The World's Most Beautiful Voyage

By Helen Krasner

It was summer 1967 when I first heard of the Hurtigruten, Norway’s coastal steamer, which travels from Bergen to Kirkenes on the Russian border and back. A penniless student coming to the end of a gap year of travelling, I walked every day from Bergen Youth Hostel to the port, in rain which never seemed to stop, to ask if I could work my passage to Kirkenes and back. The ships leave daily, and I had heard it could be done, but after five days, with alarmingly dwindling funds, I hitchhiked home, vowing to go back some day when I could afford to pay for the trip.

Nearly 36 years had passed, and the Hurtigruten was still taking locals, cargo, and long distance passengers to beyond the North Cape and back, stopping at 34 ports of call in each direction. Some things had changed; the trip was now sold in the UK by a company called - a little unoriginally perhaps - “Norwegian Coastal Voyage Ltd”, and marketed as “The World’s Most Beautiful Voyage”. The ships were newer, bigger, and more modern – en-suite cabins were unheard of in the 1960s.

And I now had the money, but not the time. Or rather, I did, but I didn’t actually know that for certain until barely six weeks before I wanted to sail, on a trip reputed to be booked up a year in advance. But when I told the above story to the agent on the phone who asked how I’d heard about it, she decided a 36 year wait was long enough.

“Tell me the earliest date you can leave,” she said; “And the latest. I’ll find you something.”

And that was how I ended up with virtually the last cabin, apart from those saved for local Norwegians making shorter trips but needing to travel overnight, on the MS Finnmarken.

On 11 May I flew into Bergen - it was raining again - and boarded a huge modern vessel totally unlike those I remembered from my student days. We sailed at 8 pm that evening, and after watching Bergen disappear from view, I spent the evening exploring the ship. Although not really large by cruise ship standards, it had space for 1000 passengers, and also a shop, bars, lounges, a gym, a beauty salon, and an outdoor swimming pool and jacuzzi. Despite being a working vessel rather than an organised cruise ship as such, there was a travel guide who made announcements in four languages for the 400 or so long distance passengers; she also gave out details of the next day’s ports of call, and organised shore excursions if there was enough interest. That first night I went to bed early and slept badly. The ship made several stops during the night, and I think I woke every time we docked; the brochure had warned that it might be noisy, and it was. At about 7 am I gave up the futile attempts to sleep, drew the curtains over my two portholes...and instantly forgot how tired I was! The view was stupendous. Norway’s coastal scenery has been written about and photographed many times, but nothing can describe the actual impact of these mountains which reach down to the sea, with islands dotted along the heavily indented coast, all bathed in that clear light with virtually no pollution which seems to be unique to the under-populated countries of the far North.

Sleep could wait, and anyway, we were due in Alesund at 8.45 am. On the Finnmarken, life was governed by the ship’s ports of call, with announcements at intervals telling us of the next stop. So I showered and threw on a pair of jeans, then headed for the dining room, to be confronted with my first example of the famous Norwegian “hot and cold table”, i.e. enough food for someone who hadn’t eaten for a week, and enough choice even for a vegetarian with food allergies like me. It looked as if diets could wait too.

After docking in Alesund, the 45 minutes we had was just enough time to go ashore, look around, take photos, watch the ship loading and unloading freight and passengers…all of it a routine of which many of us never tired throughout the trip. Then we were off again, now going through the Geiranger Fjord, reputed to be one of Norway’s most beautiful. Snow covered mountains gave way to green slopes, with little villages clinging improbably to the hillsides; I watched the ever-changing vista from on deck, or if it got too cold, from the lounge on Deck 8, which had massive windows with a panoramic view in all directions.

At Geiranger village we dropped off a large group of people who were going on a shore excursion, rejoining our ship at Alesund in the late afternoon. We returned by the same route, and in late evening we docked at Molde, known as the City of Roses - though I didn’t actually see any.

The next night I slept through all the arrivals and departures, and continued to do so throughout the trip. But I was up fairly early again, for we had four hours in Trondheim. This was long enough to explore, taking in the Cathedral, the picturesque old wooden buildings by the river, and a modern shopping centre when it began to rain. Then it was back to the ship for another “hot and cold table” for lunch, and an afternoon of looking at the ever changing scenery, chatting to one’s fellow passengers who between them came from about twenty countries, waving to the southbound Hurtigruten as it passed - somehow, despite little organised entertainment, there always seemed to be plenty to do.

