Day 9 – Lofoten

Our 9th day in Norway opened with me rising slightly early to prepare a breakfast of banana pancakes (in the American style) for us all. The small kitchen was supplied with a beautifully heavy frying pan in cast-iron, which was perfect for pancakes (and had made short work of the Welsh cakes the evening before).

Much of the early talk was dominated by discussion of the best frame rates at which to capture and playback our time lapse videos; a hazard of going on trips with alumni of an engineering faculty. Nina, despite being the first to bed the previous evening, was the last to rise having been tired out by the previous day’s driving. Thanks to a (relatively) early night and forgetting to set an alarm, she had managed a full 12 hours (it is a holiday after all); rising just as I was finishing up cooking the last pancake.


Alas I had forgotten that Nina doesn’t favour breakfast, so it was just Chris, the duck and I that tucked in.

We decided to make for the ferry at Melbu rather than drive back up [vest] and take the tunnel to the Lofoten islands. This saved considerable driving, and allowed us a far more relaxed trip than would otherwise have been the case.


The weather was once again on our side and we were bathed in brilliant sunshine, and in the car we were actually becoming rather warm as we headed for the ferry quay on the southern tip of the island. With an eclectic mix of rock, country & western, 80s synth, classical and metal tunes pumping steadily from the stereo it was glorious to be on the road again.


The short hop on the ferry doubled as a coffee stop. As we sipped our warm drinks I found that I still hadn’t gotten over the clarity of the water.


As we drew towards the quay on the far shore, one group of rocks reminded me of ‘Tracey Island’ from Thunderbirds, because of its colours and the gorgeous blues of the water surrounding it.


Once landed we began our journey down the E10; a highway running all the way down the spine of the archipelago; each island connected to the next by tall bridges (that allow shipping to pass beneath). We drove along under a blue sky, following the road as it wound around the northern shore of [austvagoy] the first island in the chain of mountainous little islands. The video shows around 13minutes of journey, time-lapsed into 20seconds (available in high definition).

As the road swept around fjords and lakes we gazed upon brilliant shimmering light reflecting off the deep blue water, set against the dark rock and snow of the surrounding peaks.

Before we knew it (time passes surprisingly fast when you are agape at your beautiful surroundings) we were in the [Svolvaer], one of the larger settlements on the islands. We had, for a time, been considering taking the Hurtigruten to here, taking in the legendary Troll fjord which is only accessible by sea (or climbing a few mountains). Following a “parking space safari” around town, we stopped to lunch at a picnic bench in the harbour, enjoying the tasty leftovers of the dinner and breakfast prepared the previous night in the cabin. Without any particular intention of doing so we had prepared stuff that is also tasty cold.


It was whilst wandering the harbour that the sharp (but pleasing, at least to me) contrast between the warm sunshine and cool arctic breeze became apparent. In the still air of the car, one could easily believe one’s self to be in the warmth of a Mediterranean tourist-trap. Here though stepping out into the moving air of the harbour brings a refreshing coolness (and a gentle aroma of brine).

This was also our first encounter with the perhaps somewhat eccentric (although the locals would protest at such a description) of drying fish. Great wooden racks are hung with large quantities of fish. Although the structures are skeletal, the two across the harbour from us appeared solid, so packed with fish were they. After lunch in the harbour air which carried a chill which was beginning to, if not bite, at least nibble we headed into a coffee shop. As we sat enjoying cappuccino, and musing over the peculiar Norwegian custom of serving tea in tumblers it struck me that things had really started to gel; being on adventure in interesting places with good friends.

From [Svolvaer] we headed to the Lofoten Aquarium. Being outside of the season the place seemed deserted, and we began to doubt that they were even open.

Just in case they weren’t we headed up their excellent viewing platform first, it overlooks the seal tank as well as the surrounding bay.

When we headed inside we found the curator, who assured us that the aquarium was indeed open, and was all too happy for us to look around (even giving us a discount).

One notable thing is that the aquarium had a number of ‘Touch pools’ in which sea creatures could actually be handled (without any particular supervision). The inclusion of ‘sea scorpions’ in one such tank did put me off though.
The aquarium had the usual array of sea creatures, from the shimmering and elegant to the tough and ugly.


The definite stars of the show were the seals; they glided through their tank with phenomenal speed.


Important Norway fact: Norway has seals, seals are cute.


