"Scandinavia by rail. A travel ..." a Norway Travel Page by flyingkiwi

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Days 1 - 4

Copenhagen,Denmark

DAY 1 - HARWICH, GATEWAY TO THE CONTINENT

Sunday 25th July 1993.

It was about 3.15 p.m. when we finally arrived at Harwich Parkeston Quay. The journey from Sittingbourne took a good two hours through weather which we have become accustomed to in what had been another bleak Summer in Britain. The rain didn't stop and on arrival at Harwich I remembered the words of many a wise man about the stretch of water between Great Britain and Denmark - the roughest sea-crossing in the world! I had images of a swirling wind tearing our ferry apart and us not even making it to Denmark let alone the North Cape.

Once in the warmth of the Scandinavian Seaways Terminal I picked up my boarding card and settled down in the cafeteria awaiting the call to board. As I waited I delved into my backpack, crammed full of everything and anything, and took out my Nordturist Pass.

The Nordturist pass was the key to us getting anywhere, for the cost of £140.00 it entitles the holder to free travel on all Scandinavian State Railways in Denmark, Sweden, Finland and Norway. With this pass we could also receive discounts and sometimes even free crossings with various ferry companies within Scandinavia. Obviously train was to be out main way of getting around but little did we know quite how much the pass would come in handy during our journey.

At four o'clock we boarded our ship, the Dana Anglia - destination the port of Esbjerg (Denmark). The Dana Anglia was one of several huge ferries run by Scandinavian Seaways and the first job was to find our cabin. From the number on our boarding card we knew that it was on a lower deck and after dragging our packs through the narrow corridors we finally found it.

The cabin was pretty basic to say the least, it was a 4 berth with shared accommodation, only slightly larger than a coffin. There were four bunk's crammed in and a curtain acting in place of a door. We would have felt hard done by but for the fact that every single cabin on this deck was like ours, the call it economy class.

As we were shoving our packs under the bunk's (just in case we shared our cabin with a kleptomaniac!) a young couple walked in. The man, who I guessed was an Aussie, made a slightly sarcastic comment about the 'excellent' facilities within the cabin and we had a brief chat.

The Aussie and his girlfriend said that they were heading for Copenhagen in their Camper Van and making their way south into Germany and Austria. Also sharing the cabin with us was an older Englishman who told us that he was going to Esbjerg to work in a fish-processing factory for a couple of years.

Upon leaving our coffin the first thing that struck me was the ease at which we found a seat. This particular seat was in a rather overpriced cafeteria and it was where we stayed, playing cards until the place closed at 9.00pm. We moved into the Entertainment Lounge and discovered where everyone had gone. A Bulgarian group called 'Thunderbirds' provided the live entertainment but the real fun started when people in the audience were brought up on stage and made real prats of, the drunken Brummie doing Pavaroti went down real well just pipping the Swedish ballet dancer to first prize!

It had gone eleven when we finally decided to call it a day at which time people had started to drift off anyway and the lounge was only half full. We made our way back down the many steps to our cabin. The Sea had been kind to us today but I knew that we were still only halfway and the image of those sick bags so thoughtfully put on the bunks stuck in my mind as I attempted to get some sleep.

DAY 2 - DENMARK

Monday 26th July 1993.

After a rather sleepless night with the containual roar of the ships engine and people chucking up keeping me awake I made my way to the cafe for some breakfast. As I joined the long queue I realised that we were now on Central European time (1 hour ahead). This meant that it was in fact 10.15am and by the time I'd got my food it was nearer lunchtime!

A Quarter to two and we could see Denmark in the distance. It was 17 degrees C in Esjberg and just being on dry land again came as a welcome relief. Although I have been to many of the Western European Countries this was my first visit to Denmark and my first impression was how flat and featureless it seemed. A short walk from the Port our train was awaiting - the 2.20 Intercity to Copenhagen. This was the real start of our journey for now Mark and I both new that our destiny relied almost completely on the Scandinavian State Railway. Whatever happens, in 15 days time we had to be back in Copenhagen or face missing the ferry home.

The train that we found ourselves travelling on was unbelievably different to what we are used to at home, it was ultra-modern, fast and clean and certainly put British Rail to shame. A nice little touch was a built in Radio that helped pass away the hours.

At 4.20 p.m we reached Odense one of only a few Danish towns that I'd actually heard of before. The Country of Denmark is full of little Islands and Odense is on one of the larger ones in the middle, which basically meant that we were about half way to Copenhagen.

At Nyborg the train boarded a small ferry that gave us a chance to get out and stretch our legs. The crossing only took a little while and soon we were at the port of Trelleborg.

We arrived in Copenhagen at a quarter to seven after a four and a half hour journey which cut straight through the heart of Denmark. The route from Esbjerg went as follows: - ESBJERG-Kolding-Fredericial-Middlefart-Odense-Nyborg-Trelleborg-Ringsted-Roskilda-COPENHAGEN.

