Stokmarknes

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.

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.Read more