Timing the shots as they swam by the viewing windows was also a bit of a game; quite challenging as the reflections on the glass necessitated manual focusing. (But on the bright side, I managed to get a seal-picture and a self portrait in one thanks to those same reflections).


Whilst we were watching feeding time came around, and (being as the place was so quiet) we were invited to stand with the keeper as he fed them. He told us that some of the seals were 20 years old, meaning that these were the same seals that Nina had seen here as a young girl.


Mmmmmmm, fish.

When we headed out on the road again we made for Henningsvaer; a place recommended by Nina’s aunt, who lives on the islands.

As we headed down road 816 towards the small settlement of Henningsv[ae]r the first clouds of the day began to threaten. Shafts of light descended onto the sea, making a striking scene.


The quaint settlements is on a string of tiny islands, close to the main chunk of [Austvagoy], and is well known for its glass blowing. Its small harbour is known as “the Englishman’s harbour” (though Chris didn’t seem to feel any particular sense of ownership over it, despite being the only Englishman present). I thought it curious how the other famous glass blowing town I have visited (Caithness) is in quite a similar environment; the Scottish highlands. There were even a few examples of the glass balls containing bubbles, for which Caithness Glass is known.


Norway is a very welcoming place... just don’t steal their parking spots.


After a look around town, we headed for lunch at a local restaurant whose soup was mentioned in the Lonley planet book. With the guide books recommendation in one hand, and the fact that every other establishment in town was closed in the other, the writing was on the wall; it was soup time. (please note the author accepts no responsibility for nausea caused by terrible puns). Chris, in an attempt to not be a ‘sheep’ opted for the days’s special; a fish burger, but regretted it as the soup lived up to its reputation. Our inept attempts at learning Norwegian led to us practicing ‘Fiske soupe’ the rest of the day.


Our return up the very scenic 816 in time-lapse. On our way to Leknes, we passed through the small settlement of “Borg”, ticking off my standard “visit somewhere with a Star Trek related name” item from the trip itinerary.

At the petrol station at Leknes we obtained directions to a town where there were more [Bryggs] (sea-side cabins) available for hire; Ballstad, on the southern tip of the island.

Being out of season still, we encountered another empty reception; once again though a quick call to the number left chalked up on the door. The reception was actually, very interesting in and of its self; the room was decorated with antique ships tackle and curios, juxtaposed against a rack of modern fishing rods, and a windsurf suspended from the ceiling.

The cabin we found was a real gem. It was large, comfortable, had another very well equipped kitchen and was painted in pastel blue and white gloss paints. There were just enough nicks and wear in the paint to give it a feeling of having been lived in, which just added to the charm of the place. I couldn’t quite get over how, in addition to the typical mugs and glass tumblers, wine glasses, shot glasses and champagne flutes were also provided.


The windows overlooked the harbour. Nearby stood many fish-drying racks, which produced a pungent and distinctive odour, but it was not unpleasant.

The evening was relaxing we cooked a ‘Grandiosa’ frozen pizza in the oven and sat around the dining table to talk. We rounded out the night with a game of ‘crazy caterpillars’.

Day 8 – The Arctic Highway

We rose with a great sense of anticipation of our impending Lofoten adventure; at 10:00 we were to set off with Nina on a ‘road trip’ up the E6 ‘Arctic Highway’ then on to Vesteraalen and the Lofoten archipelago. We had breakfast at the hotel and followed, where Nina joined us ready for the off. Before departing Bodø we headed to a local cafe’ favoured by Nina for coffee and milkshakes. I had a drink known as a ‘Latte Da Vinci” – a latte with flavoured syrup (in this case Irish Cream), Chris and Nina opted for milk shakes.

We left Bodø in distinctly mediocre weather, a grey sky dispensed a steady stream of drizzle down upon the car. This didn’t detract significantly from the route; the road ahead, swooped and curved around the peaks wound through narrow cuttings and occasionally plunged into long tunnels, hewn straight out of Norway’s sturdy rock. Lakes nestled in the troughs below each peak, even near the stream many were still frozen over and covered in snow.

