Munch (1)
Always on the hunt for a train trip, I was delighted when a friend approached me with the idea of taking the Nordland Line. Carving itself through the middle of Norway, connecting Oslo and the polar north, the train would take us to places that many Norwegian friends suggested were a poor choice of holiday destination. There are just two issues with the Nordland Line: 1) it is single track and that often leads to delays; 2) a large chunk was built during the Nazi occupation of Norway to fuel the German war machine. In order to proceed appropriately, I decided I simply wouldn’t smile at any point whilst on the train, so as to convey the seriousness of my disapproval for any and all Nazi manufacturing.
Kaffe (2)
Before commencing the journey, I had some time to enjoy Oslo - a marvellous city. I split my time between the suburban ski slopes and the city’s many small coffee shops. In the morning I was all sun cream and sore ankles. In the afternoon I was a young wannabe intellectual meaningfully working their way through the Russian literary canon. It is important to adapt to your surroundings. Aside from the excellent museums and beautiful medieval architecture, Oslo is a very easy place to be comfortable. It is a city to live in more than it is a city to visit. It was an enormous delight to walk through the quiet streets, accompanied only by fog and a series of questions about who really has the authority to issue Nobel prizes.
Mosjoen (3)
The first stop of note was the fishing town of Mosjøen. Once the beating heart of Norway’s logging trade, it has since become a place of quiet living and limited restaurants. As Airbnbs go however, this one was a gem. An old timber cabin, suspended on legs above the water, with glacial views. It also contained a piano, that in the silence of my isolation, I attempted to play. Knowing only the first 6 chords of Paul McCartney’s Live and Let Die, the activity quickly ended. My review read:
Marshalled by the crunch of snow, I approached. The sun was setting, the weather had come in. Via a speedy key box I was in. After I’d given the heater a chance to wash me warm, I took my first proper look at this Airbnb. And let me tell you, it is magical. I’ve never seen so many towels, in such a beautiful setting.
You might worry it’s too cold, you’d be wrong. The heater in the bathroom is so powerful, you require factor 50 to sit even momentarily on the toilet.
Residing at the foot of a mountain, I was forced to contemplate my own humanity. My complete lack of importance. The cupboards were well stocked with provisions. My only regret: that I didn’t stay longer and that I still don’t know how to pronounce Mosjøen.
Salvation (4)
Wandering around Mosjøen felt a little like being in the film Fargo. If you decided to follow the link to the airbnb I shared, you will have seen it in beautiful spring time. But you must image half a metre of snow and the river completely frozen over. Trudging through the snow as the sun set, my path was illuminated by this magnificent Salvation Army sign. It was my north star, when the only other lights in the town were for dive bars that might have been at their best in 1789. Like Scott of the Antarctic I had ventured out for food, and I had certainly been some time. I couldn’t face another night of supermarket cheese (in Norway, the best cheese is brown) and so I headed for what google told me was the only restaurant worth eating at. I had a floppy pizza and reflected on the departing comment a Norwegian friend had offered before I headed to Mosjøen: “why are you going to Mosjøen?”
Bodø (5)
The train journey continued and this time we made our way to Bodø (pronounced something close to buddha). The journey had meant to be 3 hours but we had to keep reversing due to other trains approaching head on, so it took 7. I think our driver was too polite. The town was bathed in a warm orange glow and we decided now was the moment to exposure our naked bodies to strangers and alternate between a delightful floating sauna and an extremity-shrivelling Norwegian sea. I had an out of body experience when a man just ahead of me in the water got cramp on the steps that helped you out of the ocean. Feeling trapped in the icy depths, I was struck at just how quickly my brain wrote off my chances of survival. It’s hard to describe the feeling of your own body giving up on you, but I wouldn’t recommend it. I also wouldn’t recommend firmly placing your hands on a Norwegian man’s frosty buttocks and thrusting him up on to dry land, dunking your own head under water in the process. Back in the sauna, he gave me a soft smile, a nod and no further recognition. Would it have been murder?
Sunset (6)
As if the Nordland Line hadn’t given us enough already, it decided to cancel all of its trains until further notice, the day before we were due to depart. I’d been excited about the return, a full start to finish journey in a sleeper car, rocked to sleep with all the infernal reversing. Before departing, we visited a nice air museum which was extraordinarily complimentary about the bravery of Britain during the second world war, therefore making it one of the best museums I’ve ever been to. Aroused with nationalist sentiment, we headed to the airport, completing the return journey in a scintillating 90 minutes, compared to 17 hours on the train. The flight was also cheaper, and that is why climate change will be the death of all of us. Oslo welcomed us back with warm winter sunsets and some of their famed flavourless boiled potatoes.
