Every day for the last century a Hurtigruten boat has started the 11-day, 35-stop voyage from Bergen to Kirkenes and back. Yesterday, at 1am, I became part of the Norwegian Coastal steamer's journey, joining at Tromso and sleeping like a log aboard the MS Lofoten till our first big stop at Harstad at 8.30am. The scenery around the Vestfalen and Lofoten Islands has been spectacular. I've filled a memory card and gone through two sets of camera batteries and learned that these islands -- with peaky mountains like massive versions of the Cuillin on Skye –make for great summer cycling. And if you stay near the coast and avoid July, the mozzies are quite negligible. Apparently. The crew are marvellous – during one stopover there was enough internet signal to send my Scotsman column, I discovered norovirus was my problem earlier this week and had a half hour discussion in the bridge about everything from controversial Norwegian writer Knut Hamsen to the ever present issue of oil and gas discovery and change. The Hurti-dinner tonight was absolutely top notch. But within a minute of sipping coffee the boat really started to lurch. And knowing my sea legs were left somewhere between Eigg and Mallaig in the 90s, I headed back to my Hobbit-like cabin and laid flat out. I've been writing this in a five minute respite as we made a stop at Stamsund on the Lofoten Islands. Now there's a four hour schlep across the Norwegian Sea to Bodo. Let's hear it for islands! They provide shelter in every sense of the word! And now there is none – its lights off in Cabin 235. And let that sea do its worst! (Later) And it truly did! The boat pitched – and I lay stock still -- for about three hours hearing the propeller whirring right out of the water. The Captain said we'd been through an unexpected Force 9 (look at the picture above for unexpected. It was like a millpond all day!) and the ferry from Russia had turned back! OK life. That is surely enough natural challenge for one week?!
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