(Enter guest logger Nina, because Dan is down for the count with a headache)

We stopped for a snack at an ‘inn’ (somewhat similar in function to a motorway services, or the ‘Jamaica Inn’ on Bodmin moor) at Kobbelv, a waterfall overlooked by a small Troll perched in the middle, on a rock, dressed as Spiderman (or that’s what Dan exclaimed when he saw it for the first time). Hunting down a cheese cake for Chris, me and Dan settled on waffles, with me convincing Dan to try it out with the Norwegian traditional “brown cheese” (goat’s cheese). He claimed to like it, but it does have a distinguished taste. I prefer the normal cheese myself.


We continued on along the 'Arctic highway' in some shifting weather (time lapse video embeded above). At this point I had noticed some minor struggles with the steering of the car with a near constant pulling towards the right. Considering us Norwegians ride on the right side of the road, this put us close to the ditch/mountain/river/ocean at some points. Luckily I think Dan and Chris never really noticed the close-to-possible-accidents.


After having stopped for some pictures from the top of the Ulvsvaag mountain, we trundled down to a nearby gas station to check the air pressure in the tires, finding them to be at 3 Bar each. The manual in the car, which was checked to make sure I remembered correctly, says 2 Bar on each tire. Or 2.1 if you’re heavy loaded. Still, not 3. So we let out some air. And even though it heightened the friction on the tires, it did give us better grip in the sharper corners, something I had fun taking advantage of, causing Chris to cling to the overhead-handle.

Arriving at Bognes we very nearly took the wrong ferry, mostly thanks to a miss-connection up in my brain, having been used to taking each one in separate periods of my life. We were originally headed for the correct one, but I thought it was the wrong route, doing a U-turn and heading to the other. Halfway into the ferry, at the end of the line of cars, Dan managed to ruffle through the map in time to discover the error we were about to make which would have landed us on the other side of the country (though narrow, it’s still a long drive to correct). Backing up again, and trying to look professional about it and as if we knew what we were doing, we did a quick re-route back to the original ferry, being the last car to dock inside just before it left.

Arriving in Loedingen, we did a double-check on the tires now that they had cooled off a bit. Satisfyingly they had not budged on the pressure and we scurried off again happily.


Following King Olav’s road all the way up to Stokmarknes; above is a youtube video. The video is time-lapse photography (the video is taken at around 30 frames a minute, and played back at 5 frames per second).


The boys celebrating being at their furthest most north location in the world as we entered onto the bridge taking us over to Sortland (the blue city). We even passed into another county for about five minutes on the journey.

After a brief scowling from Chris at the receptionist lady at the Hadsel Tourist Centre (who were being awkward about our reservation, trying to convince us we had booked a hotel room for three people instead of in a cabin), long enough to make her hand over the correct set of keys, we parked our bums inside our seaside cabin and kicking back into full-out relaxation. Or, I did at least. You wouldn’t think it, but driving for almost nine hours is exhausting.

(Dan returns – head mended)

The cabin its self was an exceptionally pleasant place to be. Neatly appointed in floor to ceiling varnished pine with kitchen, lounge space, two bedrooms (one for the lady, the other for the gentlemen), two bathrooms, a shoe rack (as is customary in this snowy part of the world) and a balcony. The building had two floors, with a notably well crafted staircase (not a creak to be heard as it was ascended) and the balcony looked over the small inlet.


From the cabin we could see more “fishermen’s cottages” like ours, an old fishing boat that had been pulled up on the shore and also across the bay to the Hurtigruten museum. The water was exceptionally clear, and in the late evening sunshine it was all quite beautiful.

The cabin had a well equipped kitchen, so after a quick run to the shop (entailing much fun comparing Norwegian shelf stocking habits, and attempting to translate the more obscure ingredients) I prepared a meal. Our main was a mildly spiced pilaf (with a Norwegian twist provided by shrimp) and desert was Welsh Cakes. Note that ‘well equipped’ doesn’t stretch to pastry preparation tools, so I used a mug for a rolling pin, plate for a mat and cut the cakes into rough triangles in lieu of a pastry cutter. Being as the cabin right on the shore, this would be the lowest altitude, but also highest latitude at which I have made Welsh Cakes.


Despite the improvising, they turned out fairly well (in my now customary triangles, as opposed to the traditional rounds)


The hour soon drew late and, one by one, we each retired to bed.

Day 7 - Bodø & Kjerringøy

At 07:26:35, whilst we were still soundly sleeping in our cabin, the ship crossed the Arctic Circle.


We went up on deck to watch as we passed the southbound Hurtigruten MS Kong Harald.


