Up the Norwegian Coast – 1967
The International Youth Hostel sits near the top of one of the small mountains overlooking Bergen, Norway. Kathy and I take the tram rail up the mountain side to locate it. It’s turning into evening, and forest paths lead to homes on the sides of the track. It’s a mystery and I feel excited to be exploring. I am soon to turn 21 and our “Great Adventure” continues toward its halfway point, from the Western world to Eastern Europe. It is mid-September 1967, with the Vietnam War raging out of control. Our peers who enlisted right after high school are living in that hell. Kathy and I feel far from that reality. Here, outside the hostel, the night is lit up by a beautiful full moon, and I can feel its energy in my blood.
Feeling restless under the bright sky, I ask Kathy, “What’s next, my friend?
She answers, “Let’s go as far north as we can and see the Lapps.” But first getting to that northern Lapp village of Karashok will take some imagination. “Let’s try and go to the North on a cargo ship if we can,” Kathy suggests. Why not? I think. We are free to do as we please, with nothing holding us back. The next day we take the steep walk down the mountainside and poke around the docks asking for information.
Raised in New Mexico, I have never seen large ships. I’m mesmerized by their size and their power. They represent the ultimate adventure, the face of travel that I yearn to experience. Like a fish out of water, the sea calls to me with its limitless expanse. There, towering over us, we see a big, beautiful ship called the Jotunheim leaving for Trondheim the next day. Feeling very small on the dock, we stick out our thumbs and ask for passage. The ship looms above us. The price of passage turns out to be too expensive for us, but with some smiles for the captain, we are told that we can go for half price if we wash the dishes. So, with our spirits lifted and happiness radiating from our faces we spend the rest of the morning at the public bath house. For thirty cents we take a sauna, then a hot shower, then a hot steam room, finishing with a cold shower. This is the cleanest I have been in a year.
Bergen is a charming town to explore, with seven mountains protecting it, boats coming in and going out, a market selling fish, fruit shops and flower stalls. What more can one need? I think to myself. I go to bed that night reading about the war in Vietnam and riots in the US and I count my blessings, believing that what I am doing this year, learning to trust people and the world, learning to value other cultures will help make the world a better place.
We wake up the next morning and go for a long walk from the hostel into the mountains. The sky is a bright New Mexico blue, and the air is crisp. Trees and bushes glow with yellows and golds, reds and oranges and the forest floor smells of fresh earth and autumn change. Autumn is the season of transition for me, new beginnings in the Jewish New Year, another birthday or a new discovery ahead. I am called to the forest each autumn to renew my soul. Hiking up to a windy summit nearby, we can see for miles, lakes and fjords stretching into layers of mountains, blending into the sea – an open panorama of nature. I touch the breath of God, feeling safe and protected.
It’s time to leave the mountain and off we go to the Jotunheim and onto our giant cargo ship. The crew ushers us to our cabin, 2 single beds and a small desk with an attached bathroom. We wait and watch all afternoon while the ship is loaded with its cargo. I have never been on a ship before and am fascinated. At 6:00 pm the ship finally breaks anchor and glides away into the Oslo Fjord. Wow! Our very own cargo ship! Kathy and I stand paralyzed, watching Bergen grow smaller, watching the glimmering lights fade into the distance. We’re the only girls on board and the men are absolute angels to us. Trusting men while traveling is always a gamble and I believe that Norwegians are unique in their civilized behavior toward us, polite conversation mixed with friendly open faces.
The sun is setting and suddenly I see a huge golden circle appear on the mountain top; the moon is watching over us. We go up to the tip of the ship, past the cargo and we become queens of the moon, the stars, the wind, and we sing our song of life:
I love to go a-wandering Along the mountain track
And as I go, I love to sing My knapsack on my back….
We are free and happy; it feels like in a fairytale. Off we go exploring the corners of the ship, waiting to be invited into the kitchen. The men share sandwiches and hot coffee with us, and we wash and dry all the dishes. The cook seems surprised that we are helping him. Outside again I wrap up in a blanket and fall asleep on the bench. Late at night it’s peaceful, only the stars peering into depth of the water below. Maybe that’s why men go to sea – to feel the freedom and power that only sky and sea can offer. The air is still, and the many islands are outlined by moonlight. Finally, the thought of a warm bed is overpowering, and we snuggle in our beds, rocked to sleep by the gentle motion.