Very early next morning we crossed the Arctic Circle. I slept in - after all, this was a holiday! - and missed the actual point, which is marked by a globe on a small island. But later in the day there was a small ceremony for those of us crossing for the first time, with drinks, certificates, and “King Neptune” putting ice down everyone’s neck.

Our main port of call that day was Bodø, the home of Norway’s aviation museum. Along with several other flying addicts, I caught the local bus to it, almost missing the ship an hour later. Perhaps my one criticism of this voyage was that often there just wasn’t long enough to see everything in the places where we stopped; indeed, I wondered if people ever got distracted and missed the ship. Later I asked one of the crew, and he told me it happened, though not often. I was curious as to what happened then.

“They go on to the next port”, he said. “By bus, or boat, or plane. If we’re still there, we put out something and bring them aboard. But if we’ve already left, we don’t go back”.

 I decided to make sure I never missed the ship, but I always took my passport and money ashore with me after that, just in case.

Within a few days life on board settled into a routine, though it was an incredibly varied one, being based around the ship’s numerous ports of call. There was usually one stop of a few hours every day, and a number of shorter ones, sometimes of only a quarter or half an hour. Some stops were at large towns, others at small fishing villages. I went ashore almost everywhere, as did many others, though some watched the ship’s activities from on deck, or simply relaxed. It was an incredibly relaxing voyage, but there was always plenty to do if one wanted, though it was mainly a case of organising one’s own entertainment. This appeared to completely flummox some passengers who were used to more traditional cruises, despite the fact that the brochure had warned that this was a working vessel, not an organised cruise ship. For me, this was part of its attraction, as it provided a way of meeting local people, seeing how the Hurtigruten worked, getting a glimpse of the real Norway. But this was not for everyone, it seemed.

“Are you enjoying it?” an obviously well-heeled English lady asked me one day, as I sat on Deck 8, pretending to read, never tiring of the ever-changing vista out of the huge windows. I told her that I was, immensely. She looked somewhat surprised at this.

 “I wouldn’t do it again”, she said: “It’s just not active enough for me”. I must have looked as bemused as I felt. That day I had been walking round the deck, been ashore several times, and still had wet hair from a dip in the pool. Belatedly taking this in, she remarked: “Well, I suppose I could go swimming and things, like you do; but…it’s just too much effort”. One meets all sorts on the Hurtigruten.

On the fifth day we arrived at Tromsø, which is known as the Paris of the North, and also claims the world’s most Northern university. The Lonely Planet Guide states baldly that “Tromsø parties”. It wasn’t doing so at 2.00 pm, but most of the town’s residents appeared to be under 25, and despite being well North of the Arctic Circle and apparently in the middle of nowhere, Tromsø is lively and modern. It has a new cathedral with a stupendous stained glass window, several interesting museums, and excellent shops. However, most of us bought very little, here or elsewhere, for Norway is horrendously expensive for non-Scandinavians.

We were still heading North, and were now well into the Arctic. Despite being mid-May, here it was still winter, with bare mountain slopes - we were well North of the treeline - and snow everywhere. Yet perhaps surprisingly the weather was dry and sunny, with constant bright sunshine and blue skies, though fairly cold. Southern Norway gets weather similar to Britain, but in the far North there are no continual frontal systems bringing changeable weather, but a much more settled picture. I swam nearly every day in the heated outdoor pool, then lay in the jacuzzi, which was the temperature of a hot bath, gazing at the sun on the snow-covered mountains. How could anyone NOT like this?

Day 6 we arrived at Honningsvag, the nearest village to the North Cape, northernmost point of mainland Europe. I joined the shore excursion to the North Cape itself, travelling by coach through the desolate snowy terrain, and photographing the reindeer we saw en route. We also photographed the colourful lone Sami complete with reindeer-skin tent…though I think he was just there for the tourists. The North Cape itself felt satisfyingly like the end of the world, despite the over-commercialised centre and café that has been built there. 