We found that we were once again amongst tall peaks, rather than the undulating but lower lying areas that had been typical of the region known as the Western fjords (which were less impressive).


The sun shone brightly and it was warm enough to be on deck in a t-shirt and open sweater even whilst we were underway. Only the snow, which in places came right down to the shore, belied the fact that we were now in the arctic.


After taking in the view for a while we headed back to our cabin to get our gear ready for disembarking at Bodø. Ere long, an announcement regarding a “small ceremony” that the company like to conduct each time their ships cross the Arctic Cirlcle on the sun deck. When we returned to the deck the assembled passengers were asked to call out for king Neptune, and on queue “king Neptune” (who has a face that looks remarkably like a latex mask) appeared on the deck to the amusement of all. Neptune explained that if we were very, very lucky he might conger a proper storm for us, because he felt bad that we had to deal with such bland ‘good’ weather. The head tour person then explained that the ritual requires that we each have a ladle of ice-water poured down our back, followed by a shot of a strange (and strong) Norwegian wine.


We endured the ladle, but neither of us being drinkers, the wine went un-drunk.


We skulked back to our cabin, and finished sorting our gear, which we then stowed in the ships luggage room, near the gang way freeing us to go out on deck before we left the ship. As we approached the “city” (though it seems odd to apply the term to a place with around 40,000 people, including suburbs etc) by sea from the south, the first thing that struck us was the largest flat area that we had seen since Oslo, which was occupied by the NATO air station and the commercial air port’s runways. The harbour seemed busy, with all manner of strange vessels; one small boat seemed to be under steam power, whilst another larger ship had large cranes built upon it.

It was in Bodø that we had agreed to meet Nina; 12:30 on at the Hurtigruten pier. As the ship made its way ginergerly up to the quay (we recently learned that this very ship had some weeks earlier been involved in an accident, in which it demolished a wharf in a small harbour further north, so the Captain had clearly learned some caution) we began to scan the group assembled on the dock to meet the ship to see if we could pick her out. After some discussion, we decided that it was probably the figure stood separately from the others, but the hair wasn’t the right colour... It was at this point that it struck me that the only picture I have seen of Nina is black and white. Fairly confident that we had the right person, we refrained from waving... just in case we were wrong.

As the gang plank began to lower, we made our way down through the ship to the reception bay. There we saw Hans and his wife, as well as the Bulgarian pianist, so we took our leave of them and then waited for those going ashore for the various guided tours arranged via the Hurtigruten company to go ashore, before collecting our large bags and heading down the ramp.

Our guess as to which figure was Nina turned out to be right on the money. She greeted us each with a hug (not very stiff-upper-lipped of her, but we’ll educate her as we go). Nina pointed out that the weather we are having is uncharacteristically fine, and suggested we head straight out to some sights, before the fickle Arctic weather changed on us. To that end we went directly to our hotel, dropped off our bags and set off on a short trip to a nearby island.


We headed out of town into the passes and valleys that surround Bodø, and after a short time of driving amongst frozen lakes, still covered in snow and through passes cut into, or tunnelled through the mountainsides we came to a stopping point. We parked in a place that looks up at a mountain called Steigtind (pictured above); at 793m one of the tallest peaks around (though still dwarfed by those we had seen in the south-western fjords).



As we headed further north we encountered resurfacing works; no road closures – just works. We drove the un-surfaced track, weaving amongst diggers as they swung their scoops to and fro. You wouldn’t find this on a British road, but of course here there isn’t really an option, many towns are connected by only a single road, few have more than two, and for traversing the peaks there is only really the one pass; so diverting traffic is seldom an option.


We then made our way up to the Kjerringøy trading post via a short ferry. Once a hub for bartering catches for supplies, Kjerringøy is now a museum. The traditional buildings reminded me of the museum of Welsh life at St. Faggons.


Probably the most striking thing about the place though was the white sand lining the shore and the azure blue of the water, punctuated by chunks of igneous rock. With the sun shining brightly, one could be forgiven for believing themselves to be in the Caribbean. The temperature was of course a fair bit lower than what the Caribbean islands are accustomed to; this didn’t stop me (after much arm twisting from my fellow travellers) from popping my shirt off for a quick sunbathe however.

As we completed our drive up the island (the road simply ends, requiring an about face) the weather reminded of where we really were, as a gentle rain started and clouds swept in over the peaks.

