Up North...

By David Gourley

Cathy and I have had two memorable holidays in Norway, each taking us right up to the North Cape.  This is generally regarded as the northernmost point in mainland European albeit it is on an island, Mageroya (the comparatively unknown Cape Nordkinn, a few miles to the east, is the actual northernmost point in the mainland).   On both occasions we enjoyed the spectacular scenery in what in our view is one of the nicest of countries. 

On the first occasion we travelled from Oslo to Helsinki taking as it were the scenic route via the North Cape.  Mostly this journey was by coach but there was a short stretch on the Hurtigruten, the renowned shipping service which operates along the coast of Norway.  This has the vital function of transporting goods and people between coastal communities, many of them quite remote.  Nowadays it also caters for tourists and our second trip took us the entire length of its route, from Bergen to Kirkenes and back.  On the return journey one calls by day at the places stopped at during the night on the way up. 

Bergen is one of Europe's loveliest cities.  The visitor does have to be prepared for the probability of rain: on average there is in any given year rainfall on 231 days.  We were lucky as we had a full day of sunshine, enabling us to enjoy to the full the magnificent view from the top of the Floibanen funicular railway.  Right at the other end of the voyage, Kirkenes is close to the Russian border.  The region was thus of strategic importance during the Cold War, as it was one of just two areas where a NATO state bordered the Soviet Union (the other being at the opposite end of Europe where Turkey adjoins Armenia and Georgia).  A shore excursion took us to the Storskog border crossing.  Although Norway is not in the EU, it has signed up to the Schengen Agreement so one can move freely across the borders with Sweden and Finland.  But woe betide anyone who tries to saunter across the border into Russia!

Having made it to the North Cape we hankered to go still further north, to Svalbard, often referred to as Spitsbergen, which is actually the largest island in this archipelago.  But the tours there seemed rather pricey.  Then we discovered a comparatively inexpensive cruise aboard the Marco Polo.  This vessel gets mixed reviews.  Our review would for the most part be favourable.  It is really a matter of expectation: if one is looking forward to five-star luxury one is going to be disappointed.  It looks though like 2013 was the last year in which it offered a cruise to Spitsbergen. 

The cruise started from Leith, the port for Edinburgh, and we had to arrange our own travel up there.  Rail travel in Britain can be very expensive but one can get very good bargains.  By booking well in advance on the internet, and getting single tickets either way, we got first class tickets for less than standard class would normally be.  And one is well looked after if travelling first class with East Coast Trains as food and drink are complimentary.  So on the way up we had a good breakfast and later on a late morning snack with, in my case, a glass of Argentinean red (at weekends the offering is downsized so only snacks and non-alcoholic beverages are complimentary).   Sadly however this complimentary service for first-class passengers is a result of the discontinuation of that once loved feature of rail travel, the restaurant car.  If one is travelling in standard class one either takes one's chances on the buffet, or brings one's own.  

We took advantage of the four-night add-on in Scotland, comprising two nights each in Edinburgh and Pitlochry, Perthshire, that our tour company was offering prior to the cruise.  We were attracted by the fact that, in Pitlochry, we would be staying in the Atholl Palace Hotel, where we had last stayed nearly thirty years previously.  On our full day in Edinburgh we had, in the morning, a walking tour along the Royal Mile with an excellent blue badge guide.  We were just over a year away from the Scottish referendum on independence but our guide eschewed this topic, other than to mention that 2014 was going to be a busy year for Scotland what with various events due to take place.  Thus was the possibility of her country becoming independent equated with the hosting by Gleneagles of the Ryder Cup!  She also pointed out the Canon's Gait, the pub from which Nigel Farage had recently been forced to flee by hostile demonstrators.

As an Englishman I was with David Bowie on the question of independence, wanting Scotland to ‘stay with us’.  But I would readily concede that, had Scotland become independent, it would have had as its capital a world-class city, fully able to hold its own with other European capitals.  Certainly it is one of Europe's loveliest cities.   The afternoon was our own.  We had stayed in Edinburgh a few years previously and on that occasion had visited what might be described as four set piece attractions: the Castle; Holyrood Palace; the Scottish Parliament; and the Royal Yacht Britannia, which is berthed in Leith.  Now, following a good lunch at the Scottish National Gallery, we visited some lesser known attractions. 

