The Lofoten – isn’t that the archipelago in northern Norway, where there are the red wooden houses on stilts and the peaked mountains overlooking white beaches and the turquoise blue sea? Exactly. But you have to get there first. Getting there by ferry is turbulent. Wind, rain, high waves. Anyone who dares to get up sways as if they’ve had a drink too deep. After three hours and finally having solid ground under your feet again, a short drive takes you to “Å”, a small village at the westernmost tip of the Lofoten – the place with the shortest name in the world. Red fishermen’s cottages on stilts, a bakery that smells of cinnamon rolls, and screeching seagulls that have taken over the window frames of a building. Everything like on the postcards? Almost.
There is not much to see of peaks that day. The “wonderful view” promised by the host consists of white clouds hanging almost to the ground. Nobody who drives to the Lofoten should expect beautiful postcard weather. After the first hike, the shoes are soaking, the rain jacket has also given up, and the “one hour, one and a half maybe” becomes four. That’s better!
Another day, another weather – and a completely different picture. The sea is much calmer, the sky is bright blue, with a few clouds for additional idyll. The island of Skrova consists of a village and a mountain. The climb is steep, the view even steeper at the top: white beaches with a turquoise sea dotted with many small islands and spiky mountains in the background that look more like animation than reality. Come on, Lofoten!