We headed back into town for a snack, and then for dinner at Nina’s parent’s home. Nina’s parents were charming people, and most helpful in planning our trip. We made them a present of a small bottle of Scottish single malt that we picked up in London before we left. Nina’s father spoke with great passion of his adventures as a merchant sailor, his love of country music and the tale of how he became a Newcastle supporter in the . Nina’s mother directed into helping us plan our road trip around Lofoten and helping us with our Norwegian pronunciation. She also spoke of the various dialects of Norwegian and how hers was different from that of Nina and her husband; which led to sporadic debate as to how we should be told to pronounce various words.

After a fantastic dinner of freshly caught and simply boiled shrimp (served in the traditional Norwegian fashion with their shells still on) we were shown Nina’s fathers workshop; a veritable Aladdin’s cave containing an impressive collection of vinyl records, reel-to-reel tape players, a NES and speakers in beautifully crafted wooden cabinets. Chris spoke of his uncle who builds thermionic valve amplifiers; the commonality becoming the latest exhibit in the case that it is a small world after all.

We finished our visit to Nina’s house with a failed attempt to transplant memory from one laptop to another, but alas there were too few SODIM slots. Finally we saw Nina’s fortress of WoW playing (or ‘bedroom’ as its also known. She described her well appointed, and very organised looking room as ‘cluttered’. I felt a pang of worry, as if this is ‘cluttered’ I wondered how she would handle several days on the road with a notorious clutter-bug such as me.

Another day of meeting new people.

Day 6 - Trondheim & The Western Fjords

The early days of the trip have been rather full, so a day in the schedule mostly consisting of travelling up the coast by ship was quite welcome... of course things are never quite as straight forward as lie ins and relaxation on this trip. The ship was due to call at Trondheim at 08:15 in the morning, and depart there again at 12:00. If we wanted to have time ashore therefore it was another early start to get breakfast.


Trondheim, is Norway’s 3rd largest city, and the quay where the Hurtigruta dock is about 10 mintes of brisk walking from the compact city centre. The south bound Hurtigruten MS Finnmarken was in dock at the same time, as us so the quay side was busy indeed (picture: MS Polarlys to the rear, MS Finnmarken to the front). Although it is a town with considerable history, traceable right back to the Vikings, the town has, by accident or design, a very organised ‘grid’ layout, with streets intersecting at right-angles.


Once away form the large industrial cargo terminal, the town has an appearance not unlike a Cornish fishing village, but on city scale.


Is this a milkshake I see before me? Or is it a beverage of the mind? (refers to the statue on the pillar)


Chris discovering the twisting nether (if you don’t get this reference, don’t worry; it’s a bit niche)

We wandered the town following the grid of streets, but with no time to really engage in any activities the only thing we really did, aside from take in the fairly bland architecture, was to stock up on some groceries. The town centre finished with, we headed back to the docks where the city’s “Home of Rock” music museum is conveniently situated. Our arrival there followed another communication classic ending with “oh perhaps it’s the building with the giant records etched on it” and an exasperated sigh from Chris who had been trying to draw my attention to this for the last 5 minutes. It is advertised as opening at 11:00 each day (both in the guide book and on its door), but when we arrived at 11:15, it was still locked up tight. With no time left to walk back into town, we headed back aboard Polarlys, wasting 45 minutes of our brief visit to Trondheim, though on a gray morning such as this we weren’t entirely heartbroken.


Shortly after we got underway, the ship passed an old lighthouse of distinctly Scandinavian design. I stood out on the front of the ship, drawing several comments and disbelieving stares from my fellow passengers as stood in my t-shirt playing with the settings on my camera whilst they huddled inside their big parka-jackets. That isn’t to say I was unaffected by the conditions on the front of the ship; the wind soon had my eyes streaming (jacket won’t help with that), and I will confess I would have become quite uncomfortable had I spent much more than the 5 or 6 minutes that I did outside.

We followed this up with blog catch-up time, accompanied by a lunch comprised in part of the provisions we had bought at Trondheim, followed by a hot snack from the ship’s cafe’.


