Fjording Norway: Day 4, Hurtigruten

We were recently shown pictures of another Chinese family's vacation pictures on board a cruise ship, and it looked like a floating city. So we compared it to our ship in typical Chinese manner. It was decided that our ship was more rustic and homely. Nevermind that M. and D spent their first night completely robbed of their sleep by the ship's engine, which was churning out its environmentally-unfriendly rage directly beneath their cabin. We were nevertheless glad that we were being fed.



Fish for breakfast? I love breakfast far too much to protest.

What do you do on a ship? Essentially, you're waiting for your next meal. To pass the interlude, I read A Picture of Dorian Gray, took pictures, and napped on the deck. A taste of retirement life.



Lunch time! What you see is just the chilled seafood section; on top of that there were warm fish and meat options. I felt obliged to try everything in minuscule portions until I found my favorites (lamb casserole, smoked halibut, and the caramelized onions that accompanied the fish cakes).



In the afternoon we visited two highly unremarkable coastal towns, and then saw a funny mountain with a penetrating hole.



We arrived in the restaurant, salivating, five minutes before they had started serving, and had to suffer the teasing smell of ginger and shallots. Then the starters arrived.



Hurtigruten prides itself on serving local food from whichever port it stops at that day. These beautiful scallops had that tinge of sweetness that only super fresh shellfish have, and when pulled apart...



Oh my. That's some naughtily fresh scallops. Served with lime and carrot puree. If you haven't lost your scallop virginity, do so now, and experience the full glory of nature's best offerings.

We'll skip the uninspiring main dish (beef sirloin with sauteed vegetables - snore) and skip to the dessert.



Champagne soup with strawberries, rhubarb and cream. I'm banging my head against the screen trying to get to it again. You have to excuse the cliches that will pile up because I'm getting too excited just looking at it. I had one mouthful of this and was lost in the tangy sweetness of the soup and the smooth, silky cream. The rhubarb fell apart in my mouth without resistance. I had a mental food-pleasure seizure.

So that was the highlight of the day. Afterward we compared cabins to see which one was less noisy, and at 2 am M. and I do a room switch so the poor woman doesn't go sleepless for another night. Yes, at least the food was good.

Fjording Norway: Day 3.2, Lofoten

The boat from Vindstad arrived just in the nick of time for our bus connection, and I ended up having to run from the hotel to the bus station carrying one piece of luggage in each arm and sweating like nobody's business. All's well that ends well.

Even as we were leaving the place, Lofoten never ceased to amaze. On the bus, we encountered more strange meteorological phenomena.

What the hell?

For D. and me, it was mist safari time. I worked the camera, as he barked out instructions from his superior window seat. "Wait moment, wait moment, wait moment, NOW!" We worked in collaboration to capture the elusive well-composed-shot-from-a-moving-vehicle.





Unfortunately, M. slept through the spectacle. Later, we found out from a local that this kind mist happens in Lofoten after a sunny spell. The Norse weather gods have been very kind to us.

After all that excitement on the bus, we were ready for some food. Since we were leaving Lofoten, we thought our meal should consist of a cross-section of Northern Norway produce.



M. had "klippfisk", otherwise known as bacalao. It's a kind of dried, salted cod that is soaked in water for a few days before being cooked. If you're thinking, that doesn't sound very Norwegian, it's not. It's Portugese. Salted cod was made popular after the discovery (or detection) of Newfoundland, and nowadays Norway, with its similar climate, is the major exporter of klippfisk, or bacalao. One piece of trivia richer.



D. had Lofoten lamb. According to the guidebook, Lofoten lamb is supposed to be meatier, more tender and less fatty than the usual lamb, and with a hint of game. My tastebuds aren't trained to the subtleties of game in hints, so I can't tell you whether that's true or not.



I went for whale. Yes, really, whale. Served with salad and chips. It is rather sinewy, and is a bit more tender than beef, but otherwise identical in texture - quite odd to see rare and bloody sea-animal meat. It was served in a pool of peppercorn sauce, so I couldn't distinguish any whale flavor. To be honest, if it were on a menu, I wouldn't choose it again. Nothing wrong with it per say, I'm just not a big fan of bloody meat.

I can't claim to have mentally munched on any ethical arguments whilst eating the oddly beef-like whale meat, but mentioning whale in context of eating should always be backed up with comments on sustainability, so here goes. The quota for minke whales in Norway is 1052 a year, but allegedly only 500 are caught. The whales are DNA marked, to prove its legality. It is claimed that whale hunting in Norway is less for commercial purposes, and more to support its coastal communities. All of this paraphrased from Insight Guides: Norway.