In the morning, I find Kathy at the bow of the ship. We lean into the wind and watch translucent jellyfish floating in the clear water. They look like orange blossoming flowers or wobbly fried eggs, not cooked well enough. After a huge breakfast we wash a couple of dishes, then up to the smokestack at the very top of the ship. The air is coldest, unprotected up there. I snuggle next to the warmth of the smokestack. I can touch the clouds, I think. Again, to the bow, protected from the wind where I can see everything. We watch the birds that follow the ship, listen to their cries. The small villages tucked into the hills beckon to us with their simplicity. A lunch of soup, potatoes and fish and more dishes to wash brings me to my favorite time of day. This marvelous day in mid- September is ending, darkness is approaching, and we find ourselves surrounded by a circle of land. There is a deep stillness, the ship glides silently in the shining water. The only sounds are the faint putt of the motor, the water lapping under the boat, birds crying for food. On one side we notice the sky all afire, becoming redder as the sun, a burning ball, sets behind the mountains. Behind the ship is a silent row of majestic mountains, purple and blue, crowned with snow reflecting a purple hue. And then on the other side a huge orange ball rises, so big you can almost grab it. The sun is going to bed while the queen is rising, ready to rule the night, casting a golden shimmering streak onto the water. And then on the fourth side we can see the town of Aalesund nestled onto the hill, with hundreds of dancing, twinkling lights welcoming us to the night. Above us is the blue fading into darkness and the first star welcomes us on our travels.
At Aalesund we leave the ship for a day of exploring, climbing up the stairs to the top of the mountain to come face to face with a show of lights from even farther north, green streaks shooting across the sky. Reds and greens turn into multi-colored spirals, at first clear and then hazy and finally disappear. Northern lights show us our way back onto the ship. One day turns into the next until finally we silently slide into our ship’s destination, Trondheim.
Kathy and I wave goodbye to the kind crew finding our way to the youth hostel. We are so lucky, blessed to follow our hearts. It’s not so easy the next day to find a ship that will take us north. The Narvick gives us a “No”; the Erik Jarl sends us to their office where we receive another Nei. After racing to the coastal steamer, but watching it pull away, we decide to hitchhike, get a few rides, one with a nice family, the second with a snarling dog and the third with a salesman. It’s getting cold and suddenly our world feels upside down. We don’t know where we want to go. North Cape seems so far away and it’s too cold to hitchhike. We don’t want to pay passenger fees, don’t want to rush, but we want everything at once. Turning back, we catch a ride back to Trondheim – eat some dinner, recommit to the original plan to go north, not worry and not spend much money. Good, I think, our problem is solved.
After a deep sleep, Kathy comes up with a plan, “Let’s sneak onto the coastal steamer, hide and get out at Bodo, buy a ticket there and get back on.” But we’re not so good at hiding once on the boat; we are everywhere at once within the first hour. “Let’s go this way, there’s the kitchen, the crew deck, a door,” we banter to each other. And there we are, at the bow of the ship, captured by the silence of the sea and mountains, reading, and writing and singing our happy songs. We are finally discovered by the officers watching us with their binoculars from the bridge. The crew watches us sneak around. The cafeteria lets us share one plate full of food. Norwegians are just nice. Night comes and we go back outside feeling special in this magical moment, watching boats pass in the narrow channels.
“It’s cold out here, I think I’ll go up and sleep on the bench in the lounge, I tell Kathy.
Up early with the lounge music on the speakers and quickly out to the bow to welcome the day, the courier finds us and says, “The captain won’t allow you on this part of the ship anymore. Oh, I noticed that you haven’t given us your ticket stubs yet, ja?” “It would be a good idea to buy some, ikke sant?”
The first mate who is selling tickets is a wonderful person, and for no reason at all, when I ask, “Is there a discount?” he sells us one child’s ticket for the both of us – 50 kroner (about seven dollars for our three-day 1200-mile voyage) and invites us for coffee. We are joined by the courier who tells us he’ll give us a cabin later. Beaming, we are part of the ship now. We meet the English tour group; they all want to talk to the two American girls. What do we represent to them? A touch of freedom, of youth, of recklessness, or perhaps a bit of faith in following our hearts and trusting the world to care for us.
The day is spent gliding along the coast, covered by golden trees that glow when the sun comes out from behind the clouds. In the distance stand ragged peaks, with ridges taking on strange shapes, rising toward the sky like ancient Nordic creatures. North toward Tromso, we sail into the wild sea, the boat almost turning in circles in the water, along with my stomach.
“Neptune’s coming!” was the cry of the tourists, “he’s going to put ice down our backs.” We are invited into the dining room, and Neptune comes through the cafeteria, a boy dressed in a raincoat, yelling threats in Norwegian. He calls the tourists up one-by-one and puts ice down their backs and gives them a certificate of having crossed the Arctic Circle. “Calling the American girls,” we hear and up we go, and everybody starts clapping. Neptune pours the rest of the melted water down our backs and everybody laughs while we drink the cognac offered to us. I quickly depart to be seasick in the bathroom, find my room, sprawl on the bed, dreaming I am on a carnival ride.
Landing in Honningsvag, we pack off the Harald Jarl and wave down the bus going to the North Cape. The tourists get out to take pictures, get blown around and run back to the warmth of the coastal steamer. But for me it symbolizes the end of our voyage north, all the way from Morocco where we got swindled in the market, from Greece where I fell in love with a beautiful young Frenchman. For now, we wave goodbye to the travelers. They wave back and throw candy, cookies and a little money at us as we walk to the bus.