Pauliina FlamI am a big enthusiast of escaping reality and my thoughts through music, movies, and books. But the rare places where I can fully be in the moment are the mountains. No matter what anxious pits my mind might wander into at home, here, on a dirt path rising high, then switching to stones and eventually boulders — I can think of nothing else besides the path. I have to concentrate on not falling and listen to my body, taking care of it properly, to complete the hike. Sometimes I take breaks and look around: the views are so breathtaking that my thoughts silently retreat, gradually giving space to wonder at how mighty and overwhelmingly beautiful these places are.
” I believe no one is truly conquering anything except themselves; the mountains either let you pass, or they don’t.”
I don’t understand how some people see mountain climbs as a conquest. Going out into the wild is putting yourself at the mercy of nature. I also don’t get why some see reaching the top as an ego statement. Sure, you made it, but countless others perished along the way — some far more prepared and skilled than you. I believe no one is truly conquering anything except themselves; the mountains either let you pass, or they don’t.
..mountains are equalizing: it doesn’t matter where you come from, what you believe, or what your status is.
To me, mountains are more humbling than ego-boosting. I felt it in my entire being when I was stuck on a rocky slope, unable to move up or down until fellow climbers helped me. It was just after the pandemic, during a time of binary politics, when people were more focused on judging and arguing than agreeing. Well, we’re still living in that era, I guess. But back then, being trapped on a vertical surface, I felt how mountains stripped away everyone’s beliefs and political views, pulled people from opposite camps together, and placed everyone under the same harsh conditions that are difficult to survive alone. In moments like that, what kind of shoes you wear matters far more than who you vote for. From this perspective, mountains are equalizing: it doesn’t matter where you come from, what you believe, or what your status is. Hanging on the mountain, suspended between earth and sky, we are all at nature’s mercy — small, fleeting, and alive.
It was a rainy day in the Tatras. Green trees and bushes, usually light and sunny, seemed so dark under the heavy rain and gloomy sky. I took a shuttle from the village to the trailhead. People swore and hesitated, choosing timidly between raincoats, waterproof jackets, and umbrellas.
It was my very first mountain hike. I didn’t know how it would feel or what it would take. I didn’t know that today I would discover a hobby I would follow until my legs could carry me no more. I didn’t know how many times I would return to these mountains after that first rainy day. And of course, I didn’t know that I would be mesmerized every single time I visited. The only thing I knew was that I could see the mountains on the horizon — and I had to go to them. I don’t think I’ve changed in that regard since.
There I was, covered from head to knees in a rain poncho, wearing the biggest smile ever. It was impossible to hide it under the raging storm. I could sense how ridiculous I must have looked to the resentful faces around me — grayer than the sky — but I couldn’t help it. I put on my headphones to get through the most crowded area until I reached the forest line. Dreamy tunes of Okean Elzy drowned out the swearing tourists. The Ukrainian band sang “We Are Walking Afield”, a song about Everest. I was so grateful they had written it and sung it into my ears, making me feel less foolish for smiling in such disastrous weather. Now, I think of this song as the soundtrack to my very first mountain hike.
..”But the rain from the cloud of dark arrows does not hit the target
And we continue to carry our flag, not the cross
We continue to go to our own Everest…” -Okean Elzy
Years later, I was watching a movie on a bus, on my way to a mountain hike, when a song by Sybille Bayer played. She sang in a sad, moody voice about losing something in the hills. From the moment I heard it, I couldn’t stop listening. I replayed it again and again, not because I loved the melody, but because I couldn’t figure out the lyrics. I was captivated — how could someone lose something in the hills? The question followed me, over and over, until I arrived in the mountains. Then, somehow, it stopped bothering me. It stopped bothering me when I got to the mountains.
“I can’t explain what exactly it is that I find in the mountains, but I always know I will be back for more.”