Copenhagen, Denmark's Capital City made up for the lack of scenery elsewhere which, somewhat unfairly, Mark compared with Essex. I have to admit though it's not hard to see why a quarter of Denmark's population live there, it was the first real sign that life exists in this country of very few hills and endless fields.

The Station at Copenhagen was huge and one of the most impressive buildings in the city, its domed roof covering six or so platforms. Backpackers from all over filled the station and the Interail Centre seemed to be a popular place to go. It was open to all travellers and inside we found some useful information. The lady in the centre spoke excellent English and asked us where we were heading. I told her that we hoped to get into Sweden and her response was that a hydrofoil leaves every hour for Malmo (Sweden).

It was the evening now and our only real option was to get on one of the hydrofoil's and catch a nightrain up to Stockholm a massive seven hour journey. We left the station and walked through the streets of Copenhagen so full of life. On every corner a busker could be seen, a one man band, an old man doing a comedy show in English and a young boy playing a keyboard - woefully.

Thanks to my "Map of Wonderful Copenhagen" we found our way to the port. Inside a small terminal I brought the ticket for the hydrofoil. This was the first time that our Nordturist pass came into use, giving us a discount on the price of the ticket to Malmo (a fifty minute crossing). As the departure time approached the terminal started to fill with Swedes going back to their homeland and backpackers like us heading off in search of adventure and discovery.

The hydrofoil came in just before nine and the initial scramble to get on board followed. In keeping with the trend that seems to be so apparent in this part of the world the hydrofoil had all the luxury of a modern cruiser. Seats were neatly set out in line with the windows, a bar area dominated the middle, waiters and waitresses served you as you sat and there was even an area where we could put our packs. The only thing which put a dampener on it all was the fact that sitting in the seats immediately behind us along with two armed Policeman was a convict. This large man stunk and was dressed like a tramp and there was an uneasy feeling having him sitting directly behind you, believe me!

In no time we were in Malmo and more importantly Sweden, the hydrofoil travelled so quickly over the water I found it hard to believe that it took 50 minutes. We walked freely through customs and found Malmo Station almost straight away.

The Station was nothing to write home about and it dispelled all those stories about Sweden being a clean Country. A sign above one of the platforms read "STOCKHOLM C 1105hrs", the time was ten o'clock - it meant an hours wait.

We took a seat on the near deserted platform 7 and after a while I decided to go for a walk around. Mark asked me to go and make sure that we were on the right platform as it was of most importance that we got on this train to Stockholm. In a small area outside was another platform. A lone figure stood looking at a noticeboard. "Excuse me" I said, "do you speak English?". The man looked at me and a confused expression crossed his face, "no, no understand, Polish, no speak English", Oh dear, he was a Pole. It was obvious that he wasn't worth talking to so I tried two Girls nearby. They were Swedish and as I expected spoke good English but even after much pointing to the timetable they could not tell me if it was the right platform and so I thanked them and trudged back to Mark. In the end a Station Guard pointed us to platform 6 for the Stockholm train. It was nearly eleven when the huge, lumbering train pulled into Malmo Station. We boarded it and prepared ourselves for the 7 hour journey ahead. The train was pretty basic without the modern comforts of the Danish Intercity and was near empty when we entered. It was due to arrive in Stockholm at 6.45 a.m.

DAY 3 - STOCKHOLM

Tuesday 27th July 1993.

6.45 a.m: the train pulls into Stockholm Central, still half asleep I descend onto the platform.

A chill wind blows through the near deserted streets of Sweden's Capital and after a brief walk around we return to the station. In size, it was similar to the one in Copenhagen and like Copenhagen it also had an Interail Centre. It was here that we found out about our first campsite just North of the city centre. The helpful man behind the counter gave us a map and circled the site and off we went, another Country, another Capital City.

After about half an hour we found the Campsite. It was not far from the football Stadium and judging by the site I presumed it was used for travelling football supporters during the European Championships. Not that I was complaining, I was looking forward to a proper place to sleep, that is one that was not continuously moving or making engine noises! It cost what roughly worked out as a fiver for a pitch for the night which wasn't too bad considering where we were. We took the liberty of popping into the impressive Stadium later on in the day as it was left open to the public.

My shoulders were beginning to feel the weight so it came as a relief to be able to leave our packs behind us when we journeyed into Stockholm. By midday Stockholm was very busy and temperatures had soared to 21 degrees C. It is such a big place and there was so much to marvel at. There were many shops and cafés and some of the architecture was a sight to behold. The streets were the cleanest I've ever seen in a Capital City, but then again that just confirms peoples general view on Scandinavia. We walked along the Harbour and into lush, green parks before I had to stop to quench my thirst. At the small kiosk I purchased a can of coke, probably the most expensive one I've ever brought. It cost 13 Swedish Kroner, OVER A POUND! This highlighted one of the problems of going to this part of the world and the sad fact of the matter is I would have struggled to find one much cheaper anywhere else.

