Kjerringøy

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; 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 parents' 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.もっと詳しく