Brønnøysund, Sandnessjøen and Nesna were slept through during the night, and we apparently crossed the Arctic Circle just before I woke up (there was a ceremony, I was told, but it sounded a bit too slapstick for my taste so we missed it). And, whilst it was interesting to watch the activity at Ørnes after breakfast, our minds were on our walk around Bodø and the evening excursion, our first organised one.
Bodø, which is, by the way, not one of the hobbits from Lord of the Rings, is the jumping off point for the Lofoten Islands, and sadly, it appears to offer little to delay a speedy onward journey. There is little to see, little more to do, but it does have the furthest outpost on the Norwegian rail system - there is a station quite a bit further north, but it runs into Sweden. But you don't miss a chance to stretch your legs, so Ros and I dutifully did.
Bodø was grey, but the clouds lifted once again - we had been incredibly lucky with the weather - as we set sail for Stamsund. As you approach the Lofoten Islands, you get the impression of a huge, continuous wall of mountains, covered in snow even in mid-May. It all looks very forbidding but, as Stamsund approached, a rather greener landscape came into focus.
The Lofotens made their fortune, at least, what fortune they could make, out of the sea. As winter ends, the Barents cod migrate south and, for about two months, they feed off the coast here. For centuries, hardy fishermen have gone out in boats and hauled in as many cod as they can, trading them across Europe. Even now, Lofoten cod are sold to Italy and Portugal (that's where bacalhau come from). The fish are beheaded (the heads go to Nigeria), gutted (the roe stay at home to become Norwegian caviar) and then hung out to dry on racks. The resultant dried fish can be rehydrated should you wish, or eaten a bit like jerky.
At the dockside, our bus was waiting and we set off on a drive across the island of Vestvågøy to Borg, where the Lofoten Viking Museum is to be found. I was slightly puzzled by the accent of our guide, until it became clear that he was an Italian called Luigi, who had settled on the Lofotens having followed his partner. He was quite funny though, and we were a bit more educated when we pulled up at the museum for a promised Viking feast. Yes, I admit, these things can be a bit corny, and there was a fair bit of acting going on. However, the food was surprisingly good (roast lamb, lots of root vegetables) and I was quite enjoying myself, interacting with the cast.
But, we had to get to Svolvaer to catch up with the boat, so it was time to return to the bus for the incredibly scenic drive through the evening sunshine. At one point we spotted the now functional MS Finnmarken, our original boat, heading south. I didn't miss it.
Back on the boat, I found a book on my Kindle and settled down for the evening...
Bodø, which is, by the way, not one of the hobbits from Lord of the Rings, is the jumping off point for the Lofoten Islands, and sadly, it appears to offer little to delay a speedy onward journey. There is little to see, little more to do, but it does have the furthest outpost on the Norwegian rail system - there is a station quite a bit further north, but it runs into Sweden. But you don't miss a chance to stretch your legs, so Ros and I dutifully did.
Bodø was grey, but the clouds lifted once again - we had been incredibly lucky with the weather - as we set sail for Stamsund. As you approach the Lofoten Islands, you get the impression of a huge, continuous wall of mountains, covered in snow even in mid-May. It all looks very forbidding but, as Stamsund approached, a rather greener landscape came into focus.
The Lofotens made their fortune, at least, what fortune they could make, out of the sea. As winter ends, the Barents cod migrate south and, for about two months, they feed off the coast here. For centuries, hardy fishermen have gone out in boats and hauled in as many cod as they can, trading them across Europe. Even now, Lofoten cod are sold to Italy and Portugal (that's where bacalhau come from). The fish are beheaded (the heads go to Nigeria), gutted (the roe stay at home to become Norwegian caviar) and then hung out to dry on racks. The resultant dried fish can be rehydrated should you wish, or eaten a bit like jerky.
At the dockside, our bus was waiting and we set off on a drive across the island of Vestvågøy to Borg, where the Lofoten Viking Museum is to be found. I was slightly puzzled by the accent of our guide, until it became clear that he was an Italian called Luigi, who had settled on the Lofotens having followed his partner. He was quite funny though, and we were a bit more educated when we pulled up at the museum for a promised Viking feast. Yes, I admit, these things can be a bit corny, and there was a fair bit of acting going on. However, the food was surprisingly good (roast lamb, lots of root vegetables) and I was quite enjoying myself, interacting with the cast.
But, we had to get to Svolvaer to catch up with the boat, so it was time to return to the bus for the incredibly scenic drive through the evening sunshine. At one point we spotted the now functional MS Finnmarken, our original boat, heading south. I didn't miss it.
Back on the boat, I found a book on my Kindle and settled down for the evening...
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