle my thoughts like the fingers of forgotten gods.

I would board a ferry through Geirangerfjord, that haunting corridor of stillness, where waterfalls weep like harps and every turn is an invocation. Here, I’d let the silence baptise me. I’d gaze at the Northern Lights from Tromsø, letting those celestial ribbons write poems in the winter sky.

Norway reminds the soul to be humble. It tells us that the Earth is older than all our ambitions, and that beauty, when untouched, speaks louder than progress.

Paris: The City of Timeless Murmurs

And then—Paris. If Norway is a hymn to solitude, Paris is a sonnet whispered to the soul.

The City of Light is not just a place on the map—it is a mood, a memory, a melody. I would walk along the Seine, under the twilight hues that Monet once bled into canvas. Bookstalls, lovers, violinists, and flâneurs would keep me company, all wrapped in the faded scent of centuries.

I’d sit at a corner café in Montmartre, where once Picasso sketched dreams and Edith Piaf sang of aching hearts. I’d sip slow coffee and pen my own verses, as accordion music drifted through the Parisian hush. Even the raindrops here are stylish, landing on cobblestones with a poetic sigh.

To stand beneath the Eiffel Tower at night is not merely to witness architecture, but to feel what it’s like when steel falls in love with starlight. There is romance in the air—not only of lovers, but of life itself.

Paris is a reminder that passion matters, that art heals, and that time is best spent lingering.

One Soul, Two Worlds

These two destinations—so different, yet so profound—would pull my heart like twin moons. Norway would teach me the sacredness of silence, the thunderous calm of glaciers and fjords. Paris would seduce me with its candle-lit chaos, its art and its audacity to live fully.

If given two free tickets, I would not just travel—I would transcend. I would embrace both stillness and song, both the voice of the wild and the whisper of the city.

Two wings gifted, I rise to roam,
From icy cliffs to café’s dome.
One hand clasps snow, one clutches wine,
One foot on moss, one toe in brine.

In Norway’s hush, I find my grace,
In Paris’ kiss, my soul’s embrace.
Two lands, one love, no need to choose—
I walk the sky in wanderer’s shoes.

In the end, we don’t just travel to see the world. We travel to meet ourselves. And between Norway’s introspection and Paris’ seduction, I would find a version of myself more whole, more awakened, and more grateful than ever before.