Day 4
Today is a whirlwind of arrivals and departures—seven stops in total as we thread our way further north. The early hours were a blur of short stops whilst we slept: Brønnøysund at 1:35am, followed by Sandnessjøen at 4.35am and Nesna at 6am as the dawn began to break. These brief, 10-to-15-minute windows are a reminder that for the Capella, this isn’t just a cruise; it’s a vital courier service for the tiny outposts of the Norwegian coast. After last night’s excitement of two sightings of the Northern Lights we take the opportunity to have a lie-in and wander down to breakfast at 9am.
At 10:00am, we make a brief call at Ørnes. 1,700 people live here and the village is surrounded by more than 30 peaks. It’s really starting to feel like we’re entering the Artic now and half an hour after leaving Ornes we reach a major milestone of the voyage: crossing the Arctic Circle at 66° 33’ North. To mark the occasion, the Capella gives a triumphant blast of its horn as we passed the small globe monument on the island of Vikingen. But the real celebration happened on deck in what has become a momentous — if slightly masochistic — coastal tradition.
The ceremony is presided over by a crew member dressed as Njord, the Norse god of the sea. Standing tall with his trident, he makes sure every ‘initiate’ feels the full, icy bite of the Arctic as we cross the threshold into the North to oversee the “Arctic baptism” (the ice cubes down the back) and the celebratory toast with a Nordic shot. There’s a healthy queue of willing victims but safe to say we didn’t even contemplate for one second joining them! We go for an early lunch as we’ll be docking at Bodo just after 1pm and want to disembark and explore the town.
We dock at Bodø in a driving storm of sleet, the horizontal rain serving as a blunt reminder that we were now well truly in the North. As we walked up the hill into town, we felt the increasingly sharp bite of the Arctic air—the kind of cold that makes you thankful for every single layer we’ve donned. While the ship offers excursions to the thunderous Saltstraumen—the world’s strongest tidal current—and guided coastal treks, we opt for a more independent path. We decide to brave the weather and seek out Bodø’s famed street art. It’s a surreal experience wandering through the town with snow stacked up everywhere to find towering, vibrant murals. The eclectic artwork turns the town’s concrete canvases into a vivid open-air gallery, providing a brilliant contrast to the leaden sky above.
Before we know it’s time to return to the ship. As we walk back, we can’t help but notice large yellow Bodø/Glimt flags fluttering everywhere. A quick search reveals why the town is buzzing: they’re hosting Juventus for a Champions League clash at 8:00pm tonight. With the temperature already plunging well below zero, we certainly don’t envy the players—or the supporters—braving the elements in the stadium later this evening! As we reboard around 2.15pm, we’re treated to a glorious, fiery sunset. It’s a beautiful but brief spectacle; we are now firmly in the land of the Polar Night. From here on in, the daylight will become shorter and shorter with every league we head north, leaving us with just a few hours of ‘blue hour’ and twilight to light our way through the Arctic.
Exploring Bodø was great fun, but returning to the warmth of the Capella was a relief. After peeling off our multiple layers, we decide to take our backgammon board down a deck to find a cozy spot beside a large picture window. There, we settle in with steaming mugs of tea and the most enormous cinnamon buns we’ve ever laid eyes on. Unfortunately, it turns out that backgammon is a louder sport than we’d anticipated. Our competitive shrieks of joy (or despair) clearly don’t meet with the approval of our fellow passengers, who seem to desire complete, library-like silence for their afternoon reading. Sensing the frosty atmosphere from our neighbour is beginning to match the weather outside, we beat a tactical retreat to the sanctuary of our cabin to finish the game in relative peace.
Dinner tonight came with a side of expertise. Our waitress, Madelaine—who begins her sommelier course in Oslo next year—was keen to share some world-class digestif pairings. She hit the nail on the head with her recommendations: a lush, concentrated Valpolicella for Brownie’s hazelnut chocolate brownie, and for my cheesecake, a Tokaji Aszú. Often called the “King of Wines,” this Hungarian gem is made from hand-picked grapes shriveled by noble rot, creating a luxury dessert wine with a legendary balance of sweetness and acidity. Not a digesitf that I’m familiar with but one that I’ll certainly seek out in the future.
By 9.20pm, we reach Svolvær, the capital of the Lofoten Islands, the most famous islands in Norway. Despite the late hour, we can’t resist a walk along the heavily snow-laden quay. With its stilted red rorbuer (fishermen’s cabins) and the ubiquitous wooden frames for drying stockfish, it’s easy to see why these islands are so incredibly popular with ‘the Gram.’ But arriving at this late hour, we don’t quite get the full, filtered photogenicness of the place. Instead, there’s something more raw and intimate about it; we find ourselves straining our eyes through the dark to trace the silhouettes of mountains that seem to rise straight from the sea to greet us as we wander through the snow.
Surprisingly, it felt much warmer here than in Bodø; without that icy wind cutting through our gear, it was just a quiet, pleasant stroll to cap off a brilliant evening.
Back on board the Havila, the day’s finale awaited as we glided away from the lights of Svolvær and toward the legendary Trollfjord. In Norway, there are nearly 1,200 fjords and 900 of them are along the coast between Bergen and Kirkenes.
Trollfjord is one of the narrowest fjords in Norway. The crew gathers everyone who’s interested, up on deck to the outside bar for “Troll Punch”. A steaming, spiced brew served in souvenir mugs that feels like the Arctic’s answer to mulled wine. As we sip the hot, fragrant punch, the ship’s searchlights begin to dance across the near-vertical rock walls of the Raftsundet strait. At its narrowest, the fjord is only a hundred metres wide and the mountain walls shoot over a thousand metres up from the sea. They’re so close to the side of the ship that it almost feels like you can touch them. It’s pitch black and difficult to take in the sheer magnitude of the landscape. Surrounded by the scent of cloves and the silent, towering peaks, it was the ultimate midnight “nightcap” to an unforgettable day at sea.
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