Glimpses of Lofoten's history in war and art

Sunday, September 17

It is raining hard when we wake up, and puffy clouds are hanging low on the mountains.  The square below is wet and empty.

The hotel restaurant, however, is warm and bustling with Sunday brunch guests moving through an impressive array of options, catering to meat-eaters and vegans alike. A waif-like child-woman is playing the piano and I ask the server how old she is. "Oh, she's old," she says. "More than 20."

Dodging the rain we skip around the corner to the Svolvær Krigsminnemuseet – the World War II Memorial Museum – several rooms filled with uniforms, photos, and war memorabilia, which tell the stories of acts of courage and terrible loss of life during the intense battles, which took place in this region. By 1944 the Germans had 370.000 soldiers here. There is even an enigma machine, captured in Lofoten by the British during a raid in 1941

and also the headgear from a concentration camp.

The museum has an incrediby strong aura, of evil avoided at great cost. We feel privileged to have seen it.

The weather improves, and we drive to Henningsvær, a fishing village built on a group of rocky islands 30 minutes to the south.

At the entrance to the town a big red barn houses a museum dedicated to the golden age painters from Northland, many of them autodidact, who shared a love of their land and a calling to depict its nature, sea, and local scenes. Their paintings are quite wonderful.

When we emerge, it has stopped raining, and we stroll into the little town. We’re beginning to feel a little hungry and look for Fiskekrogen, a restaurant recommended by our Rough Guide. Turns out it is housed in a building on stilts, jutting into the harbor canal, just like the buldings in Nyksund. 

It is cozy inside. There's a fire going and we choose a traditional fish soup

and a seafood stew

respectively, both of them delicious. I'm not driving and try a Lofoten Amber ale,

which is very good.

When we leave the restaurant the temperature has dropped, and we hurry to get into the car. The views on the drive back are moody and brooding, right out of a Norse fairy-tale

Back in Svolvær I decide on a last try for a SIM-card, while Oswaldo naps. Everything is closed, except for a Narvesen - a local chain store like a 7-11 - across the square. A young woman, interestingly called Anna, offers to help. She does my registration on her PC, and lo and behold, after an hour I have a Norwegian number. Criss-crossing the square a couple of times during this process I have observed a couple having their take-out dinner in the rain, sitting at a picnic table. They are chatting and pay no attention to the weather or their food getting wet, although every time I pass them, they seem to have added yet another layer of clothing. There's a mounful hoot from a Hurtigboat, which does short cruises in the area, 

as it docks behind the hotel. Throngs of people come off the boat, all in colorful downjackets. They disperse quietly and unsmiling. Maybe it was not the best day to be out on the sea...

But I feel very pleased with myself that I persevered, and go up to my room to call my uncle and share the good news of having finally acquired a Norwegian phonenumber.