Letting go on Lofoten
We loaf for a while on Norway’s famous isles.
We are not exactly wasting away in Margaritaville, but Teresa and I are loafing a ton on Lofoten — the famous island chain in Norway’s western Arctic. On the morning of day nine here, it’s pouring rain. Yay! Once more the mist has rolled in over the mountains and onto the rocky shore, right down to the cod-drying racks of our little fishing village of Ballstad. The sea is dark and calm. Beneath the clear surface, patches of aquamarine reveal white sand interspersed with dark clumps of kelp, home to crabs and sea urchins. Teresa (my wife) and I will stay inside our little red cabin today. Unless the sky clears and the mountain roads beckon. Maybe we will spy sea eagles again?
For the past two months the two of us have been driving around Norway in our zippy Polstar 2 electric car, from south to north, west to east. Norwegians we have met along the way tell us we have seen more of their country than they have. It’s been glorious. We feel we have truly hit our stride as flaneurs — wanderers with no purpose other than to experience the beauty of the world. But even wanderers get weary, moving from place to place, three days here, five days there. So in Lofoten we decided to take a vacation from our vacation, and stay put for 12 days.
The Lofoten islands are ideally suited for a laid-back lifestyle. Frankly, there is not a lot to do. Hiking, kayaking, a few boat tours. Same-same as in the rest of Norway. What there is, however, is an abundance of spectacularity. In a land of endless mountains, Lofoten manages to stand out. Driving the one main road through the island chain, one finds breathtaking beauty around every bend.
You might think the very gorgeousness of this place would be its ruin — that Lofoten was at risk of becoming over-touristed: part Yellowstone, part Nantucket, part Disneyland. But that has not happened. Two or three villages do seem mostly given over to tourists, but about 99% of Lofoten remains its age-old self — fishing hamlets in the shelter of rocky harbors; farmsteads in the shadows of mountains. It’s a legacy that goes back more than a thousand years, to Viking times.
In fact, the major tourist attraction is the Lofoten Viking Museum. It stands on a hilltop on the island of Vestvågøy. The heart of it is an archeological site that includes the largest Viking longhouse in all of Scandinavia: 83 meters from end to end. Right next to these ancient foundations a full-scale reproduction has been constructed that looks as big as Noah’s Ark. Inside, several Viking-costumed actors sit around weaving, carving or performing other Viking-appropriate tasks. But of course, their main job is to chat with the tourists about what life was like back in the good old days.
Although archeological evidence is scant at the site (the Vikings used mostly wood, wool and leather, which disintegrate over time), the Old Norse Book of Settlements tells the story of a chieftain from Lofot who likely owned this longhouse in the 900s. Here’s what the museum website has to say about him:
The chieftain was called Olaf Tvennumbruni. He was described as a great man of sacrifices and a “hamram”. This means that he led the Norse sacrificial ceremonies and gave great feasts in honour of the gods. “Hamram” means that the people believed he could shed his skin and transform himself into an animal….
I’ll interject here: The Norse had a profoundly spiritual sense of connection with certain power animals: wolf, bear, boar, eagle and serpent. They believed special individuals could not only absorb the power of their spirit animal but could become physically transformed into it — something like a werewolf.
…. The Chieftain’s House was abandoned in the 900s. We do not know why, but this was a time of great upheaval. Power structures were changing as a result of both the unification of Norway as a nation and the Christianisation process. We know that several great chieftains resettled in Iceland towards the end of the Viking Age.
And that, apparently, is what Olaf did. He moved to Iceland rather than compromise his independence under the new king of a united Norway. Nor could he bow to a religion that might not have dealt kindly with a werewolf.
One of the Viking actors at the museum, a young woman weaver in an embroidered blue dress, told me the Lofoten community feels intense pride that they have the longest longhouse in the world.
“Earlier this summer, a big longhouse was discovered in Denmark,” she told me. “We were quite worried at first. Then, they determined it was just 63 meters long. ‘Ah, how cute!’ we said. ‘You could put that one inside our longhouse!’” She gave a satisfied smile, then added, “I guess you can say when it comes to longhouses, size does matter.”