Later, around 16:30, the sip passed through Straight, the channel is just 42meters wide at its narrowest point; Polarlys having a beam of 19.5m. A group of Sea Kayaks scrambled to the side of the channel dwarfed by the scale of the Hurtigruten ship. As we passed beneath a bridge where a man stood waving, the fog horn sounded to alert vessels beyond the approaching 90 degree bend of our approach; I couldn’t help but wince at the thought that he was probably half deafened. We spent some time reading in the forward observation lounge on deck 7 (or 7-forward, as I insisted on calling it). The less impressive peaks of the part of Norway appearing to file past the window in an unending procession. It was still strange to be at sea, but seldom have land on only one side.

Neither the pretty nuances of the view, nor our reading could hold our interest for very long though, and soon we became quite drowsy. Having troubled ourselves to rise early for Trondheim we decided to take a nap around 18:00, and didn’t rise until the ship was docking in Rørvik around 21:00.

By the time we scrambled up on deck (one of us with more reluctance than the other) the ship was already beside the quay. As we walked out on the sun deck I greeted Hans, a retired German man to whom I had chatted previously, and introduced him to Chris. Hans is well travelled and his adventures had, many years previously, taken him to Wales. He wears around his neck a small stone engraved with a dragon and an inscription in Welsh. When he had showed it to me previously I had been unable to make out the inscription whilst it was around his neck. He had now transcribed the inscription onto paper and asked me if I could translate it. It reads something along the lines of “the order of the red dragon” (as best I could translate it).

Rørvik is a small settlement at the approximate centre of a cluster of small islands, it is on these islands where most of its denizens dwell. A long bridge connected the town to the adjacent island, and the harbour was filled with the comings and goings of local ferries and small boats.


As we moved off again, at the end of the ship’s 30 minute stop, we were afforded a great view of MS Trollfjord as she prepared to get underway. She is another of the very new Hurtigruten ships and had occupied the berth just ahead of us. As we headed on a local man and his child in their small semi-ridged boat came along side and began to play at riding the large wake left by Polarlys, adding a flourish to our brief stop.

After the ship left Rørvik, we headed to the ships cafe’ to get the journal up to date, and partake of an ice-cream sandwich (at 18Kr the cheapest snack sold on board and no risk of melting!). Chris had a short voice call with Abi, the lag (so I understand) was significant. I said, you’ve given the game away now haven’t you; you were smiling when you talked to her, so you must really like her. Chris claimed that he was simply thinking of a nice hot cup of tea, but I think I’ve rumbled him.

When the WiFi went down we took up some seats by the windows at the bottom of the atrium, but were soon lured up to the piano lounge on deck 7 by the melodies floating down through the atrium. A stray thought about tales of sirens came to me, as we were drawn in my music whist at sea.

She has just opened her set with Journey’s don’t stop believing. The pianist is entertaining, although I amused by the way her accent occasionally sneaks through (she is currently rendering Englishman in ‘New Yoork’ (‘o’ before ‘r’ in Norwegian words generally being pronounced similarly to the ‘oo’ in look). At the end of the performance, we got to talking with her; she recognised us as “those guys who boarded at Geiranger” and added that “you looked so tired”. She is from Bulgaria, but has lived in Lillehammer, Norway for 6 years. She already speaks Bulgarian, English and some Danish but agrees with us that Norwegian is really hard (still struggling as she does after 6 years of living here). I note it here, so that when I return home having barley advanced my Norwegian skills at all, this may weigh as evidence in my favour. We exchanged stories of travels including her tale of an exotic and mysterious place called ‘London’ that she visited for a few days once; another reminder that strange cultures and wonderful sights are all a matter of perspective.


We chatted until the ship entered the narrow channel to the harbour at Brønnøysund around 00:40, at which point we were all drawn away to windows. We gazed down upon the low-rise buildings of the town from our position high on the ship; the whites and light pastel shades of the buildings (built on stilts right out into the water) contrasted beautifully against the dark yet shimmering water of the fjord. We chanced heading out on the sun deck and found the night was mild (considering that just a few hours from now we would be crossing the Arctic circle its self). All in all a restful day.

An Ode to Gehringer, Actually

This time of the year 'tis not for the tourist
The shops appear shut and the peaks are snow capped
I wondered how far the walk to the cabin is
It was quite short as it turns out, very reasonable actually.
Although the reception was empty we were let in at last
By a man with a jumper and a map of the fjord
We contemplated the day that seemed unfortunately overcast
So we thought, let's climb up into the snow because we need to test Dan's snow grips, which worked very well actually.
Although my clothes were wetter than needed
My calls for respite were sadly not heeded
We climbed higher it seems than many had dared
Because it was freezing and wet, although it had a nice view actually.
The next day was sunny so we trekked up to see
The fjord as the postcard said it should be
With bags loaded full because we had to check out
We made it in time, although walking with those large bags is really tiring. So we went back down and caught a boat, actually.

