Cruising Norway’s Highway 1

There could be only one explanation for the rocky start to our Norway cruise, a logical reason that our flight to Oslo was detoured by fog to Banak Flypass, a tiny airport in the North Cape. It would explain why we then had a five-hour bus ride across Finland, why our dinners consisted of mediocre hamburgers at a truck stop, why the hotel had no record of our reservations when we arrived at 2 a.m.--and discovered that the tour group with whom we had coincidentally shared the bus had fully booked the hotel.

“Trolls,” I said to my husband, Ritchie.

My husband, the nonbeliever, yawned. “That one?” he asked, nodding toward a 2-foot-high statue by the door to the shuttered dining room. Just then the leader of the tour group announced to his weary senior flock that the elevator was not working and that some of their rooms were on the fifth floor. Cries of indignation rose. He suggested they double up. Cries turned to howls.

“I think I will have a room for you on the fifth floor,” the night manager said softly, “if you don’t mind climbing the stairs.”

Our cruise down 1,250 miles of the Norwegian west coast on the Nordlys, a 6-year-old passenger and freight ship, may have had an inauspicious beginning, but those troublemaking trolls mostly left us alone on this six-day, north-to-south trip from Kirkenes to Bergen. We had been to Norway before, but we’d never seen the north, with its handsome coastline sculpted out of rock by nature’s harsh hand. So in August we boarded the 482-berth ship. We sailed past fiords (there are more than 1,500 in Norway) and glaciers, fishing villages and scenery so stunning that it looked as though someone had painted it on.

We cruised by hundreds of islands--the west coast has more than 150,000--and saw dozens of red and yellow cottages. Like the boats, they were dwarfed against a backdrop of granite and glaciers, draped like shawls over mountain shoulders.

We docked 34 times, sometimes just to load or unload freight and often in the wee hours. Sometimes the stops were long enough to go ashore for an organized excursion or to spend time on our own.

For example, we stopped for a few hours in Trondheim, founded in 997 and home of the Norwegian crown jewels, but not long enough to really get to know this university town of 140,000, and in Tromso, inside the Arctic Circle and perpetually bright during the summer.

We booked the cruise for the ports (even if we got only a taste of them), not because we wanted the kind of pampering that comes with many cruises. The Nordlys (literally “Northern Lights”) was low-key, casual and more than comfortable, but if it’s mile-a-minute good times you’re hoping for, this isn’t the cruise for you. This is a working vessel, hauling everything from fish to household goods, so keeping passengers entertained is not a high priority. We never faced a captain’s cocktail party or a black-tie-optional evening, much to our delight. There was, in fact, no dress code, real or implied.

The “maids” are vacationing students. In the mornings they would fold up the pull-down and convertible sofa beds in our outside cabin; the evenings were do-it-ourselves.

The cuisine was Scandinavian, drawing on the sea for some of the dishes. Lunch was a smorgasbord with open-faced sandwiches, great bowls of salad, slabs of salmon, oysters, mussels, prawns, herring, pickles and, always, caviar. Dinners were three courses, often with cod or haddock as an entree, and lots of potatoes, all accompanied by an undistinguished wine list.

With a mix of passengers from nearly every continent, the vessel had an international feeling to it, and there was a blend of ages as well, from families with infants to elderly travelers. This route is often called “Norway’s Sea Highway 1.” It’s the choice of Norwegians going from one port to another; at every stop they came aboard as day-trippers, often bringing their families.

Passengers could gather to watch the passing scene from the decks and the huge windows in the lounges. And these were excellent places from which to keep an eye out for those pesky trolls.

Norwegians take particular pride in their folklore, perhaps as a result of their struggle to establish a national identity. For centuries the country was caught in the cross-fire between Denmark and Sweden, falling under the influence of one and then the other. Norwegians declared their independence from Sweden in 1814; Sweden responded by invading. Norway didn’t become fully independent until 1905.

Norwegians believed that their folk tales would help the world recognize their rich national character, which the British expert on Scandinavian folklore George Dasent said was distinguished by humor, an ability to face adversity and a sense of justice. “In no collection of tales . . . are the great principles of morality better worked out, and right and wrong kept so steadily in sight,” he wrote.

