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Norway - Day 10: Homeward bound
Dec. 26th, 2004 09:41 pmVardø, Vadsø and Hammerfest
And so the Polarlys reaches the end of its voyage to the top of the world – or at least its inhabited portion – and turns to point its prow towards the balmy South. The last couple of stops have given us a taste of the real North. It's bleak and in places frankly ugly. Our tour guide, Kari, a Norwegian who lives in Ipswich with her English husband, is apologetic. She warned us that the towns of the far north didn't bother much with their appearance. That we'd see no gardens and rubbish like cars just abandoned in people's yards. Well, in fairness, it wasn't that bad.
The tiny fishing ports are unlovely, yes, but they're functional. If you can't grow anything more than grass and moss, there's not much point in trying to cultivate a garden. Still, the towns, though plain, are fairly tidy, and there's little vandalism or litter. Kirkenes itself is far enough south that gardening and farming is possible and it's visibly trying to transform itself from a brutal miners' dormitory into an attractive place to visit and live.
As we sail back, we visit some of the many tiny ports that seem to lie in every inlet. Many of these we passed in the night last time, so I rise early and go ashore at two of them, Vardø and Vadsø. I needn't have bothered: after a few, one set of docks is much like another. What's impressive is how busy they are. Even at 6am, there's a scurry of activity as harbourmen rush to load and unload cargo. We all marvel at the extent of these towns. So far from anywhere else, with no chance of farming, these are substantial towns of two, three thousand people or more, stretching for kilometres along the sheltered shores of the northern-facing fjords. To visit each one, the ship must make a substantial detour, sailing miles inland along fjords and then retracing its path after a bare 3m minute stop. Up here, though, the Hurtigrute really is a lifeline; it's still the primary way to get goods in and out.
By mid-morning, the sleet that fell at Kirkenes has turned to snow. In October, it's early but not that unusual. Out at sea, little settles, but we passengers rush ashore to photograph the thin dusting on the ground and on another not-quite-right rock garden. By nightfall, it's settling thickly, and when the ship docks just before dinner, a crowd gathers on the quay. A gaggle of the younger waitresses and chambermaids, all in uniform, run giggling down the gangplank for this winter's first snowball fight, to general delight, although it only lasts five minutes before they have to start preparing for dinner.
( Read more... )
And so the Polarlys reaches the end of its voyage to the top of the world – or at least its inhabited portion – and turns to point its prow towards the balmy South. The last couple of stops have given us a taste of the real North. It's bleak and in places frankly ugly. Our tour guide, Kari, a Norwegian who lives in Ipswich with her English husband, is apologetic. She warned us that the towns of the far north didn't bother much with their appearance. That we'd see no gardens and rubbish like cars just abandoned in people's yards. Well, in fairness, it wasn't that bad.
The tiny fishing ports are unlovely, yes, but they're functional. If you can't grow anything more than grass and moss, there's not much point in trying to cultivate a garden. Still, the towns, though plain, are fairly tidy, and there's little vandalism or litter. Kirkenes itself is far enough south that gardening and farming is possible and it's visibly trying to transform itself from a brutal miners' dormitory into an attractive place to visit and live.
As we sail back, we visit some of the many tiny ports that seem to lie in every inlet. Many of these we passed in the night last time, so I rise early and go ashore at two of them, Vardø and Vadsø. I needn't have bothered: after a few, one set of docks is much like another. What's impressive is how busy they are. Even at 6am, there's a scurry of activity as harbourmen rush to load and unload cargo. We all marvel at the extent of these towns. So far from anywhere else, with no chance of farming, these are substantial towns of two, three thousand people or more, stretching for kilometres along the sheltered shores of the northern-facing fjords. To visit each one, the ship must make a substantial detour, sailing miles inland along fjords and then retracing its path after a bare 3m minute stop. Up here, though, the Hurtigrute really is a lifeline; it's still the primary way to get goods in and out.
By mid-morning, the sleet that fell at Kirkenes has turned to snow. In October, it's early but not that unusual. Out at sea, little settles, but we passengers rush ashore to photograph the thin dusting on the ground and on another not-quite-right rock garden. By nightfall, it's settling thickly, and when the ship docks just before dinner, a crowd gathers on the quay. A gaggle of the younger waitresses and chambermaids, all in uniform, run giggling down the gangplank for this winter's first snowball fight, to general delight, although it only lasts five minutes before they have to start preparing for dinner.
( Read more... )
