Nord’s Well That Ends Well
Our journey continued north with Mo i Rana as our first stop, a town that, despite its wonderfully peculiar name, seems mostly to exist as a waypoint on route to somewhere else. We camped near yet another ski slope, a feature that was quickly becoming a recurring theme of our Norwegian voyage. The town itself was modest, framed by rugged peaks and an air of quiet industriousness, given its rather large port, though it did little to distract us from the enormous distance we still had to cover. By the time we reached Bodø, we were ready for a ferry break to what many describe as the most spectacular part of a spectacular country: the Lofoten Islands.
As we disembarked, the snake-like islands unfolded before us in all their rugged, dramatic glory. Sharp peaks rose straight out of the sea, their tops obscured by brooding clouds, and tiny red cabins dotted the shoreline like they’d been placed there by a particularly neat giant. It was breathtaking, of course, but also profoundly wet. Rain lashed down with such enthusiasm that any notion of exploring on foot was quietly shelved in favour of trying to stay upright. Lowri, in her endless generosity, had booked us a hot tub on the shore as a birthday treat for me, which turned out to be a particular highlight. Sitting in a steaming tub of water while staring out at the wild landscape around us was nothing short of surreal—at least until the wind picked up to such a degree that I almost lost enthusiasm, as well as my beanie.
Our time on the islands was shorter than planned, partly because of the weather but mostly because I was feeling decidedly less than chipper. A visit to Tromsø hospital eased concerns though it also meant abandoning the islands’ misty grandeur sooner than we’d have liked. Tromsø itself turned out to be a fascinating city, a mix of Arctic outpost and a vibrant cultural hub, where modern architecture rubbed shoulders with quaint wooden houses. The streets buzzed with an unexpected energy for a place so far north, though the towering, snow-capped mountains ringing the city seemed to be there as a quiet reminder that we were still very much deep in the Arctic Circle.
From Tromsø, we hit the E6 highway again, a road so vast and endless it felt like something out of a Christopher Nolan movie—epic, confusing, and probably taking longer than necessary. To pass the time, we started a game of ‘Spot the Reindeer,’ which quickly turned into ‘Dodge the Reindeer’ as the increasingly bold animals strutted onto the road with the confidence of filming TikTokers. After an eternity of winding coastline and existential road signs, we finally rolled into Alta, a town that greeted us with its clean Arctic air and a quite spectacular church. By now, though, one frustration was bubbling over: the Northern Lights were ghosting us. Despite being deep in aurora territory, with all the conditions supposedly aligned, the night sky remained stubbornly blank. Meanwhile, back in Swansea, our messages and feeds were exploding with photos of glowing auroras lighting up suburban cul-de-sacs and Morrisons’ car parks.
After days of winding through Norway’s endless procession of mountains, fjords, and radio stations that seemed determined to resurrect the worst of 90s Europop, we finally arrived at Nordkapp—the northernmost point of mainland Europe and the culmination of our Arctic pilgrimage. Nordkapp is the sort of place that belongs in a sci-fi film, perched dramatically on the edge of a cliff where the human world abruptly stops. The Arctic Ocean sprawled out before us in all its cold, indifferent glory, with nothing between us and the North Pole but miles of freezing water (and Svalbard, for the geographically precise). Right on cue, a double rainbow appeared over the cliffs as if to silence and inspire even the most sarcastic of travellers. We’d done it. We were at the top of Europe, staring into the endless north, feeling small, victorious, and slightly concerned about the ridiculous return journey.
What goes up, as they say, must eventually come down, but before bidding farewell to Norway, we had one last stop: Karasjok, the capital of the Sámi people. Here, we visited the Sámi parliament building, an architectural marvel that managed to look both ancient and futuristic, like something that could host both a tribal council and a TED Talk. It felt deeply tied to the land, a tribute to a culture that has thrived in the harsh arctic environment for centuries. It was a fitting final stop in Norway, a country that had challenged and stunned us at every turn, leaving us exhausted, poorer, but thoroughly captivated. The next leg would take us into Finland, but for now, Norway had given us enough to reflect on. It is a land of extremes—stunning landscapes, unpredictable weather, and matchless roads. We had reached the top of Europe, and while the journey south promised new tales, it was hard not to feel a pang of sadness at leaving the land of fjords, reindeer, and utterly humbling beauty behind.
J
