FROZEN FAIRYTALE
Eleanor Hughes braves chilling temperatures to experience Europe’s magical northern fringe
In the setting sun, Bergen’s surrounding hills, dotted with spear-like pine trees and snow, turn pink. Hurtigruten’s MS Trollfjord leaves port as darkness descends, I head inside for my first evening of six nights on board.
The vessel is a working ship, transporting freight and passengers to 34 ports along the Norwegian coast. It’s also a cruise ship — albeit small, carrying up to 822 passengers, who, on this late February departure are mostly elderly. Seafood and fresh produce are procured daily for the buffet breakfasts lunches and the superb three-course set dinners. The printed menus share facts and legends about what’s on offer. Dandelion syrup, black oats, berries, reindeer, salmon, herring, cod . . . lots of fish. Not keen on it, I’m served alternatives.
The only on-board entertainment is when Neptune arrives on Deck 9 for the Arctic Circle Ceremony with the Captain, a ladle and a barrel of ice. I impersonate The Scream as ice cubes and freezing water whoosh down my back, inside my trousers and into a shoe. My clothes later end up on the heated bathroom floor — perfect for drying.
Hurtigruten offers more than 90 excursions, dependent on the season and sailing direction. We have at least three hours in a port daily (some stops are only 15 minutes). I walk Alesund myself, a town built in the Jugendstil, German Art Nouveau, style. The buildings are picturesque, in pale shades with turrets and designs on the outside; vines and flowers are common.
City tours of Trondheim, visiting the medieval Nidaros Cathedral, and Tromso, which takes in the Polaria Centre and Arctic Cathedral, are rushed, but very informative. There’s time later to wander slippery pavements among the colourful wooden buildings that give the towns so much character.
A 3km coastal hike near Bodo requires spiky chains on my boots to walk the path, its ice so thick that leafless trees in its grip look like iceblock sticks. Low-tide pools are frozen and ice chunks lie on the sand; the sea is 2C.
Passing racks of silver cod heads drying on the outskirts of the snow-blanketed Honningsvag, we drive along the coast then inland where pristine white hills are neverending. Turning off the main road, the
excursion buses travel in convoy behind a snowplough to reach Nordkapp, where stormcoloured clouds encroach on a white swirled, summery-blue sky. The sun peeks through splashing pink tones on to the Barents Sea. The globe monument on the clifftop supposedly marks Europe’s northernmost point. To the west, Knivskjelodden peninsula is around 1500m further north, inaccessible in winter.
On board the Trollfjord I visit the library, pound the treadmill, or enjoy the scenery from the open deck (bundled in layers against temperatures below 0C) or the two dimmed lounges. From barren brown land hemmed-in by snow-dusted hills, the scenery becomes whiter the further north we travel, broken only by sprinkles of dark-red buildings, less frequently mustard or white. Clear blue skies become moody, blending with snowy hilltops. In sheltered waters our wake leaves a white trail across the still sea. I see one sunrise, on the Arctic Circle. Like an erupting volcano, an orange streak rises behind snow-covered hills. Stunning.
On the fourth night, we sail through narrow Raftsundet Strait where snow-splattered rock cliffs loom, dark and sinister. On Deck 9, I watch the ship’s floodlight run back and forth across them. The vessel shudders turning tightly . . . I envisage a frigid night in a life raft . . . then we sail safely away. Relieved, I head for bed.
I’m woken by a “ping-pong” sound, then, “The Northern Lights can be seen . . . ”
One-eyed, I check my watch. 12.35am. I tug on woollens, thermals and jacket over my pyjamas and grab the camera. Outside I’m polar-blasted, rounding the bow it’s ferocious. A faint white patch, like a foggy windscreen sits lowish in a light sky. Underwhelming . . .
Then greenish tinges appear. Swirls of white and pale green dance in the sky fading in and out. They’re wide, they shrink — it’s like peering into a turning kaleidoscope. By 1am they’ve faded away. My face is frozen. I head back to my duvet.
On the last evening, I retire with a sick bag as the ship constantly dips and rises. When morning dawns it’s calm; out of my porthole I can see floating ice slabs. We dock soon after in Kirkenes, at the end of our voyage. Goodbye Norway, hello Finland.
En route to Saariselka by bus, at the SIIDA Sami Museum, I learn about the Sami people, of whom I knew nothing.
Saariselka, where road is indiscernible from footpath so deep is the snow, plays host to the Northern Lights. Vivid then misty, flitting like ghosts (Sami people believe they are souls of the dead), it’s an ever-changing show. For over an hour I am enchanted.
Not so enchanting is the cacophony of highpitched, low-pitched, incessant barking from 150 huskies. Thankfully, the team of five pulling my sled behave as we swish among snow-covered pines. It’s -15C, only my eyes are exposed. My eyelashes become mascara-ed with ice.
A sleigh ride at a Sami reindeer farm is more sedate with sleighs and reindeer tied together, train-like. The crunching of ice under sleigh runners breaks the stillness of the shadowed forest. Like a Christmassy snow globe, the air is full of sparkly particles.
Maybe it’s more magical around Christmas, but Santa’s Village in Napapiiri, on the Arctic Circle, is full of souvenir shops. Slightly disappointing.
Onwards to Sinetta. We stay next to a bonechilling ice hotel. The Northern Lights appear at 1.30am and I view them through the glassceilinged igloo above my cosy bed.
Then, as a passenger, racing across a frozen river in Rovaniemi on a snowmobile, I’m jiggled, jarred and thrown about. It’s rather terrifying. I’m thankful to stop at a frozen lake where we drill holes into ice half a metre thick then fish in them with plastic 12-inch rods. Not a bite. The fish are probably frozen solid beneath. The snowmobile’s heated handlebars and accelerator lever warm my aching, cold hands as I nervously drive back, wrestling with the steering. It’s hard work but by the time I reach the wide, iced-over river I’m pushing the accelerator to max, 40km/h. Racing.
We spend an afternoon wandering Helsinki’s cobbled streets. It’s -4C and a fierce wind blows as I pass bronze statues, green-domed cathedrals and pastel-coloured, stately buildings of two and three storeys. There’s a touch of Art Nouveau to some, others remind me of Paris. A woman takes a quick dip in the harbour, thick with ice — she’s been in a sauna, but still …
A two-hour ferry ride across icy sea brings us to Tallinn, Estonia. The Russian Orthodox Church with its onion domes is my first sight of the old town. We navigate puddles on ancient red, white and grey cobbles, pass pale pink, green and blue buildings, medieval churches and carts where sugared almonds and the spiced wine glogg are sold. Looking down on the lower town it’s like a scene from a fairytale. Among snowcovered centuries-old roofs, spires and turrets jut up. Time here is too short.
Returning to Helsinki, the tour is over. It’s been a journey of magical moments, new experiences and freezing temperatures. I’m heading home to thaw out.