We started with the Museum on the Mound.  This is housed in the impressive former headquarters of the Bank of Scotland and thus recalls the days before Fred the Shred, when banking in Scotland, as in the rest of the UK, was a respected profession.  It is devoted to money and finance.  The exhibits include £1m worth of individual pound notes.  No point in anyone trying to steal these as they are suitably endorsed!  We then visited two contrasting National Trust for Scotland properties - members of the south of the border equivalent have reciprocal visiting rights.   Firstly, in the Royal Mile, Gladstone's Land.  Nothing to do with the Victorian Prime Minister, albeit he was for a while a local MP, conducting his celebrated Midlothian Campaign.  This Gladstone was a seventeenth century merchant, his 'Land' being his house.  In the elegant New Town we visited the Georgian House.

We transferred to and from Pitlochry by rail.  I am a great advocate of travel by rail rather than road.  Even so, a side of me regretted that, rather than have our cases loaded for us into a coach, we were having to lug them on and off trains, an easier task in Edinburgh, the terminal, than in Pitlochry, a brief stop on the way to and from Inverness.  At Pitlochry it was raining, not what we wanted when we were straight away heading to the Queen's View.  Would there be a view?  Luck in fact was with us for it stopped raining and the view over Loch Tummel was magnificent.  It is widely supposed that the Queen in question is Victoria but it is more likely that it was named from Isabella, the wife of Robert the Bruce.

The Atholl Palace lies high above the attractive resort of Pitlochry.  The view from our room was splendid.  The hotel had, in no unpleasant way, a bit of a dated feel.  We had a second tour, which was to the Edradour Distillery.  This is a David among Goliaths for its survival as one of the smallest distilleries in Scotland, producing in one week just twelve barrels of whisky, is somewhat against the odds.

Preserved steam railways abound in England and in Wales but there are hardly any in Scotland.  Our included tour the next day was to one of these, the Strathspey Railway, which takes one through beautiful Cairngorms scenery on its journey from Aviemore to Broomhill via intriguingly named Boat of Garten.  The rail company makes much of the fact that Broomhill was 'Glenbogle' Station in the BBC series Monarch of the Glen, something that was rather lost on us as we have never watched this programme.  Aviemore is a surprisingly dull place.  Its main centre brought to mind somewhere in a new town.  Yet this is Britain's foremost ski resort and on the continent such places as Kitzbühel in Austria where we once had a week's holiday, can be charming. 

We joined our vessel the next day.  We had a good first impression of the Marco Polo: a friendly and remarkably quick boarding process which compared favourably with that of the Hurtigruten, which in this respect was more bureaucratic.  We also liked the fact that the Marco Polo has a 'no children' policy.  We do in fact like to see children taking part in, and hopefully benefitting from, travel if they are reasonably well behaved.  But sometimes they aren't.  On our Hurtigruten vessel, our sailing from Bergen was marred by children messing around.  We complained to their parents who were annoyed - with us.  And, yes, we can tell the difference between high spirits and bad behaviour.

As said, my review of the Marco Polo would generally be favourable.  Not five-star luxury but pleasant, spacious and always kept meticulously clean.  For the most part staff were friendly and helpful though poker faces seemed to be the order of the day for the East European waiting staff.  However in the evening our Ukrainian waiter revealed his sense of humour.  Meals were good, with the ability to choose between a buffet and more formal waiter service; as a rule we went for the former at lunchtime and the latter in the evening.  There was a varied programme of entertainment.   Making hessian bags is not really our thing but we enjoyed some of the shows, one of which comprised Russian music, maybe in deference to the captain.  He informed us that he was from that country and had been born in the Crimea.  Doesn't that belong to, er, Ukraine?

There were four stops in mainland Norway as we travelled north to Spitsbergen.  The first two, Molde and Andalsnes, were quite close, being at either end of the Romsdalsfjord.  There was the option of travelling between the two by coach and it was reported to us that the scenery was marvellous.  But we enjoyed sailing along the Fjord.  We had shore excursions in both places.  Scheduling on this tour was tight and, except in the Svalbard capital, Longyearbyen, going on an excursion meant having no time to look round the towns where we stopped, though one was driven through them.  Molde rather blurred into the great number of stops, over thirty, on our Hurtigruten cruise though I remembered its distinctive Rica Hotel, shaped like a huge sail.  It is known as the Town of Roses.  Our excursion was to the Atlantic Road, a striking series of bridges spanning a number of small islands. 

Andalsnes, or NATO Harbour to use its nickname, is a very small place so I don't think we missed out on much by having no time to look round.  We would though have liked the chance to look inside the old railway carriage which has been converted into a chapel.  We would thus have upped our tally of places of worship in unusual buildings: the church in a rock in Helsinki, the church in a cave in Budapest and, a bit closer to home, the church in a windmill near Reigate.  Our tour took us first to Trollveggen, Europe's tallest vertical, overhanging mountain face and then up the scenic Trollstiggen, a road which winds its way up almost vertical mountainside and has eleven hairpin bends. Viewing platforms at the top afforded fantastic views.  Two doughty members of our crew jogged right the way up the road and then down again.