- C. H. Vyse, Ode to Gehringer, Actually (23/04/2012 – 12:30)

Day 5 - Geiranger to Molde

I was the first to rise the next morning Chris had expressed a desire to sleep in and do that “relaxing” stuff that some people seem to enjoy doing on holiday. I attempted stealth as I headed into the kitchen/dinning/living room (but botched the stealth part by bashing my knee as I climbed down from the top bunk). I pulled back the curtains, and saw that the weather had turned. I pulled on my canvas shoes, and headed straight out of the door in the shorts and t-shirt that I had slept in to confirm that the day was indeed, glorious and warm (that is warm given that I was mucking about in snow, the previous day but a few kilometres from where I stood). The fjord, lit by the full brilliance of the sun, was stunning. Our cabin being directly beside the shore, offered all manner of appealing views, so I sallied forth with camera and tripod to bask and photograph.


The above is taken from our porch.
After a few minutes of reflection I decided that Chris would never forgive me if he were to miss this, and conscious that the weather could turn sour again at any time, I decided to rouse him. On seeing the fjord and surrounding peaks glistening in the bright sunshine Chris agreed that I had indeed made the right choice.


After taking in the cool air we got to preparing to head out. We cleaned our boots on the porch, prepared sandwiches for lunch and packed our gear. As we went we listening to music, our strictly classics only selection included ‘Man or Muppet’ (winner of this years ‘best original song’ Oscar) and ‘Dare’ by Stan Bush.

We debated for a time whether to attempt a new walk, hang around the shore or revisit one of the previous day’s viewpoints now that the weather was on our side. Conscious that our ship as far as Bodø was departing at 13:30, and that the only way to go aboard was via M/S Geiranger which acts as her tender, which would likely cast off ahead of that , we decided that a route we knew would be preferable. We had a better idea of whether we were likely to get anywhere worthwhile, and being as we were re-tracing our steps, wouldn’t waste the time one usually spends on navigation. So we headed back for the first view point that we had visited, which has been popularised on many postcards and holiday brochures.


Chris, Duck and I beside the fjord before setting off for the day.

As we took the walk back along the fjord into town, before begging to ascend the slope, we saw strange currents playing upon the surface of the water. In the twilight of the night before I had taken them to be jumping fish, but in the light of day they were tiny white crested waves. From the higher elevations the day before we had noticed definite patterns of apparently still water amongst the lightly rippled water of the rest of the fjord; the still watering spreading out like the branches of a tree from a “root” near the shore line. We have no idea why (though naturally this did not keep us from wild speculation and blind guesses); it was an added dimension of intrigue to an already sublime experience.


Panorama taken from one the slightly lower viewing platforms on a hairpin in the road.


From the wharf it took us just under an hour to make the steep walk, now carrying our full packs having checked out from our cabin. We took essentially the same photograph as the day before, but this time less rain, more rucksack.


Although ducks traditionally prefer the rain, I think the sunshine better suits ‘Soaring Soul Duck’s disposition. The scenery had certainly been powerful the day before, the atmosphere hanging with cool drizzle and cool mist from the waterfalls, but it was todays sunshine that really brought out the beauty and scale of the place.


We took a lunch of basic sandwiches once again, but it is quite remarkable how an appetite stoked by hard walking, breathtaking scenery and a warming rays of sunshine (just enough to take the edge of the wind chill) can enhance the enjoyment of a simple, frugal repast. By this point we had cumulatively ascended over 1.3Km; the last 300m with our full packs, so our appetites were well enhanced.


The attempt to disguise this calcified Troll is pitiful; we see through your attempts to distort the truth.

After the sandwich stop we headed back to the wharf. The Captain of the tender hadn’t particularly expected to take on passengers (there were only a handful of people in town to begin with) so the gang plank wasn’t set up. Norway has a slightly more relaxed attitude towards ‘health and safety’ than the cottling that we have become accustomed to in Britain; so we were beckoned to jump the (admittedly fairly small) gap from the quay to the boat (rucksacks and all).
When not acting as a tender, MS Geiranger conducts senic tours of the fjords, so has large windows which acted like a green house. We relaxed in the warm interior of the boat, out of the wind, until the sound of the ships cannon heralded the arrival of Polarlys.

