Encountering a Friendlier Social Order at Sea : Cruise passengers can smile because of the relaxed pace and freedom of movement.

It is possible--in fact, easy--to fly from coast to coast without meeting anyone new, without focusing long enough on any one face to be able to pick it out of a police lineup, no matter the reward.

The speed of jets, the constrictions of seat belts and food on a folding tray all add up to a rather efficient, anonymous way of getting from here to there. Face forward. Seat-backs straight. Follow the video announcements. And welcome aboard.

Cruise ships are another matter. They slow their engines at night, if need be, to keep from arriving at a port before the appointed hour. They wander a little north or a little south to call at neighboring islands, rarely pursuing a straight line drawn in the sea.

Sometimes luxury liners embellish an already lustrous itinerary by adding a call at a sunny village to make up for a rain-slogged port. In the case of the most elegant smaller ships--such as the Seabourn Pride--an invitation by the ship’s owner to his private island in the Norwegian archipelago can lead to an impromptu salmon feast and a sundown memory that will not fade.

Above all, there is the freedom of movement on shipboard: the corridors, the casinos, the gyms, the dining rooms, the decks, the swimming pools, the shops, the elevators, the libraries, the spacious lounges for evening shows and daytime lectures, the tours of the galley and bridge. You learn the names of officers and stewards and aerobics teachers. You have endless opportunities to mingle.

Cruising is a more social means of travel, adding the lazy mood of a resort to the basic concept of transportation. The spontaneous jokes and sparring at dinner tables can bring smiles for years.

I remember a merry woman who wore a strawberry pink dress to dinner on the Royal Princess, a dress that absolutely matched the table linens. I remember watching her happy face pucker as she gasped toward the man at her right, who was in mid-story. His napkin had slipped to the floor; he was vigorously wiping his hands on her billowy skirt. She allowed him to finish his punch line before sputtering to her feet.

I remember a high-strung man who bought an entire electric train in Singapore and set it up with tracks, trestles and whistles in his suite on the Sagafjord. I remember a New York widow who fell for a chief engineer on a Royal Viking ship and turned her Caribbean holiday into a long, loving English lesson.

But of all the journeys I have made on all the oceans and seas, the most vivid remains the most simple and pristine: the 11-day, round-trip Norwegian coastal steamer service from Bergen north to Kirkenes at the Russian border.

For almost a century, these trusty boats have sailed night and day, winter and summer, to unite Norway’s long, fiord-slashed coast. They carry mail and people and cargo. They wend among islands, and skirt glaciers and waterfalls, as they push far north of the Arctic Circle for a round-trip journey of almost 3,000 nautical miles. They call at 35 ports, sometimes for three or four hours, sometimes for just a few minutes.

Norwegians refer to this as the Hurtigruten or “quick route.” They generally board the steamers to get from one point to another: to visit a grandmother in Hammerfest, to attend a wedding in Bodo, to hike in the wild Lofoten Islands. Perhaps half of the passengers do not take cabins; they are day-trippers who read in the lounge in winter or sleep on the deck in summertime.

Tourists are a newer commodity, traveling mostly from April to September to stare at spectacular scenery and the wonder of the North Cape and midnight sun.

That red-gold sun, burning round-the-clock in June, meant pulling a curtain over the porthole of our little cabin in order to sleep. Our cabin had bunk beds, a closet and a wash basin. The bathrooms were across the hall. But in the dormitory mood of our ship--the Polarlys--we trudged there happily in bathrobes.

Since my trip, I’m told, the passenger facilities have been refurbished and modernized. Yet the charm of a Norwegian breakfast buffet remains as farm fresh as ever: strong coffee, rich cream, the crisp rye crackle bread called knekkebrod ; plates of cheeses including the classic geitost , a sweet brown goat cheese; cold cuts, eggs, spun honey, berry jams and, from the sea, heaps of sardines and herring, which I leave for others.

At every port, crowds came to the dock: a high school band to welcome a sports team, pretty women pushing rosy-cheeked children in prams, old fishermen in woolen caps who talked of the seas and the weather. Merchants claimed huge cartons of coffee and paper goods. Undertakers signed for coffins. A family welcomed a new Volvo.

On midsummer’s night, we docked at Tromso, a hilly town of tall wooden houses painted sky blue, brick red, ochre, purple, white and yellow. Their wide windows were framed in lace curtains and thick with greenery: philodendron, kalanchoe and mother-in-law’s tongue sprouting from gleaming brass pots.

The mood was of giddy celebration. Bare-chested lads sang by public fountains at 1 a.m. Icy local beer was poured at the Hawk Club, a nightclub with blackout curtains so that daylight would not seep in.

We walked so far on those clean streets that we almost missed the boat--a boat that faithfully delivers the mail and the goods on one of the most dramatic routes in the world.

Reservations for the Norwegian coastal steamer may be booked through Bergen Line, Inc., 505 Fifth Ave., New York 10017, (212) 986-2711.