It was now 16 May, two days after the official first date at which one could see the Midnight Sun from the North Cape. Like almost everyone else on the voyage, I very much wanted to see the Midnight Sun. But beforehand I had not realised just how difficult this is. That early in the year, one not only has to have clear skies with no cloud, but also no mountains or buildings in the way. However, we were amazingly lucky; it was a cloudless night, and we were sailing along the North coast in the open sea. So from outside on Deck 8 I watched the sun gradually sink towards the horizon in the North; then without setting it began its upward journey again. At about 1.00 am I was convinced, and decided to go to bed. The trouble was, it felt like a new day and I wasn’t tired. I began to understand why several Hurtigruten veterans had told me that it was difficult to sleep on this trip. Next day was 17 May, Norway’s National Day, which celebrates the birth of the Norwegian Nation. It was also the day we reached Kirkenes, our last port of call going North. Here we lost a number of passengers who were doing a half voyage, and took on some new ones for the Southbound voyage. I joined the excursion to the Russian border, simply because it was there; it appeared thoroughly bleak and desolate, but apparently has many crossings every day. To celebrate Norway Day the Kirkenes choir came aboard the ship and sang at lunchtime, and at Vardø, Norway’s Easternmost town, we were met by a brass band who we accompanied to the old fort, protection in the past against threats from Asia. These were typical examples of how important the Hurtigruten still is in the life of these people of the far north, even now when communication is easier, and the ship is no longer the lifeline it was in former times. Any attempt to stop the Hurtigruten or limit its route is always met with violent protests; Norwegians want to keep their coastal steamer, no matter what.

Conveniently, the ports called at by night on the Northern voyage were daytime stops as we headed south, so there was still plenty to see. Hammerfest justifies its claim to be the world’s Northernmost town, by insisting that anywhere further North is only a village! It is a pretty place, but is best known for its “Royal and Ancient Polar Bear Society”, of which I became member number 197,874. I am now permitted to wear a polar bear badge, attend their AGM, and visit the society for free! It’s a tourist thing of course, but rather a fun one! Our southbound stop at Tromsø was at 11.45pm, and a group of us looked all over for Tromsø’s famous night life, but it was Sunday night and rather quiet. We still had 24 hours of daylight, so I was finding it hard to sleep, and on returning to the ship I decided to go to the 24 hour café on deck 7 for a snack. This was when I discovered that there was another side to the ship. The café was full of Norwegians, local people who were travelling a short distance. Deck 8 was awash with people sleeping on the sofas, surrounded by their luggage. In the daytime there were so many long distance tourist-type passengers that it was easy to forget that this was an important means of travel for the Norwegians, but at night it was obvious.

Next came the Lofoten Islands, where I took a shore excursion in order to appreciate them better. These islands must be some of the most beautiful places on earth, and if they were further south would undoubtedly be packed with holidaymakers, but as it is they are uncrowded and unspoilt. But our tour guide for the excursion was an Englishman who had fallen in love with the islands and moved out there a few years ago. I asked him something I had been wondering during the whole trip; how did they manage to build all their houses out of wood, in a climate as wet as that of the UK? He told me they required constant upkeep, and were usually painted every year. “In fact,” he said, “It’s not unusual to find people painting their houses at 1.00 am, during the midnight sun months.” So that was how the locals coped with the difficulty of sleeping during 24 hour days, and also how the villages of the far north managed to have their brightly coloured and well-kept wooden houses.

 I had heard that spring comes overnight to the Arctic, and it turned out to be true. In the few days since we had passed when journeying North, things had changed dramatically. Most of the snow had melted, and the bare brown slopes had become green. Within days, residents told me, they would be covered with flowers. The whole area had a stark beauty and attraction all of its own. Despite usually hating the cold and being a lover of sunshine and hot countries, I loved it, and said I wanted to come back, maybe even live there. “Ah,” said a young Norwegian, nodding his head. He was one of three who had skied the whole length of Norway over the course of four months, joining the Hurtigruten to return south. “You’re not the first. They call it polar fever.”

This time I saw the globe marking the Arctic Circle, and sadly said goodbye to the far North. Almost immediately black clouds loomed overhead, and we had our first rain for over a week. From there until we reached Bergen the scenery was still stupendous but we watched it from indoors, for the weather was dull and overcast – typical British spring weather. However, Bergen had bright sunshine, perhaps determined to prove to me that it doesn’t invariably rain there. I enjoyed my last night in a hotel in the town, my first night on dry land for twelve days.

So ended the voyage I had wanted to do for over 30 years. After such high hopes, it could easily have been a bit of a letdown. But it was even better than I had hoped; indeed, I’d defy anyone to be disappointed by a Hurtigruten trip. It definitely deserves to be called the most beautiful voyage in the world, and is also one of the most interesting. I’m now considering doing it again – in the winter, to see the Northern Lights.


First published in VISA issues 52-53 (Sep-Dec 2003)