There was a full day of sailing before we reached our next port of call, Tromso.   There was little to see.  In contrast to the Hurtigruten, which hugs the coastline and thus affords continuous enjoyment of the coastal scenery, the Marco Polo is set on getting from A to B as quickly as possible.  We crossed the Arctic Circle.  Thankfully the Marco Polo does not replicate the ceremony held on the Hurtigruten in which 'King Neptune' puts ice cold water down passengers' backs.  We declined to take part in this.  If that makes us a miserable pair, so be it.

We had been to Tromsö on our two earlier visits to Norway and did not feel in need of an organized tour.  On our Hurtigruten trip, we had two visits, the second being to an atmospheric midnight service in the Ice Cathedral, the city's most distinctive landmark though it is not a cathedral nor is it made of ice.  Tromsö is a pleasant city though it does not strike one as meriting the soubriquet Paris of the North.  The name is maybe earned because its citizens apparently love to party, especially during the long dark winter nights.  A statue of Amundsen reminds the British visitor that the Norwegians got to the South Pole first!

Of the available options, we went for a visit to Polaria, a museum offering an ‘Arctic experience’ which is located in a strikingly designed building that replicates ice floes pressed up against the land.  Our view, shared by others on TripAdvisor, was that this was good as far it went, but one had expected it to go a bit further.  Of particular interest to us, given where we were heading, was the film depicting Svalbard as seen through the eyes of a little auk flying across it.

Our final stop in mainland Norway was in Honningsvag, the small town which is the base for visits to the North Cape.  Having been to the Cape twice, we decided against going again.  I hasten to add we had enjoyed our visits and it is certainly a place worth visiting.  There are various attractions but no tackiness.  These include a small Thai museum.  The reason for this is that in 1907 King Chulalongkom of Siam, as the country was then known - the young prince in The King and I - paid a visit.  There are also the rather moving Children of the World sculptures, seven semi-circles based on designs by children from seven countries.  They are intended as a symbol of friendship between the countries of the world.  They date back to the Cold War era so two of the sculptures are from the USA and the Soviet Union; the others span the continents: Tanzania, Brazil, Italy, Japan and, as might be expected, Thailand.

I feared that our few hours in Honningsvag might be a bit boring, but not so.  We went to the local museum.  This turned out to be a moving experience.  Honningsvag is located in the province of Finnmark where, towards the end of World War II, retreating German forces adopted a ‘scorched earth’ policy, thus razing towns and villages to the ground.  In Honningsvag the German commander evidently had something of a conscience for he spared the church, which we visited later on.  It might well be asked why, if he had a conscience, he didn't spare the whole town, but he would no doubt have been signing his own death warrant had he done so.  The Germans adopted similar tactics in the north of Finland and, in the town of Kuusamo near the Russian border, we were told that the German officer in question came back to the town after the war to help rebuild the church. 

But the story is an inspiring one for, after the war, the townsfolk returned and they are pictured rebuilding their town and looking as if they are relishing the task.  Honningsvag is once more a thriving and attractive town.  Finnmark was liberated by the Red Army who, here at least, really were liberators as they withdrew, Stalin having accepted that Norway was not going to fall within the Soviet sphere of influence.  Elsewhere in the country the German forces surrendered to the Western Allies.

We now set sail for Spitsbergen, soon seeing the North Cape as we had not seen it before i.e. from the sea.  There was a full day of sailing with just one sighting of land, tiny Bear Island.  We docked in Longyearbyen, which is named after an American,  John Munro Longyear, whose Arctic Coal Company started coal mining operations in the island in 1906.  I was somehow expecting Longyearbyen to be a ramshackle sort of place, a bit like Kotzebue in Alaska, our first foray across the Arctic Circle.  On the contrary it is a neat, well laid out town which even boasts a four-star hotel of international standard, the Radisson Blu Polar.  We went in there to get postcards and some stamps thinking that, as this was a Sunday, the downtown shops would be closed.  But they weren't: there were two cruise ships in town and the opportunity to make a bit of money was not going to be lost. 

In the geopolitical sense the archipelago has unique status, resulting from the Svalbard Treaty that took effect in 1925.  This granted sovereignty to Norway, but all signatory countries were granted rights to its resources.  Of these only Russia, formerly the Soviet Union, has taken advantage and there is thus a separate Russian coal mining settlement at Barentsburg.  The archipelago is demilitarized so NATO cannot conduct exercises there. 

