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My own perils were slightly different and I would presume, embarrassing. As it turns out, there had been something of a misunderstanding and evidently the front desk thought I had a hankering for a two minute shower. Though the shower left something to be desired, namely water, it did underscore the progressive environmental attitude I found throughout the entire country. Most every
town and city is equipped with a responsible recycling and waste management
program. Industrial activity and urban sprawl are carefully
held in check by a strong social consciousness. They seem amazed
to think anyone would consider doing otherwise.
Perhaps most remarkably is that, unlike its southern counterparts, Norway isn’t a country pressed by emergency for these programs. Neither the industry or population is overwhelming in any part. Their problems with acid rain and pollution are less severe than the rest of Europe. Yet they, like much of Scandinavia, seem blessed with a strong sense of stewardship and responsibility. Norway has the lowest population density in all of Europe as most of the land has been a victim of severe alpine glaciation and thus not very inhabitable. That also means they’ve got a whole lotta space. And this is what I love. You can go where you want. It’s essentially everyone’s land and has been since the Vikings lumbered over its slopes. For all their brutality, the Norsemen were surprisingly egalitarian and their descendants still are. You can camp on the side of the road or in a fallow field. They only ask you stay away from homes and don’t light fires. Coming from a country like the US where we all but pee around our territory, I have to admit I was enthralled. There seems to be one major problem with the country though – that is to say, it shuts down in September. Hotels close, bus routes stop, restaurants go dark and when I asked for a bed, the locals looked at me as though I’d requested a five minute shower. I’m not well versed in nation closings and I’m sure it’s economically prudent, but keeping a few services open, if only based on the remote threat of reglaciation, doesn’t seem too much to ask. I landed in the islands in the small fishing port of Stamsund under heavy skies and mists that wandered about town like ghosts. The town itself lies on the eastern shore of the island chain, dotted with surprisingly colorful houses and though it was settled over a thousand years ago, retains the impression that they’re still just getting used to the place. I took up lodging
at a hostel on the outskirts that was one of the few places still open.
The hostel itself was a former lodge and home for fishermen in the golden
days of fishing yore. The same Gulf Current that sweeps up the Florida
coast ends it’s journey in these frigid waters, bringing with it a host
of nutrients and warmth that would otherwise render the islands almost
uninhabitable. As a result, the islands were once one of the best
kept fishery secrets in the North Atlantic. But secrets fade and
the seas once famous for abundant cod and rock salmon (which curiously
isn’t a salmon) became overfished and now only a few locals made a living
off it anymore.
“Everyone comes here, they say to me, this fish, this fish is the best. Of course it is. How can you get any better. These people, they come from the middle of Europe, there’s no fish there, the fish they get are old, frozen. There’s no reason to eat that, they might as well eat nothing. Fish, you have to eat them just after catching, otherwise, no good, day later, waste, use it for bait….” I have to admit, he had a point. It was the best fish I ever had, even if I couldn’t find the sublime flakes just behind the gills. Regrettably though, due to my spastic butchering skills, I got more of the meal on me than in me. Having done
so, I discovered, in keeping with the eco-friendly theme, Norwegian washing
machines use as little water as possible. It goes something like
this: put your clothes in, deposit the soap into one of the seven holes
on top of the machine, watch it fill up with almost, but not quite, a liter
of water and wait two hours. Cleanest clothes I ever had.
But like any self-respecting hero, I powered on. Boarding a bus to A°(pronounced ‘Ow”), I journeyed to the minute, historically preserved fishing hamlet complete with cod drying racks and compact red fishing huts that perched on the southern tip of the island. I wandered from the bus station down to the village hypnotized by the almost oppressive beauty surrounding me. The haunting barren peaks puncturing the ocean surface were still raw from the glaciers that once worked here thousands of years past. The valleys were filled with ominously placid lakes, short grasses and peat bogs. It would be remarkable if you managed to take a photo that wasn’t jaw-dropping. And yet the serene scenery touched the mind in such a way to evoke anxiety, a place permanently frozen before a storm, it’s peace somehow eroding one’s mind. This was certainly the right place for Poe. It was evidently the right place to learn the country was closing for the winter as well. After convincing a fellow on a roof that I was indeed real and in need of lodging, I inquired about my quarry. No boats were available to go see it and probably wouldn’t be till next May. None. May. Ow. I stood there in full sight of the tiny rock island my maelstrom foamed behind. I turned my head around to the dark cliffs behind me and stared at a rowboat bobbing in a lake at their base. Poe would have to wait. And strangely, I didn’t mind anymore. Days later, headed south, as I walked the MS Midnatsol’s deck, I watched the Lofotens fade back into a mist drifting in from the east. I leaned my elbows on the railing and closed my eyes. I was coming back someday and it wouldn’t matter then either if I made it to the whirlpool. I wanted to taste the vast freedom, the undisciplined forces and haunting spirit of the place that imbued themselves not only in the mountains but in the people themselves – and, I admit, to see if I can finish my shower in under two minutes. Poe introduced the word maelstrom into the English language and I would have added ‘Ow’ if someone hadn’t beaten me to it. To Contact
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