You see, I’ve lost many things in the hills: a hiking pole, a bandana, my travel guide stamped with mountain tops, even the wind muff from my DSLR microphone. And yet, every time I return to the mountains, I feel like I find something, take it in, and bring it back with me. I can’t explain exactly what it is that I find there, but I always know I will come back for more. The song no longer bothers me. Nowadays, I enjoy its moody vibes — it’s about an honest connection with the hills. Everyone who goes there has one.
“Oh, I know farther west, these hills exist
Marked by apple trees
Marked by a straight brook
That leads me wherever I want it to” -Sybille Bayer
I have a song I listen to when my longing for the mountains becomes so strong that I need a reminder they exist. I need to remember that, right now, they stand far away and kindly allow some people to pass as their guests. In those moments, I want so badly to be those people.
The song is Daydreaming by Dark Dark Dark. It combines unusual instruments into a simple, relatable story: stretching your bones in the mountains, where only the wind whispers, and realizing that just this moment — right there — means the world to you. Perhaps it sums up what I take from the mountains in a way that feels uncertain, yet at the same time, it is the most concrete thing one can say: “Oh, the unspeakable things”.
“Think of a place I would go
I’m daydreamin’
Where the sycamore grows
I’m daydreamin’
And oh, if you knew what it meant to me
Where the air was so clear” -DarkDarkDark
I feel a twinge of sadness descending the mountains. My mind knows there are reasons to go back: work, studies, trips, the people I love. But my soul feels as if there is absolutely no reason to return when one could keep walking peaks and ridges, beautiful valleys, and glassy lakes. I put on music to carry my mind back to the rocky views as I reach the forest line. Even then, steep trails remain for hours, and it is devastating to realize you are walking away from the hills.
Once, in a moment like this, I put on that song, but the experience felt flat, useless. I realized it’s not a song for hiking — it’s a song for busy Mondays or weary Thursdays, to escape the noisy streets and remind yourself what all those hikes mean: yes, the unspeakable things. On my way down, I chose Led Zeppelin instead, and it did the job.
One cold summer day, I was cooking breakfast in a village at the foot of the mountains. Another hiker, a local, chatted with me for a while. The things he said, and the way he said them, left me worried. He claimed he had hiked the toughest ridge in the area in sneakers — and it wasn’t that hard at all — insisting that everyone should try it. When I shared my plans for my hike, he shrugged and said there wasn’t much to see: the mountains there, he said, looked like someone had poured a bit of sand around.
Well, I still went — and I was not disappointed. If anyone is wondering what “poured sand” looks like, here it is:
..when will my excitement fade? Is it just a matter of time? When is the time? What if it is now?
That morning stayed with me. Even after our conversation ended, I couldn’t stop thinking about it. A year later, I planned another hike, but the thought made me anxious: what if I’ve been here so many times that I can no longer appreciate it? That guy I spoke with was a local, someone who hikes and climbs constantly. And here I am, visiting these places year after year — when will my excitement fade? Is it just a matter of time? When will that time come? What if it’s now?
I was on my way to the mountain village. I grabbed a front seat upstairs on the bus, with only a big window in front of me. I felt anxious. What if, the moment I arrive and start my hike, I think: “Hah, looks just like someone poured sand, nothing special”?
But then my thoughts were interrupted by a verse:
“Yet I have seen it a thousand times, and am still surprised
Of the beauty of them who made me let go”
It is sung by Zaz and is called La Lessive. I listened carefully, over and over. I could understand only a few words and verses, but those I understood spoke my mind. After an hour, high, sharp peaks pierced the horizon. Seeing them through the window, a silly smile spread across my face, along with the rising joy of being closer to the mountains. I looked down at my hands and noticed goosebumps: I still got it.
There are many places I have traveled to that, in my mind, are shaped by pieces of music. Mountains, though, exist in their own genre of wind, storms, brooks, and waterfalls. Yet, there are still songs that bring me there and back, helping me reconnect with those experiences when the mountains are far away.
And what are your mountain songs?