Our excursion took us first to a husky farm on the outskirts of the town.  In his early days as Tory Party leader, David Cameron came to Spitsbergen and hugged some huskies.  Immediately beyond are signs warning of polar bears.  These do not venture into the capital, but otherwise there is the risk of encountering them and tragically they can and do kill human beings.  We were all right in a tour bus but otherwise the advice is to carry a powerful weapon, just in case one finds oneself up close and personal with a bear.  Coal mining continues to be one of the mainstays of the local economy, though a number of the mines have closed.  Our tour took us through wonderfully wild scenery to Mine No.7, which still operates. 

Our vessel carried on overnight to Magdalenafjord.  There was no landing but according to our itinerary we needed to be on deck between 5.00am and 8.00am in order to enjoy the scenery.  I was not very pleased at having such early start and was at first inclined to leave it till later to get up, the assumption being that we'd still be in the fjord.  Fortunately I had second thoughts.  When we got on deck we found that we were halfway along the fjord and that the boat was already turning round, the captain having judged that it was not safe to go any further, given all the ice floes.  So we left the fjord much sooner than scheduled.  

It would have been a great shame to have missed out on the fjord.  Firstly it is beautiful.  Secondly it was the northernmost point in our tour and is thus the northernmost place we have been to.  In all likelihood it will remain so as it rather unlikely, especially with old age creeping up, that we are going to make it to the North Pole!

There was one more shore visit in Spitsbergen, this time to Ny Ålesund, which takes its name from the Norwegian town of Ålesund, one of the ports of call on our Hurtigruten cruise and noted for having been rebuilt in Art Nouveau style after the disastrous fire in 1904.  Its Spitsbergen namesake houses a number of research institutes.  It is wise to stick to the main pathway, which loops round the site, as otherwise the arctic terns, protective of their young, are liable to swoop down and attack, as in the Alfred Hitchcock movie.  We in fact saw a young couple being so attacked but they had strayed away from the path and appeared to be enjoying themselves daring the birds.  

We now left Spitsbergen for the long journey back to Leith.  There were two stops en route.  The first was in Thorshavn, the capital of the Faroes.  These are part of the Kingdom of Denmark but enjoy substantial autonomy, so much so that they were allowed to take themselves out of the EU.  To forestall a Nazi takeover, the British occupied the islands after the German conquest of Denmark in 1940.

We had booked a shore excursion, taking us through Streymor, the main island, to the neighbouring island of Vagar, which lies to its west.  This meant that we did not, as we would have liked, have time to look round Thorshavn and in particular visit Tinganes which is located on a small peninsula jutting out into the harbour.  This is the oldest part of the city, very picturesque with its stone-and-timber buildings.  The original Parliament met here, making this one of the oldest parliamentary meeting locations in the world, dating back to the ninth century.  

The scenery in the Faroes is superb and the infrastructure impressive: a tunnel took us across to Vagar.  The unemployment figures are one of the lowest in Europe, even so there is dependence, or over-dependence as some would see it, on the fishing industry.  Our guide told us that as a result Faroese sometimes get our fishing ports, Grimsby and Aberdeen, muddled up in their minds - not something a British person is likely to do!  We stopped in the village of Sorvagur and went inside its church.  Our end point was Gasadolur.  This is no more than a hamlet.  Nevertheless a tunnel has recently been built through the nearby mountain to connect it to the rest of the road network.  Before that the dutiful postman used to walk over the mountain in order to deliver the mail.

One of the houses in Gasadolur is built over a rock.  Our guide explained that the owner wanted to remove the rock before building the house, but the neighbours insisted that it remain as they believe that elves live there.  In Iceland too, which we visited in the 1990s, there is a widespread belief that elves really do exist.  But we have never seen any. 

Our final stop brought us back to Scotland and to the Orkney Islands.  This too constitutes a ‘furthest north’ for us, this time within the UK.  Previously I'd not got beyond Thurso, a few miles from John O'Groats.  Again we had a shore excursion so again there was no chance to look round the capital, Kirkwall, though we saw some of it as we drove through, including its impressive cathedral, St Magnus.    

Our excursion  here was confined to the main island, known simply as Mainland.  It took us through glorious scenery to the west coast, in the vicinity of which is the Heart of Neolithic Orkney World Heritage Site, where we visited the Standing Stones of Stenness and the Ring of Brodgar.  From the Yesnaby Cliffs we could just about see the Old Man of Hoy, beloved of rock climbers and abseilers. 

