Doubling back to a new destination

Saturday, September 16

We wake up to a view of the distant mountains glistening green in the sun across the sea.

We hurry down to the cozy dining room, where the chairs are lined with long-haired sheepskins, and sample the many delicacies

Before we leave, we want to explore the area on the other side of the bridge, we went over yesterday. The paved road ends there, but there's a track, which is supposed to have been created by the sporty and very popular Norwegian queen - a 7-8 hour hike, which leads to the small fishing village of Stø. We hadn't noticed the road-sign, which indicates 11238 km to Rio, standing there between the track and the bridge.

We're skirting a bay on our left, when I think I see a smooth round head in the water. Oswaldo doesn't see it and we continue to the next glorious bay - like a more magnificent version of Paquetá in Angra

On our way back we  both hear the bark of what sounds like a seal or sea lion, and now we want to find it. Throwing all caution aside, "This is very irresponsible," says Oswaldo, who's leading the way, we follow small paths in and up through the grasses and moss covered rocks

until we're standing high above the bay, scanning for smooth grey bodies.

Alas, we only see another smooth round head, which quickly vanishes. "Tease," I scream, frustrated and laughing. Still, we're exhilarated by the climb and by the sheer glory of such a quest on such a morning in such a setting.

An hour later we're back in the car negotiating that terrible coast road, until we reach the point where we'd met the ladies and we can look back at this special place

We loop around the bottom of the peninsula to see Strø, a pretty fishing village, which is a departure point for whale safaris in the summer

and then resume our drive to Sortland. We park in front of a hulking structure,  called Kulturfabrikken (the Culture Factory), and which turns out to house a cafeteria, where we enjoy a salmon sandwich, a latte, and share a superior chocolate cookie. There is also an art gallery, a library and a small museum, along with a performance hall. All very modern and clean. The museum shop turns out to have a book with records of the townspeople, and there I find my great-grandmother's name, Anne Christine Ellingsen, along with the fact that she was married in that town, when she was 27 - just like my own mother, who was 27, when she married my Danish father. It's quite intense to think about the meaning of these anonymous numbers.

Faced with a choice of a 2-3 hours drive on hairpin roads and through tunnels, or 30-40 minutes to a 30 minute ferry, we choose the latter. We reach the dock in plenty of time and are the first to board. Standing on the bridge in the freezing wind and watching the immense cragged mountains bear down on us, we feel we're in a movie like 'The Princess Bride."

We're also the first to leave the ferry, and thus the first car to encounter a flock of bewildered sheep, who have strayed onto the road, just where the speed limit of 50km has been lifted. 

We want to be very careful, remembering my cousin Anne telling us, sheep do harm to themselves, if they get upset. We want them to feel safe, so we wait for them to find a solution, while the cars behind us send really impatient vibes. The sheep run to this side and that in disorderly groups,

blunder half-heartedly onto the kerb, until they finally find a broader exit and make their escape.

We're still laughing in the car when the BMWs and Mercedes whoosh past us and disappear in the distance.

Half an hour later we're in Svolvær in a modern Thon hotel situated by the harbor and with an amazing view of mountains, buildings and boats.

We find we've been upgraded to a superior room on the 8th floor with fabulous views. It has started raining, and the clouds are low. These are good reasons to share a scotch in the room, after which we go down to dine in the Arctic Paleo restaurant, wishing Victor were here to enjoy it all.