Trolls are part of that theme of right and wrong. When they first began to appear in Scandinavian folklore, they were malevolent monsters who used their magic for evil. Exposed to sun, they turned to stone or blew up. Over time, the trolls got smaller, and in their new elfin incarnation they became more like tiny terrorists.

Our excursion guides were locals who inevitably chose troll-centered sagas over facts and figures. In the Arctic Circle country of Helgeland, for instance, there’s a mountain called Vagekallen that, according to legend, used to be a troll from the Lofoten Islands, where codfish is king. (Norwegians tell you that the odor of drying codfish is only “the smell of money.”) The legend goes that this mischief maker came upon seven beautiful princesses dancing naked on the beach, and he began to chase them; a huntsman took after the troll, and a cook and a king joined the chase. The sun rose, and all of them turned to stone and mountains. We saw the mountain that Vagekallen became in the Lofotens; the seven princesses, socially downgraded to the Seven Sisters, just past Sandnessjoen; Lekamoyha the cook at Leka; her pastry board and rolling pin at Tjotta; Hestmannen, the huntsman, still astride his horse on Alsten; and at Torghatten, the hole created by his very large arrow as it passed through the king’s hat. (Geologists would point, instead, to wind and water erosion.)

The weather didn’t always cooperate as we tried to get to know some of the 125,000 square miles of Norway. On a half-day excursion to the North Cape, or Nordkapp, we hoped the view from this 1,000-foot granite cliff--straight down to the Barents Sea--would give us a sense of being at the northernmost point of Norway, but the cloud cover was so thick that we had to settle for a 45-minute, 180-degree film.

The price--$85 per person--included “Breakfast at the Top of the World” at the North Cape Hall and a chance to see the dioramas, museums and chapel along the great tunnel between the main building and the viewing station.

On the way to rejoin the ship at Hammerfest, we saw plenty of reindeer, looking slightly scrawnier than those you see on Christmas cards. They barely lifted their antlers as the tour buses lumbered by, nibbling instead at whatever bits of moss they could find in the fields and by the sides of the road. The indigenous Sami (formerly known as Lapps), short, stocky people, own and herd most of the reindeer. At a rest stop in Samiland, a mock encampment consisted of a tent, a cook fire, a Sami herder and a tame reindeer depicting the life of the nomadic people, who were thought to be sorcerers and conjurers in the 17th century. Today the 40,000 Norwegian Sami have their own parliament.

Kai, our half-Sami tour guide, said the Sami were the first inhabitants of Finnmark, the northernmost county of Norway, “except for the trolls.” We also blamed trolls for the notoriously unpredictable weather, although Kai admitted the North Cape could have “all four seasons in one day.”

After the North Cape excursion, we rejoined the ship in Hammerfest, which was the northernmost city in Norway until nearby Honningsvag became a town and usurped the designation. Hammerfest might arguably be the most stubborn little town in Norway. A hurricane flattened it in the 1850s; a fire burned it down in 1890; and the Nazis, who invaded Norway in 1940, bombed it unmercifully in October 1944. Only the cemetery chapel survived the destruction, a reminder of a dark period in the country’s history. But each time it has come back, and today it’s a tidy little fishing port on a picturesque bay.

It’s also the headquarters of the Royal and Ancient Polar Bear Society, which meets in the basement of the town hall and has more than 130,000 members worldwide. On the side of the mountain stands a statue of a polar bear carved of stone and whitewashed. Oddly, its tail is turned toward the city. Kai explained that an innkeeper thought the bear statue would be a good symbol for the town and persuaded the town fathers to share the cost. When the bill came, the town fathers decided they wanted no part of the project, so the innkeeper paid for it and turned the statue, tail first, toward the city.

W e spent our hour ashore in Stokmarknes (population 3,500, situated between Sortland and Svolvaer) visiting the Museum of the Coastal Express, which opened in 1999. The Coastal Express was established here in 1881, and the museum contains full-size replicas of deck space and cabins on those early vessels as well as ship models and memorabilia. Otherwise, the town has little appeal and little to recommend it.