After finding a Handelsbanken and cashing a Travellers Cheque we went looking for a Supermarket to buy lunch. Unfortunately our stomachs got the better of us and after having passed several McDonalds already we decided to go into one. Believe it or not I was not too keen on this idea as I knew that your average Big Mac would cost twice as much here - I was right! McDonalds in Sweden are exactly the same as those at home except that you are served by a stunning blonde as opposed to a fat, zitty pig and in a way this made up for the price.

With our energy up again we left the compounds of McDonalds in search of a Tourist Information centre. Mark seemed to believe that there was a chance we could get a ferry across to Finland for nothing using our Nordturist card. Finland lay many miles away across the Gulf of Bothnia and although it would be a slight deviation to our route the chance to see Finland would prove too tempting.

When we explained our plans to the Tourist Information they directed us to the 'Silja Line' Office nearby and it was there that we managed to reserve a place on the M/S Silja Karneval due to leave port at 8.00 p.m. tomorrow night. It was a 12 hour night crossing and we had not paid a penny for it.

Back at the Campsite dinner consisted of a 'just add water' Chicken Curry which was surprisingly good and at ten O'clock, still in the light of day I reflected on a new landmark for Stockholm was the furthest North I'd ever been.

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Days 4 - 7

Sunset on the Gulf of Bothnia

DAY 4 - NIGHT BOAT TO TURKU

Wednesday 28th July 1993.

I awoke at about 10.00 am after a good nights sleep and paid a visit to the Wash room for a shower. The washing facilities were surprisingly not what you'd expect by Scandinavian standards but I figured it may be the last chance I'd get for a while so I wasn't put off. After my fry-up of Beans, Sausages and Bacon (which was slightly overcooked and tasted more like Pork Scratchings) we decided to have one last walk around Stockholm.
We had until about half past two before we had to pack up and go, so a leisurely stroll around was called for. I found a sports shop and got a Swedish International Football Shirt to serve as a souvenir of my stay here, at least I looked the part now.

4.28 p.m. - the tents had been packed up, I had exchanged my Kroner for Finnish Markka (monopoly money) and I was now in the main Terminal of the Silja line, a short walk away from our Campsite. Looking back on my brief stay in Stockholm two things stuck in my mind the most, the countless good looking blondes and the massive overpricing of everyday items. I shall never forget the day I brought a Coke for over a pound.

But, although we would return, Stockholm and Sweden were behind us now for tomorrow we hoped to be in Finland. I knew nothing about the place apart from the song by Monty Python which goes something like - '...your mountains so lofty, your treetops so tall, Finland, Finland, Finland, Finland has it all.' we were soon to find out.

Eight o'clock approached and the waiting was over, everybody piled onto the Silje Karneval and we headed for the Dormitory that we seemed to be sharing with about 100 other people, 90% of them German Students. Bunks were set out in orderly fashion and the room looked like some kind of prison camp. The Germans took over the top bunks listening to a boy playing a guitar and attempting to sing well known songs in English. I had bunk 866, Mark was on the opposite one and some Germans had the ones above.
Mark was getting a bit pissed of with it all and started on his Finnish Vodka. This soon took effect and I left him staggering around the Ferry in his own little world. Meanwhile I went out on deck to sample the views, it was nearly half past nine and the fact that it was still light gave me the chance to take some snaps.

The Twelve hour journey took us past many small islands and a most memorable part of the crossing was seeing darkness fall onto the still water, so calm and quiet. The quiet was soon disturbed when Mark found me, I tried to get him to come back to the Dormitory but he wouldn't so I left him slurring to himself.

Later that evening, when I had returned to my bed, I got talking to the three Germans on the nearby bunks. They were about my age but weren't with the group of students making all the noise. They told me that they were on holiday for three weeks and heading to Turku, hoping to camp somewhere along the line before turning back and going to Frams in Norway where they were visiting friends. They had a pack of Bavarian cards and showed me how to play a game called something like 'Schnitzer?'. It was extremely hard to understand even though they spoke excellent English and they found the fact that I kept having to say "now explain that once more" immensely amusing. The Germans enthused that they were going to play this game with their friends in Frams, gripping, I bet they can't wait.

After we had given up all hope of playing Schnitzer and my sad catalogue of card games went down like a lead balloon we got into a variety of different conversations. I was amazed at what good English they spoke and felt slightly guilty about not being able to speak much German. Yet, when I said this they said that there was no reason why I should be able to speak their language and strongly believed that everyone should learn English as a universal language. Later, Mark came in with one of the Germans friends. The German, who I found out was called Toby had a broad smile on his face, in his hand was a small tape recorder. "This is my diary" he said, and he played us his latest entry. It had Mark slurring in Italian on it and we said we'd play it back to him in the morning. Mark at this time had collapsed and fallen asleep on his bunk.