The reconstructed longhouse features a dining hall, where they put on Viking feasts with costumed actors every evening. Next to it, remembering Olaf’s sacrifices to the gods, there’s a room with a model of Yggdrasill, the World Tree that connects the nine realms of Viking cosmology. The museum also includes a reconstructed Viking longship you can sail on in the nearby fjord, and every August they hold a-week long Viking festival, which we just missed. These are all irresistible, family-friendly options. Kids can even try on some Viking armour. I wonder, how exactly did Vikings become so “kid-friendly?” I guess that like pirates and dinosaurs, it’s the savagery that children find so fascinating.
Other than hanging with the Vikings, we mostly drove through the fjords and mountain valleys, exploring a different island each day, awestruck by the changing colors of the hills, and the mist that sweeps like cascading water across the peaks. There are, however, a few surprising places worth mentioning:
The old fishing village of Å (pronounced “o” as in “old”) is at the end of the road on the isle of Moskenesöya. The E10 highway literally stops at the Å parking lot. Beyond that, there are only mountains, and a few rocky islets leading out to the Atlantic. Å is filled with quaint, restored 19th-century homes that seem so incongruously formal and tidy against the stark cliffs at their back. One of these houses has been converted into a bakery that serves only one thing: cinnamon buns. “11 out of 10,” is how Teresa rates them. “The best cinnamon buns I have had in my entire life.”
The village also has a good restaurant and two museums. One is devoted entirely to dried cod. Perhaps that seems hard to fathom. But just north of Lofoten is the most abundant cod fishery in the world. Dried cod has been the mainstay of the Lofoten economy for over a thousand years. Vikings (like Olaf) used to trade Lofoten cod as far south as Spain.
Ramberg Beach, on Moskenesöya island, is one of several white-sand beaches that seem so incongruous in Lofoten’s cold climate. They look like they belong in the Caribbean. But don’t be fooled. We only ever saw two people swim in these chilly waters. One woman, wearing a wetsuit, lasted less than two minutes. The other, however, frolicked like a seal in nothing but her bathing suit and cap. Perhaps she was a local mermaid?
Lofoten Links Golf Course. When we saw the signs on the windswept north coast of Gimsøya Isle, we thought this golf course was an elaborate joke. We observed tees and greens, but in between, the rough looked pretty rough! Here’s what their website has to say: Lofoten Links is a spectacular 18-hole links course…located by the seaside with an unobstructed view to the North and the midnight sun. Playing and walking the course is a grand experience where the ocean is a water hazard on several holes and sandy beaches act as natural bunkers.
Sounds like incredible marketing to me. But honestly, what golfer could resist playing a round under the midnight sun?
Henninsvær Harbour. Tourists have definitely discovered this adorable fishing village tucked into a tiny island off the south coast of Austvågöy Island. Restaurants abound, and brightly painted souvenir shops and art boutiques line the pedestrian lane. Tour boats putter and kayaks glide through the harbour. It’s kind of nice to have it all kept so compact, like a honey pot attracting all the flies. We buzzed around quite happily ourselves for an hour or two.
Post script: The wind is up on our last morning in Lofoten. There’s a sea eagle flying round the cliffs, so close we can see her white tail feathers twitch as she steadies herself in the buffeting wind. We wonder how wild our ride will be on the ferry ride to Bodo this afternoon, across open water. The thought is a bit unnerving. But, like our Polestar, our batteries are fully recharged. We are ready to pack up and get back on the road.
At the same time, a sadness wells up at the thought of leaving. It turns out, letting go on Lofoten is easier than letting go of Lofoten. I want to hold these mountains in my mind’s eye so that they stay alive in me when I’m gone. It’s a weird feeling, like homesickness for a place I have not yet left. Teresa feels it too. We have agreed that this is good information, this feeling. You see, after nine months of flaneuring, we don’t really know where home is anymore. So, if our hearts ache when we leave a place, it’s because it feels like home. Lofoten, we will be back.