MS Polarlys viewed from the tender; she is seven decks high, but still dwarfed the surrounding peaks.


Alongside.

When we boarded we were conducted from the cargo bay (where we boarded) to the reception. Only three other passengers joined at Gerenger, all headed to Ålesund, In fact there was some confusion as the officer who conducted us to reception, assumed that we were day passengers, as it is quite uncommon for passengers to embark on a long voyage from Geiranger. As those who know me will attest; if there is a way to be atypical I can usually find it.

Our cabin assignment was the same number that we had had aboard Nordnorge. When we entered we were greeted by a beautiful view of the fjord through our port-hole and were very pleased indeed... that is, until we realised that the ship was conducting a lifeboat drill and that when the boats were hoisted back into their normal positions for storage they sit directly in front of the porthole. Even so, the natural light in the cabin is better than a truly “inside” cabin. In fact, because of a range of factors, most particularly the size of the vessel and the number of boats she must carry (remembering that she is a passenger ferry, not a cruise ship, so not all passengers have cabins) relatively few of the cabins on ships in the Hurtigruten fleet have unobstructed views.


Chris headed off to the information desk and shop, whilst I stood out on the front of the ship to take in more of the fjord. The wind was much calmer than on our voyage down the fjord aboard Nordnorge, so I stood out on the front and took in the sight of sea-birds swooping low across the water (with no need for a jacket or sweater). The many waterfalls were also that much more picturesque on the bright day, the fine spray of droplets emanating from the higher reaches picked out by the sun’s rays.

When we returned to our cabin, we both spent a period ‘checking our eyelids for holes’, as we were concerned that they may have suffered some damage during our walking.


Our second ship the Polarlys, is one of the newest in Hurtigruten‘s fleet, however her interior is rather more austere than that of Nordlys (but at least the power assisted doors still work properly). None the less she is a comfortable vessel, the third Hurtigruten to bear the name (I rather like that the bar on Deck 7 has half models of the previous ships hung on the wall, much like the Enterprise D observation lounge).


In the early evening, around 18:15, we went ashore during the ships brief call at Ålesund (it is called at both before and after the ship visits Geiranger, as it is at the mouth of the series of fjords that lead to the small village). There isn’t really much that can be done in a few minute long visit, but the very ‘Norwegian looking’ buildings make a pleasant sight against the region’s mountains.

After our brief spell ashore Chris, feeling unwell, took some paracetamol and retired to bed where he remained for the duration of the evening (I just occasionally disturbing him by sneaking in for fresh laptop batteries and the like).

As I catch up on a few days worth of blog entries; converting from my rough notes to its ‘proper’ journal form, I’m sat out on the sun deck of M/S Polarlys in a t-shirt, warmed by the bright sunshine that has stayed with us all day. The only irritation is that smoking is permitted anywhere on the deck (and from observation seems worryingly popular here in Norway). The few fluffy white clouds that are around cast stark shadows on the snow covered peaks that surround us. I’m glad that I decided not to bring my camera to the deck; had I done so I would doubtless have been trying to photograph the scenery around me, however capturing the essence of this experience in a photograph would be an exercise in futility. My energies are better directed into this journal, though I fear putting this experience into words is beyond my skill.


Later as the sun descended the snowy peaks were bathed in appealing shades of salmon-pink and orange as we entered the prolonged Norwegian twilight.


Late in the evening we made a brief call at Molde, where we were in dock alongside the Hurtigruten MS Richard With (lower right of the picture); the newest ship of the fleet (named for the company’s founder). Richard With should have left ahead of us, but she appeared to be in some difficulty; her starboard side ‘man overboard’ launch was away and as we left it could be seen in the water near to the stern (possibly inspecting for damage).

As I continued to work on my notes and pictures in the ship’s cafe’ on deck 4, live music from the Deck 7 piano lounge drifted down to me through the ships 4 deck atrium (a neat flourish that MS Nordnorge lacked). The choice of tunes was, on this occasion, altogether more appealing; I noted Aerosmith - ‘Come together’, Cyndy Lawper’s – ‘True Colours’ and latterly Radio Head’s ‘Creep’ as particularly interesting choices. A pleasant rounding out to a very full day.