I chatted to my new found friends, two boys and two girls until late. Many things were talked about including a story about the time they lost their lightweight mattress in the wind in Copenhagen and how they chased it as it blew into a river, finally getting it back when a fisherman picked it up. Travellers tales that passed in the Silja Karneval.

DAY 5 - FINLAND

Thursday 29th July 1993.

At 6.00 a.m. I was woken by a loud blast of tinny music followed by a voice over the tannoy - "We will shortly be arriving in Finland, breakfast is now being served in the cafeteria". And as if this wasn't bad enough all the lights in the dormitory came on at once. This was not exactly welcomed by those who had hardly slept the night. Mark had somehow slept through it all so I decided to head for the Cafeteria without him. Breakfast consisted of a roll stuffed with various meats and salads and a glass of pure orange juice. Just as I began to tuck in I realised that I had not put my watch forward another hour for Finland. It is an hour ahead of the rest of Scandinavia and therefore two hours ahead of Great Britain. No wonder I could see land we were about to dock!

I was joined by Mark and the Germans. Mark was not really with it yet and even when we played the tape back to him it only triggered a groan. We collected our packs and went out on deck, shrouded in the morning mist Finland lay, trees as far as the eye could see. There was an eerie feel in the air as the Silja Karneval docked. We said goodbye to our German friends and set foot in a new country. The Customs Officers looked bored so we got them to stamp our passports, after all its not everyone who can say they've bothered going to Finland or Suomi as they call it.

A train to Helsinki was waiting for passengers nearby and seeing as we had no clear idea on where to go we boarded it. It left Turku at 8.33 a.m. due to arrive at Finland's capital at 11.00 a.m. The train was similar to the ones in Sweden, large but pretty basic. After having lunch in Helsinki, a bustling city which didn't seem to have much to offer we returned to the station hoping to catch a train North to somewhere like Tampere. We could not understand the timetables (the Finnish language is one of the hardest to learn) and so we asked a guard.

After much pointing and shrugging of shoulders the guard realised what we was getting at - "Ya, six, number six" he kept saying. There was a train waiting on platform six and after further study of the timetable we worked out that this went all the way North to a place called Kemijarvi inside the Arctic circle. Kemijarvi was way off the beaten track and in order to get back into Sweden we would have to get off way before then. Looking at my map of railway routes we needed to head for Tornio on the Finnish/Swedish border.

There is a stupid system over in Scandinavia about reserving seats on trains, it's not compulsory but recommended. As yet we hadn't needed to buy a seat reservation (which costs all of £2.00) but on this train we feared the worst. It was pretty full and we took a chance and grabbed two empty ones. Fortunately we weren't moved and it made me wonder how many other people on these trains bother reserving a seat.

The train pulled out of Helsinki Central at 1.00 p.m. and the further it got from the city the more I felt we wouldn't see civilisation again. After a while the train was completely surrounded by pine forests and in no time we had arrived at Tampere. We decided that instead of getting off here we would carry on until we became so sick of the sight of Pine Trees we had to stop.

This feeling came as we were approaching Seinajoki, a fairly large city 157 kilometres north of Tampere near the Gulf of Bothnia. On my map a campsite was noted as being here and after picking up a more detailed map of the city in the station we headed off in search of it. We made the long walk through the quiet streets of Seinajoki in what was becoming increasingly warm weather.

The city of Seinajoki is divided into several districts and the marked campsite was in a place called Tornava - 4 kilometres from the Centre. It was surrounded by natural beauty, set in a lush pine forest next to a flowing river and for 30 Finnish Markka a night (about £3.50) this campsite was ideal and such a contrast from the one in Stockholm.

In the intense heat of mid-afternoon we struggled to put up our tents and by the time we had we were too knackered to go anywhere apart from a small supermarket nearby. Here we stocked up on food that was surprisingly inexpensive and that evening we had one massive pig out.

DAY 6 - KITOSS, FINLAND!

Friday 30th July 1993.

The blistering heat that had generated in my tent forced me outside and I was greeted with temperatures that had got as high a 27 degrees C by mid-afternoon. This wasn't the Finland I was expecting, people walking about in nothing more than shorts and T-shirts! As I approached the reception for a refreshing bottle of Pepsi I noticed something pinned to the wall.

It was a poster saying "Seinajoki v Ipswich Town", I translated the rest and discovered that last night the local football team, which I presumed to be called something like the Seinajoki Tigers (by their logo) were playing Ipswich town of our very own Premier Division, Kick off 6.30 p.m. I asked the man at reception - "What was the score then?", he looked at me and said "4-0". "Oh, 4-0 to your team I suppose" (this was meant as a joke by the way). "That's right, 4-0 to Seinajoki", he replied. Oh dear, how sad -I know that English football is in a bad way now but how can one of our top sides lose like that to a Finnish team probably made up of part-timers? I just presumed that Ipswich had sent along their second string team, I hoped that was the case anyway.

