This morning (after another night of deep sleep only interrupted once by something, I’d forgot to batten down, hitting the floor), I decided to skip breakfast (a difficult decision but I thought it might be good to see what hungry felt like again) and spend some quiet time in the bar with a view of the flag deck.
As often happens (if we let it), it was the right choice by accident. The full moon was rising directly over the bow of the Lofoten. We were out of port and in the far north (I went on an excursion to the North Cape yesterday); there was nothing but black (no horizon line between sea and sky), stars, the wake of the ship reflected in the ship’s own light, and the full moon straight ahead spilling its yellowish light on the water.
Another passenger, Tim from Namibia, entered the bar. Tim came here specifically to see the Northern Lights; he was thrilled with the display we had two nights ago. Tim walked quietly to the other side of the bar, intentionally without a god morgen, respecting my writer-hard-at-work posture (at least I hope that’s how I appeared): shoes on the floor, legs folded under, tapping away at my tablet. Tim seems to be that sort of man.
The problem with a really good trip is that the experiences far outpace the time I have to write or even to reflect. Today is Day Seven of twelve days and I wonder why I haven’t done this all along, taken the time in the early morning to simply sit and think (well, there is that fantastic breakfast buffet and the wonderful care of the crew that makes me feel like a welcomed guest every morning at 7 o’clock sharp).
We will dock in Kirkenes in one hour. I need to pile on the layers for the husky sledge ride I will be taking. Dogs! I didn’t know dogs would be included in this trip. A repeat Hurtigrutin traveler, Pam, said it is the best excursion of the trip. When we met, we traded photos and stories of our dogs; hers is a Border Collie named Penny, and mine, Gem, of course; I’m certain I’ve thought more of Gem than she has thought of me this past week. I’ve started looking forward to the excursions off the ship exactly for the cold and wind and shaking the chill off when back on board with coffee and conversation and the four-course dinner served in the evening. The tour buses always have us back just in time.
I have been searching for words from the moment I boarded the Lofoten to describe the coast we have traveled. Passages form in my mind before sentences hit the screen or paper; I can “hear” a phrase or paragraph in my head (otherwise known as hearing voices, I guess, but in a good way, but, then again that’s probably what all crazy people say) where it often restlessly waits, before I finally get it down.
But nothing very worthy has been waiting that does justice to the fathomless fjords (well, they can be measured at more than 600 fathoms deep), the staggering slate mountains, the bleached snow that takes on a neon glow in the moonlight, the Christmas card towns that cling to the water’s edge like glittery moss, and the moon that has gone from a sliver to full since the start of the voyage. If I say anything, I’m sure it has been better said by better writers many times over. Describing the landscape is as overwhelming as the landscape itself.
Here in the far north, it is easy to feel forgotten and easy to forget. Forgotten because there are so few roads, lights, and people; you feel away from everything in the world that is unimportant. What seems important is the temperature, the depth of the water, the distance to the next port, the hours of light in the day, good soup, and warmth.
I’m sure some people live here just for that forgotten feeling.
Easy to forget because it is so unlike real life—work, responsibility, people even—at home. It is so bewitching because people actually do live here; it is not an illusion. There are modest houses with spectacular views (in the dark from the bus windows we can peek into the lives of residents sitting at their kitchen tables or watching tv with a twinkling Christmas tree nearby), shopping malls, grocery stores, and schools.
This is the seduction of the far north and the Polar Light; you could get away from it all. People do. People have and when asked about the winters and the cold and the dark, answer quickly it is god and you can’t help feeling they are keeping a secret, the secret of a good life.
I can’t say anything good about this trip because anything I say is not nearly enough.
Journeys 