Following the dream from Oslo to Bergen. The story of one Ukrainian tourist (Part 2) (A continuation) 1.55 p.m. – ferry crew is on the shore, the last passengers come to the boat, the closed ticket window with the plate "All tickets sold" is nearby. The captain shrugs with a smile and says: “There is only one ferry tour per day in Bergen, buy tickets in advance, try for tomorrow”. My train to Oslo goes in 8 hours. The city boils, the air has warmed, tourists are everywhere, they take pictures, push at the seafood market, wait in lines near bars and restaurants, order newly caught fish, crabs and lobsters. The crew, probably, is already on the ship, I am going slowly, still hoping that someone will call me and say that a place has been found. Suddenly, someone calls me, a tall dark-haired guy says something to me in Norwegian, then he sees that I do not understand him, laughs, and switches to English. He asks if I want to help people. I answer, unusually for such situations, that now I want someone to help me. He is listening to my story with deep sympathize and cares how to help me, asks if I need food and housing, asks me to write down his phone just in case. Now I start to calm him down and say that everything is fine. "No, I understand you very well; I had a long trip before I reached here 3 years ago. I escaped from Damascus, I was floating for 5 hours on a crowded boat, and then I went 100 km on foot to the refugee camp in Turkey, got some money there and reached Norway. I’ve learned Norwegian, but forgot English" – he says with a smile. Pause. Hug. He asks me to message him when I come back to Ukraine. We are moving apart, everyone with own thoughts. I open the map. So what's left of the marked? Funicular. The fjord is flashing far below me; multicolored houses come down to him. An amazing city that has so many times resurrected after wars and fires. A huge medieval port, which has been connecting many countries for centuries. For the time remaining, I passed all the old streets, looked into the wooden labyrinths of the port houses, came to all souvenir shops. And in the evening, having seen in the mirror my sunburnt nose and remembering the words of the hostel's neighbor, I realized how happy I am.