Svolvær fishing village. Photo / Azamara
It’s passion at the prow as Marian McGuinness navigates the fjords of Norway.
Imagine a love so powerful it conquered kingdoms. In the 9th century, lowly Viking sea-king Harald Fairhair fell for the beautiful Gyda. She would only marry him if he became king of all Norway. Fuelled by passion, Harald vowed never to cut his hair until he achieved this goal. For 10 years he battled warlords, finally uniting 30 kingdoms beneath his crown. He married Gyda, lived to 83 and was known for his beautiful hair. He was succeeded by two of his sons, Eric Bloodaxe and Haakon the Good.
I hear this tale, not on a Viking longship, but aboard the boutique-size Azamara Journey, during a 16-night Intensive Norway cruise that carves through fjords only a small ship can navigate in pursuit of glaciers, trolls and Viking-saga adventures.
Departing from Edinburgh, we roll across the North Sea to Stavanger, our first destination. I wander this fishing town’s cobbled lanes of white-painted houses and linger by a towering Viking longship sculpture. The waterfront markets are hard to resist, even for the swans which meander around the stalls. Up in the hills, three 10m bronze swords symbolising peace, unity and freedom are struck in stone, a striking monument to Harald’s 872 victory at nearby Hafrsfjord, that unified Norway.
Walking in the footsteps of Viking farmers at Bukkøy, one of Norway’s 239,057 islands, we follow black sheep through a pine forest to a reconstructed medieval farm. Inside the shingle-roofed longhouse the central hearth warms us as we imagine how Vikings slept, cooked, lived and loved. There’s a blacksmith’s forge out the back and a boathouse for drying and storing the longships’ sails. These small homesteads where they grew crops and raised livestock were connected to neighbouring settlements by rough dirt roads.
Berthing at the port of Olden, a picturesque spur of the 100km-long Nordfjord, we’re soon on a coach passing glaciated peaks. After waiting for wild goats to stop headbutting in the middle of the road, we reach the tongue of Briksdal, an icy arm of continental Europe’s largest icefield. At the nearby interactive museum, where woolly mammoths once roamed, echoes of the Ice Age linger. We follow a stony path to the glacier’s frozen face. Retreating since 2000, its rivulets of meltwater down its granite walls could well be tears.
Cruising north to Bodo, I’ve chosen to zip in a RIB boat across the frigid waters of the Saltstraumen, the strongest tidal current in the world. Kitted up in life vests and waterproof gear we swirl around this gigantic Arctic whirlpool before scooting further along the fjord spotting otters and following eagles as they fish.
It’s on a designated sea day when we cross the Arctic Circle and officially enter the Land of the Midnight Sun, celebrating with an ice-dunking ceremony of King Neptune and his queen in the deck pool.
The town of Svolvaer nestles on one of the Lofoten archipelago’s 80 islands. Our guide Luna calls it the New Zealand of Norway with 5000 inhabitants and 26,000 sheep. At the harbour, hundreds of wooden drying racks hold fish pegged in pairs to stop seagulls from stealing them. As U-shaped glacial valleys stretch into the distance I’m in the geography of my school days. Watching a Viking-style wood carver, I chat with a traveller from Istanbul who comes to Norway for its profound, enveloping silence. And that’s exactly what it is.
As dusk approaches, Captain Kresimir deftly manoeuvres Azamara through the narrow Troll Fjord. All on deck collectively inhale and I extend my hand to the sheer cliff almost touching it. I’m sure I see bald-headed trolls with tree bodies, cut-off noses and silver lichen hair frozen into these fortress walls.
Quad biking up Nato Mountain in Honningsvåg, near Russia, is pure adrenaline. Across windswept tundra, we navigate tunnels in convoy and climb the serpentine gravel track up the ice-shattered mountain, passing cirques and their mirrored tarns. At the summit, radar stations survey air, land and sea. “How far away is Russia?” I ask. Our guide’s answer of 200km draws a communal gasp.
We’re finally at the top of the world and we celebrate under the stars at Azamara’s white night poolside party, the deck transformed into a candlelit night of al fresco dining, dancing and camaraderie.
At midnight, at the edge of continental Europe, light lingers on the horizon as the sea lies silent. We round North Cape’s soaring cliffs where a metal globe rises as if Atlas is holding it aloft. Something primal stirs in me with perhaps the same awe that must have gripped King Harald Fairhair as he stood on the prow of his longship, as beneath our hull, sinuous ribbons of bioluminescence shimmer and unfurl while the midnight sun exalts overhead.
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The journalist travelled courtesy of Azamara Cruises.