I got chatting to the man behind the reception about football and he told me that Ipswich had also visited last year for a pre-season friendly, which explained why there were posters of the two teams together plastered all over the reception.

Mark and I then went for a walk to explore Seinajoki. It is a marvellous place, it wasn't crowded, it had a modern shopping area, it was clean and grassy and as well as a football team it had its own American Football Team - the Seinajoki Crocodiles. I noticed this in a magazine about the place and later that afternoon I saw a replica shirt while passing a Sports shop. Before then I was determined to make my money last but my love of the sport took over and I had to buy one. At least there was a sale on so it only cost me 150 Markka (about £17) which wasn't bad at all. Written on the right sleeve of the shirt is "Seinajoki", it is a place I shall never forget.

I found a phone box and attempted to ring home. It was like a greenhouse inside and after much rummaging through the Finnish directory I discovered the right code. I was dripping with sweat when the distinctive voice of my brother answered the phone. My parents weren't around so I gave him the brief lowdown on my current whereabouts and hung up saying I would call again later.

After we had returned to the Campsite and explored the surrounding forests we set off again, packs back on hoping to catch a bus to the station in order to avoid that long walk. We just missed the bus, and as a punishment for being to slow packing up my tent Mark was determined not to stop for rest on the way. So there you had it, there was Mark striding ahead and me sadly lagging behind stopping on every bench I passed to catch breath.

Once at the station we waited for the 7.20 p.m to Oulu a 3 hour journey North from here. Oulu is a large industrial city further up the Gulf of Bothnia and from there we hoped to get back on track and head for the border with Sweden.

On arrival at Oulu the weather had changed dramatically and we were no longer basking in the sun of Seinajoki. Oulu was completely different, very large and noisy and I got a bit worried when we discovered that the next train going North didn't appear until 4.20 am! Despite this setback all hope was not lost for the 4.20 to Kemijarvi stopped off at a place called Kemi close to the Finnish/Swedish border, we had no option but to head for Kemi where there was a chance we could catch a bus into nearby Tornio. It was 11.30 and rather then wait on this rather inhospitable looking Station we decided to do something a bit stupid and get on one of the many trains heading south to Helsinki that night. There was however a method to our madness as if we spent, say an hour and a half on this train, getting off at a place called Yilvieska we would have less time to wait and a better station to wait on in a smaller town.

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Days 7 - 10

Land of the Midnight Sun

DAY 7 - INTO THE ARCTIC

Saturday 31st July 1993.

3.00 am - the train that pulled into Yilvieska Station was huge, stretching for miles and after a two and a half hours wait the joy of sighting it was unparalled. We must have looked like a couple of tramps sitting on that platform with our cups of Hot Chocolate.

A well built man dressed in uniform stood by one of the doors and helped us with our packs. He then told us that we were in the middle of an army operation, rather embarrassed we left the train and a guard pointed us along a few carriages. We had watched day turn to night and night turn to back to day and feeling totally drained of energy we undertook the mammoth journey that took us closer to our goal.

6.00 am - Our train arrives at Kemi and we were in luck, a bus heading to Tornio was on its way here. We waited in the cold morning air for what seemed eternity until the sight of the bus brought everyone to their feet.

Half an hour later we had arrived in Tornio, although exactly where in Tornio we did not know. The bus driver had dropped everyone off at an old depot somewhere in the town. This wasn't much help to the passengers who all seemed to want to cross the border into neighbouring Haparana. Fortunately a Swedish girl who had been travelling with us discovered the way and like a trail of pilgrims we followed her down the hilly roads to the bridge dividing Tornio and Haparana.

7.30 am - Back in Sweden and clocks go back one hour. We stock up on provisions whilst waiting for the free bus into Boden.

10.05 am - Arrive at Boden Station.

11.45 am - Train leaves for Narvik 69o40'N of the Arctic Circle. Our route into the Arctic was as follows: - BODEN-Murjek-Gallivare-Kiruna-NARVIK (Norway).

The journey to Narvik was amazing, it took us past mountains, valleys, rivers and lakes all untouched and unspoilt. Yet, at Gallivare (the first stop inside the Arctic Circle) things were bleak and the landscape was barren. As the rain poured down onto our train I wondered what I had got myself into, it looked so forbidding inside the Arctic Circle.

Any thoughts that it may have been a mistake were soon dispelled when a sudden and dramatic change in scenery (and weather) brought everyone on the train flocking to the windows, cameras at the ready. You could see for miles, the views were outstanding and unlike anything I had experienced anywhere else.

After saying goodbye to the two Danes who provided good conversation on route we left the train and stepped out into the glorious sunshine of Narvik. We had made it to Norway but more importantly the Arctic Circle, was I the first Chapman to reach this part of the world?

Narvik is a fairly large but quiet town situated in picturesque surroundings along the coast of Northern Norway. We found the sign for a campsite almost straight away and followed the steep road leading up to 'Narvik Camping'. Once there the view from our tents was stunning, in the distance the Lofoten Isles could be seen clearly their rugged peaks piercing the sky. A short walk downhill and we would find ourselves on the edge of a vast stretch of water so calm and soothing to the mind. The price was also stunning, a staggering 70 Kroner (9) a night.