After dinner we say goodbye to Lofoten, and board our ship to Bergen.

Tomorrow: life on a cruise ship, complete with seafood buffets.

Fjording Norway: Day 3.1, Lofoten

That morning I woke up to a novel sensation - objectophilia. My sleeping clothes smelled of wood, and the scent lingered like that of a lover for several days. I went down to the patio for breakfast. The patio. I was passionately in love with the patio, the cabin, our wonderful Reine cabin, sitting on the ocean with its view of mountains. Sorry E.B., I think I may have had a love affair with an inanimate object.


Breakfast was eaten the way breakfast should always be eaten: with mountains in the background.

Alas, the love affair was sweet but short, and after breakfast we hopped on a boat to see some arctic beaches. Farewell Reine, farewell!



After racing by some fjords, the boat dropped us off at Vindstad. We begin our hike through beautiful desolation, over the neck of a mountain, to the Norwegian ocean on the other side.






Look again. I don't think you've quite grasped the proportions. Those ant-like specks in the middle are people. The red speck on the top right is a house.



There were quite a few kids there. They seemed to tumble down to beach with ease, whilst the rest of us old folks had to step carefully. Some adventurous souls were carrying their babies in baby carrier backpacks. The family nodded in collective admiration.




If you can teach your kids to swim in the cold Norwegian sea, they'll swim anywhere.



Breathtaking, absolutely breathtaking. The journey back was much less impressive. The boat arrives an hour late, and we wait around at the dock "eating the west-north wind", as the Chinese say.



Later: whale meat for dinner.

Fjording Norway: Day 2, Lofoten

On the ferry from Bodo to Lofoten, a camera orgy broke out on the deck. Of course, I had to join in. After about fifteen minutes of overexcited camera clicking, I realized that there isn't really much to see, unless this is your first time on a boat in which case the ocean may be an item of curiosity.

We approach Lofoten, landing at the Moskenes port. Not much to see here.

When I was planning this epic trans-Norway vacation, I had read in a travel guide that Reine was claimed by some to be Norway's most beautiful place. Nothing appeals to me quite as much as a superlative in print, so I booked us a night at a converted fisherman's cabin in Reine. This was possibly the best travel-related decision I have ever made.

Ours is the one with blue window frames.

When we walk in, we are met with the smell of wood (much like freshly opened IKEA furniture). We discover, to our great delight, that the cabin is much bigger than expected. It has an upstairs with a cozy mezzanine, a downstairs with a kitchen and an outlandish view, and an abundance of bedrooms and bathrooms. It is big enough to house two families with one child each, or a family of four and two lonely fishermen. The family spreads out over its new found luxury.

To the patio. The patio is the best part of the cabin. It sits on stilts, over the ocean, which you can see through the cracks between the wood panel floor. Leave me on that patio for long enough with pencil and paper and I will produce at least one major work of literary and/or visual art. It is so inspiring that I vow to buy myself a cabin in Lofoten one day when I'm older and richer.

After several hours of appreciation, we go for dinner. And my God, what a dinner. We ordered the following mains:

Monkfish with apples flavored butter sauce and cauliflower puree

Grilled stockfish with chorizo, almonds and apricots

Stockfish with bacon, carrots, capers and butter sauce

With that we were served homemade bread with dips, and a shot of cold tomato and ham soup.

The grilled stockfish was unanimously deemed to be the best dish. The meat has a very distinctively substantial texture and flakes beautifully. It has a mildly fishy aroma, but is otherwise flavorless; here, it borrows flavor from the salty mash and chorizo.

What is stockfish? It's dried cod. The fishermen catch the fish in the winter, which they hang on wooden racks for two months. Before cooking, the fish is soaked in water for nine days. Which is why it tastes so fresh. It can really only be produced in Norway, and goes to show the powerful impact of geography on food. This also means that Norway has a monopoly of sorts on stockfish, so it is ridiculously expensive to buy in supermarkets.

Photo by Morten Andvig via reinerorbuer.no

After dinner, we sat on our patio sipping tea and studying the arctic sun. Our findings: the sun is actually circling above our heads, constantly above the horizon. This also means that for several months of the year, the sun makes its rounds underneath you. Funny, this concept of day-months and night-months. It's so unnatural to man. It's almost like living on another planet.

A fisherman throws out some fish gibblets to an anticipating pack of squawking seagulls. All is well.

Tomorrow: The family goes on mist-safari.