Certainly we would love to return to Orkney and carry on to the still unvisited Shetlands. There is a strong sense of independence here, but this doesn't necessarily translate into support for an independent Scotland.  On the contrary, rule from London is widely regarded as the better option, or at least the lesser evil, than rule from Edinburgh.  So it was no great surprise that, in the referendum, Orkney recorded the highest ‘no’ vote percentage, with Shetland not far behind.  Orkney and Shetland was also one of just three Scottish constituencies which didn't elect an SNP MP in the recent general election.  Maybe, if Scotland really did become independent, the islanders would prefer to rejoin Norway.  After all, in the case of the Shetlands, the nearest railway station is in Bergen!•

First published in VISA 122 and 123 (August-October 2015)

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)

The King's View

by Anne Rothwell

Through the coach window, I spotted some wild reindeer, then suddenly, quite close to us, a mother and baby running to escape the intrusive noise of the bus engine. A little further on, we stopped at a Sami camp where the indigenous people still wear their colourful red and blue national dress. They had a shop and, even so far off the beaten track, had credit card facilities. As everyone admired the hand knitted hats and gloves, I decided to buy a bone-handled cheese slicer. After many years of travelling and filling the house with ornamental souvenirs, I now only buy things I know I shall use.

Having left the boat at Honningsvag, we were travelling along a scenic road in the late evening - no problem seeing the views at this time of year. We arrived at North Cape, a 300 metre high cliff in the most northerly part of mainland Norway (though strictly on an island reached by an undersea tunnel) and disembarked to explore. Unfortunately, although it was light, it was quite overcast, so no sign of the midnight sun.

As well as the Globe on the cliff top, nearby was a monument called ‘Children of the Earth’, which consisted of a statue of a woman and child facing a group of 7 large sculpted discs, each designed by a child from a different part of the world.

Inside the large modern Visitor Centre, called the Nordkapphallen, there were plenty of fascinating things to see as well as a restaurant, a shop and a post office with its own postmark. I started by going downstairs to the large wide-screen cinema where I saw a wonderful film showing the area through the seasons.

Leading from the cinema was a long corridor which contained tableaux of events in the region’s history as well as doors to unexpected goodies: a bijou and beautiful chapel, sometimes used for weddings and, strangely, a small Thai museum which was opened after a visit by the King of Thailand in 1907.

But at the end of the corridor was the place which delighted me most. Known as the Grotten Bar, it was a huge and magical cave cut out of the rock and twinkling with the lights of dozens of candles. Along the back was a bar where champagne and caviar were served. In front of this were tiers of tables and chairs sloping downwards like an amphitheatre and to cap it all, ahead the whole frontage was glass, letting in the 24 hour daylight. Beyond the glass was a large balcony, known as the King’s View looking out on to the waves of the Arctic Ocean. I sat at one of the tables, savouring the scene. There were no large groups of people to disturb my reverie.

After a while, I looked at my watch and realised there wasn’t too much time before my coach was due to leave. I went back upstairs and as I strolled around the shop, I suddenly became aware that numbers of people were heading outside. Following, joy of joys, I saw that nature was sticking to her timetable - it was just midnight and the sun was bursting forth from behind the clouds. My night was made!

 First published in VISA 84 (Apr 2009)

Norway in February

by Lynn Hurton

Norway in February?! Is that a good idea when you can't ski and positively loathe large amounts of snow? It is if you've won a free return flight, courtesy of a YHA competition. No-one in their right mind passes up a free flight, even if it does come with strings attached. It had to be taken before 31 March, had to include a Saturday night away and couldn't be used over the Christmas or New Year periods. No problem! Well, it could have been, but, thankfully, I was able to take a week's holiday at the end of February. It also helped that I had a friend with whom I could stay in Bergen. So flight and accommodation costs were non-existent. But Norway is known as being very expensive. Then there was still the problem of endless days of snow and more snow...

Was it worth it ? A huge ‘yes’. Bergen is so beautiful, snow or no snow. There's the ancient Bryggen area around the port, old fortifications to explore, museums galore, old churches, fascinating shops and so much more. Buying bus tickets in bulk lowers costs, as does purchasing food in supermarkets and cooking it in your friend's house. However, there are cheap restaurants if you know where to find them, or restaurants that offer ‘specials’ at 3pm. It's well worth being unconventional about meal times. Having become accustomed to the cold and wet feet, I loved it. Tourists were non-existent, the views were spectacular, the air was pure and the people very friendly. Their command of English was incredible. (Why are we Britons so poor at learning languages?)

All in all, I had a fantastic 6 days, proving that you can, very occasionally, get something for nothing! Trouble is, it's whetted my appetite, and I know that I’ll just HAVE to return some day and see the country in its entirety and in better weather. That certainly will cost me a whole lot more! So maybe it wasn’t such a freebie after all!
First published in VISA issue 57 (Sep 2004)