I used the last of my Finnish Markka which fortunately was accepted and attempted to put up my tent in the hard, dusty ground which this site consisted of. Later that evening Mark and I went out to locate a Bank for tomorrow. It was hard enough to find the shopping area let alone a bank and it suddenly occurred to me - "How on earth did these people find things to do living here?".

It turned out that a small shopping area did exist not too far from the Train Station, here a Bank and a 'Sparebank' could be found. Don't ask me why it was called a 'Sparebank' perhaps they only use it if the other ones shut.

We returned in time to catch a glimpse of the five to midnight sun (we had missed the midnight sun by a week). Travellers from all over gathered outside their tents staring out towards the spectacle. All was peaceful - this was the Arctic.

DAY 8 - TROMSO, "PARIS OF THE NORTH"

Sunday 1st August 1993.

I was woken from my slumber by the wind and rain attacking my tent. I could hear Mark outside but, still suffering from the slight cold I'd picked up in Finland, I chose not to venture outside until it had stopped. When I finally did get up I saw Mark packing away his tent. He seemed in a rush and asked if I'd be ready to go by two o'clock. Last night Mark had been looking at his bus timetable hoping to find out when they leave for North Cape, apparently one was due at half past two.

It would have taken seven hours to reach North Cape by bus (the only means of transport open to us) and I didn't feel up to it today. I managed to convince Mark to make the shorter (three and a half hour journey) to Tromso, the worlds most Northerly University City known as "The Paris of the North".

The bus depot was close to the main shopping area in Narvik and as we had time to kill I stopped for a bite to eat. As I sat outside the small café Mark ventured into a Tourist information centre nearby. Here he discovered that a return to North Cape would cost us 100, and that was with the Nordturist discount.
Sadly we could not afford this and so our quest to reach North Cape was over. The impression I got was that it had been commercialised like our very own Landsend for included in that price was an entrance fee.

So, it was to Tromso, 250 kilometres away, and the pinnacle of our journey North. Tromso was a city that I had originally included on my 'places to visit' map and we hoped to spend a couple of nights there before making the long trek back.

At 7.00 p.m the bus left Narvik and at 11.00 p.m in broad daylight we arrived in Tromso. The city of Tromso is actually on an island connected to the mainland by a long bridge. We got off just before this bridge knowing that a campsite was somewhere nearby, we just prayed that it was open for late arrivals.

Just as we had prepared ourselves for a night in the wilderness a lady rode by on a bike. Mark asked her where the campsite was and the friendly local stopped to give us directions. We followed her route but only after asking a jogger did we finally find it. It was a relief to see that a light was on in reception and the solitary figure who sat by a desk writing something down.

We peered around the door and a man who resembled more of an Italian than Norwegian abruptly welcomed us in. The fee was a staggering 100 Krone a night and we noticed that the fast talking gentleman was quick to point out that "the use of toilets and showers were absolutely free!", wow that really made up for the price, not. As for the site itself I would have been hard pushed to pay 50 Krone for it let alone 100. The area was divided by a noisy river. On one side there were concrete, gravel pitches and on the other grassy pitches that seemed to be infested with mosquitos.

It had gone midnight when we finally got settled, people were up and about as if it was still daytime which it could have been I suppose. After all there's not many places in the world where you can have a barbecue at one o'clock in the morning in broad daylight.

DAY 9 - RAIN

Monday 2nd August 1993.

Outside heavy rain was beating at my tent, the earth around us was sodden. I could hear Mark shouting and cursing, his tent had been flooded and he was desperately trying to keep his gear dry. The rain continued for the whole of that morning and I just hoped that my tent stayed dry. So far we had been lucky with the weather but surely we expected it to be like this, after all it was the Arctic.

It was approaching midday and there was still no let up in the rain but like the hearty fools we are we ventured out into Tromso, blue anoraks at the ready!

The city of Tromso lay in the distance, barely visible, shrouded in a low lying fog. To get to it we would have to cross that long bridge and in weather that seemed ten times worse than Scotland in the winter, was this the bleakest city on earth?

On approach you could appreciate the size of this city, not just a fuzzy speck in the middle of nowhere but a sprawling metropolis full of life. The locals looked hardened to the weather and considering it was still Summer I found it hard to imagine what it must be like in the harsh winter months.

Although Tromso is a far cry from places like Stockholm it hasn't lost touch with the outside world. Inside a sports shop in the city I saw a T-shirt depicting a Viking character kicking a football into a goal. The words, when translated, read "USA 94 here we come!". It looked as though the Norwegians really did believe that they'd make the World Cup Finals, little did we know it would be at England's expense. Talking about expense I had to cash another travellers cheque in Tromso. Things were so expensive in Norway and spending a fortune on stocking up on food was typical of this part of the world. At this stage in the journey this had taken its toll and my budget was running out fast, there was to be no more luxuries on the way back.

