In transit in mind and body, but not in luggage. Arrived to Oslo, stopped to look at the holy grail of snus wall in the Norwegian Duty Free Shop. Browsed for an unnecessarily long time through the liquor section trying to decide if bringing liquor was a good idea at all. The indecision was probably also on account of the two hours of sleep I’ve caught in the last 28 hours. Lost in a fog of confusion and teetering back forth under the weight of my severely overloaded, 50+ lbs. carry on backpack, I picked up a log of exotic snus and a bottle of Jamieson in preparation of encountering Versailles level prices for booze and drugs in Norway. Emerging from Duty Free, the carousels of baggage claim were empty and the entirety of the vast baggage claim warehouse was deserted. “Shit, did I wait too long to get my bags and the baggage department moved them somewhere else?” Scampering between carousels searching for any sign of two Salomon ski bags and two extra large duffle bags, there were no signs of my luggage arriving. After a tense wait in the baggage service department, thinking of the possibility of weeks of baggage delays hampering our entire trip, I ended up talking to some of the nice airline employees I’ve ever met. After some computer searching, it seemed like my bags were somewhere between the cold vacuum of space and the molten iron of the center of the earth. For all they could tell, my bags simply didn’t exist beyond the four bar-coded stickers adhered to the back of my ticket. “It’s that damn guy in Seattle who seemed utterly confused on where to put my mountain of luggage after I went through customs coming into Seattle from Kelowna” I thought. Now the waiting game of sitting in soiled underwear, sweaty tee-shirts and taking showers only to put back on the same foul smelling clothes I’ve been wearing for 36 hours straight begins.