Whether you’re going north or south, the highlight of the voyage is the detour through the Raftsund channel into Trollfjorden (the Troll’s Fiord), two kilometers long, 100 meters wide at its mouth. The ship proceeds slowly through the narrow gorge while the public address system calls attention to the profiles of trolls incised in the high walls: tree-sprouting eyebrows; broken teeth; terrible eye sockets; long, pointed ears.

Fishermen in these waters greet the mountains at dawn and implore the trolls to grant a good catch. The menacing peak of Trolltindan looms to the south. To the west, the lake of Trollfjordvatnet is said to be magically filled with chunks of ice even in summer. The official guidebook says trolls in this area will sleep for 1,000 years before they start throwing stones at the ship. Taking no chances, the captain whipped the ship into a nautical pirouette at the fiord’s end and headed back to sea.

The last lap of our voyage veered west past Hornelen Mountain, where witches are said to dance with the devil at the summer solstice, here called Midsummer’s Eve. (Witches differ from the female trolls known as huldras, who hang around waterfalls, usually wear red and can turn themselves into beautiful women.)

Bergen, our final port and Norway’s second largest city with 213,000 inhabitants, is nested in seven hills enchanting in their beauty, viewpoints and hiking opportunities. Its weather is mild, although it rains about 275 days a year. Not, happily, during our visit, when temperatures topped 70.

We visited the home of Bergen’s favorite son, the great composer Edvard Grieg (1843-1907), known for his lyrical piano pieces, “Peer Gynt” suite and “Norwegian Peasant Dance.” His home, known as Troldhaugen (Troll Hill), is a Swiss-style dwelling, and summer concerts are held under the grass and sod roof of Troldsalen Hall on the grounds. Both dramatist Henrik Ibsen (1828-1906) and fairy-tale spinner Hans Christian Andersen (1805-1875) were frequent guests of Grieg’s. Grieg and his wife, Nina, lived here during the summers until his death. The home contains his piano, sheet music, furniture and pictures, some of which you may recognize from the movie “Song of Norway,” the cinematic story of his life.

Like Grieg’s home, Bergen is a visual delight, full of old cobblestone streets and reminders of the city’s place as a port. The wharf, rebuilt after numerous fires, is full of gabled houses and is a UNESCO World Heritage Site. We got a great view of the city by taking the funicular to the top of Mt. Floyen, where we stopped for tea.

As we were standing on deck coming into Bergen, the water and sky were the deep blue of Scandinavian eyes. The steep walls of the fiord were incised with hideous and unmistakable granite profiles, all that remained of a legion of trolls. “I suppose you’ll be telling people the trolls gave their lives so we could have the most beautiful voyage in the world,” Ritchie said.

Of course they did.

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GUIDEBOOK

Navigating Norway

Getting there: If you’re sailing north to south, you fly to Kirkenes, which requires changing planes. From LAX, you can fly KLM or Northwest to Amsterdam; Air France to Paris; United to London; or any of several nonstop services to Newark, N.J. In each case, you connect with SAS, which flies to Oslo, then to Kirkenes. Air France is offering a restricted round-trip air fare of $998 April 1 to June 15; restricted fares on the others begin at $1,143 for the same period. If you’re sailing south to north, you can fly KLM from LAX to Amsterdam, changing to Braathens Asa to Bergen; restricted round-trip fare begins at $855 from April 1 to June 15.

Sailing the Nordlys: Ships are categorized and priced according to their age. The Nordlys is in the newest and most expensive category. Prices are per person, double, during peak season, June 1-Aug. 31. For the seven-day northbound voyage, an inside cabin is $1,338; outside cabins are $1,464 to $2,797. On the six-day voyage south, the lowest-priced inside cabin is $1,113, and an outside cabin runs $1,240 to $2,367. The lowest-priced inside cabin on the round trip is $2,055; outside cabins run $2,250 to $4,300. Travelers older than 67 get a discount. Included are three meals daily and all port taxes.

For more information: Norwegian Coastal Voyage Inc., 405 Park Ave., New York, NY 10022; telephone (800) 323-7436 or (212) 319-1300, brochures (800) 666-2374 (24 hours a day), fax (212) 319-1390, Internet https://www.coastalvoyage.com.

Scandinavian Tourist Board, 655 3rd Ave., Suite 1810, New York, NY 10017; tel. (212) 885-9700, fax (212) 885-9710, Internet https://www.norway.org.