After spending a wet afternoon in Tromso we decided that it was time to head off, no longer could we afford the campsite fee which worked out more than a tenner a night.

The time we spent packing up our tents in the rain was the only time during this trip when I felt like saying "sod it" to the whole thing. I think it was because we were in such a rush and all that was on our minds was the warmth of the only bus back that night.

In the end we did catch the bus and although drenched to the skin our spirits were up again. The bus was nearly full and I took a seat next to a scruffy looking man dressed in a black leather jacket. He didn't look any older than me and after a while we got chatting. He was an eighteen year old Norwegian who told me that he lived in some desolate village in Finnmark (an area of Northern Norway). It was a bit of a sad story really - his father had been 'kicked out of the family' when he was two, his mother, who he doesn't see much, is ill and his sister lives in Stockholm. Apart from his life story he told me that he was visiting a friend in Olsborg, on the route to Narvik.

The Norwegian said that Olsborg was where he goes to school, studying Art and Creative studies. He pulled out a large scarf that he had made, "One of the best schools in the area" he said proudly. "They can't have much competition here" I replied.

It turned out that in his home village - Northsomething? - he's not very popular with the locals. Why?, because of his dress sense, his modern day beliefs, who knows but this seemed the case. What sort of people are these?, in England he wouldn't raise an eyebrow, are these Arctic folk still living in the past? This really got on my wick as he was the most down to earth Norwegians I'd ever met, not that I know many Norwegians.

Also on the bus were two Germans, they chatted to Mark mainly but I eavesdropped now and again. From what I gathered the conversation centred around their recent return from the Svalbard Islands. The had some Reindeer antlers with them (which they got humanly I presumed) and the stories of sleeping in temperatures of 2 degrees C made the 12 degrees of Tromso seem like the Sahara! They had got a plane to the islands from Tromso Airport and were now on their way back to Narvik.

8.40 p.m. - The bus arrives in Narvik and we discovered that there were no trains heading further south until the following day. So, it was back to Narvik Camping and those spectacular Lofoten Isles and I was glad to see that it was sunny again.

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Days 10 - 13

The forbidding Arctic circle

DAY 10 - KIRUNA, AN UNEXPECTED STOP.

Tuesday 3rd August 1993.

Back in the dry again, not out of the Arctic circle but back in the dry. I left my tent and climbed the steep hill up to the washroom. The Scot whom we had seen last night was there and upon seeing a fellow Briton we immediately got chatting. He was a bit of a character and had a great sense of humour - the sort who could make friends with anyone.

Before we left 'Narvik Camping' I visited that stretch of water overlooking the Lofoten Isles for one last time. So calm and peaceful, I could have sat there for hours. Unfortunately we didn't have hours for today we were due to leave this beautiful land of Fjords and Mountains in an attempt to get back to Sweden's Capital, Stockholm.

By midday everything was packed up. We had spent longer than expected in Narvik but overall it was a good chance to rest those weary legs. With time to spare we trudged slowly to the Station in order to catch the train that was due to leave at 1.10 p.m.

We arrived at the station only to be told that the train to Stockholm wasn't running today. Getting into the Arctic Circle had proved a doddle but getting out again was harder than we'd ever imagined. There was a train at the station which was heading for Kiruna still 90 miles inside the Arctic Circle, as we didn't want to spend any longer in Narvik we had no option but to get on it.

The train to Kiruna was uncomfortable and very slow and a long wait at a dirtrack of a station meant that it arrived over half an hour late. On approach the scenery and weather changed dramatically, there were no more Mountains and Lakes to marvel at just mile after mile of Forest Tundra. Kiruna is one of Sweden's major Iron Ore suppliers and I was expecting the place to be some industrial scrapheap of a City in the middle of nowhere. I was partly right, it was in the middle of nowhere but to my surprise it wasn't a scrapheap at all, in fact it was quite nice. Kiruna was the first place in the Arctic Circle where its inhabitants looked like they could lead a normal life.

A short walk away from the Station was the town centre. Here, at a Hotel, we asked directions to the nearest campsite. The Hotel kindly gave us a map upon which they marked a site nearby. After buying my dinner, a tin of baked beans!, we stumbled across a fellow backpacker who looked quite lost. He sounded like another German and asked us if we knew of a campsite. I showed him the map and the three of us headed off in search of it.

After what amounted to a ten minute walk we located the site, situated not far from the town centre but cleverly blended into natural settings. You could have been mistaken for thinking that you were in the middle of a vast forest. As we got closer I feared that it might be another expensive nights sleep. The area around reception was taken over by a fairly large swimming pool and Crazy Golf course. The reception building itself was connected to a posh looking restaurant and on the whole it all looked very modern and clean. The receptionist spoke good English and inputted our surnames onto a computer - "Have you been here before?" he said. I smiled and thought "not likely mate!". We were all given various leaflets and I prepared myself for the cost of it all. "That's 75 Kroner please" the receptionist said politely. That worked out about 7.50 which, to my delight, was actually fairly average and not at all expensive. The three of us paid for one night and strolled off together to find a pitch.

Our new found friend introduced himself as Zoltan Magyer and he wasn't German at all but Hungarian. Zoltan, Algerian by birth moved to Budapest when his father, a UN Officer, was posted in Hungary. He was the same age as me and spoke fluent French aswell as Hungarian and his English wasn't bad either. Zoltan was surprised to hear that we were British as he thought that we sounded German, weird? He was the first Hungarian that I'd ever met and not like I'd imagined them to be. Zoltan was very westernised, he dressed like us and merely laughed when the usual 'Eastern Block/Communist' jokes came out. He dispelled stories of people queuing for bread as myths and said that Budapest was a very nice place to live.

However, whatever he said, Zoltan was not your average Hungarian - his father paid for an Interail Pass and with it he had travelled all the way from his home in Budapest in a matter of days on his own. We talked until late about this and that, about Zoltans version of the Queens English, about pipe tobacco (a subject in which he shared an interest with Mark) and our homelands.

We shared some Hungarian packet soup as we had nothing. It was us westerners sharing soup with people we think as ex-commies, the world is definitely changing.

A mass of mosquitos were beginning to gather so before I was bitten to death I retired for the night.

DAY 11 - THE LONG HAUL SOUTH

Wednesday 4th August 1993.

As usual I was the last to rise and if it wasn't for Mark telling me it was ten o'clock I'm sure I would have laid in for longer. I could hear him outside chatting to Zoltan so I took the opportunity to pack-up my belongings.

What was left of the morning passed by and we were soon on the move again. Earlier we said our farewells to Zoltan, he was heading towards the small settlement of Abisto in the direction we had just come from. He planned camping in the wilderness and wanted an ordinance survey map of the area - we wished him luck.

It was about 1.00 p.m when we arrived at the station and who should we meet there?, Zoltan! He had a wide grin across his face and in his hand was an ordinance survey map of Abisto. It cost him nearly a tenner but he didn't seem bothered.

Our train to Stockholm was due to leave at 1.10 p.m., just before Zoltans so we sat around for a while before shaking hands and saying goodbye once and for all. Zoltan had changed my views on the Hungarian people and the memories of that cold night in Koruna, sitting outside our tents, sharing Hungarian soup, will remain in my mind forever.

It was easy to find a seat on this train but we had our doubts about what would happen when we had to change at Boden. Similar to the train of the previous day, this was large and slow. It seemed to stop at pointless places every five minutes and by the time we got to Boden we were a massive one and a half hours late! Fortunately the train at Boden was waiting so this delay did not prove crucial.

From one train straight onto another for what was the start of one of the longest and worst train journeys of my life. Look at a map of Sweden and you'll get an impression of how vast a journey it was - Boden to Stockholm e.t.a 7.30 am the following day.

The train was packed and as we had no seat reservation we crouched on our packs in a narrow corridor watching people walk back and forth down the train. As the hours ticked along I became more and more envious of a man sitting on a nearby seat. He started stuffing his face with a full roast dinner and I could take it no more. I sprung to my feet and took a vacant seat that had appeared next to him. I couldn't care less if I hadn't reserved the seat, it was a stupid rule anyway. Poor Mark was left in the corridor but I just had to do it.

It was quite funny really as the man that I now sat next to, a Swede, told me that nobody bothers reserving a seat and I was quite surprised when the well-dressed chap told me that he hadn't reserved his. Feeling slightly less guilty I relaxed with a book, next to me was an elderly Swedish Woman, opposite was some Germans and an Arab. I think that Mark did eventually get a seat too although not till much later.

DAY 12 - BACK TO THE LAND OF THE LIVING!

Thursday 5th August 1993.

At 8.00 am our train pulled into Stockholm Central. It was a gloriously sunny day and it felt really great to be back. Our stomachs dictated that our first port of call was a McDonalds and on arrival we completely stuffed our faces.

Feeling totally bloated we returned to the station and something which I had been meaning to do was to find an English newspaper. Being back in the land of the living meant that I had no problem in finding several and it was great to catch up on what had been going on. So much had seemed to have happened in the short time we'd been gone.

I was finally dragged out from the paper shop by Mark who suggested we had a walk around Stockholm. Sweden's Capital was at its best to welcome us back, not blazing hot but 21 degrees C and not a cloud in the sky. We found an impressive church and took a seat in the pleasant gardens that surrounded it. Not being one for churches I waited by our packs as Mark decided to venture in. There were a couple of drunks hovering around and I felt quite uneasy sitting there with our possessions. Mark returned full of praise for the place and that was my cue to head off.

The streets of Stockholm were at this time pretty crowded and I soon realised that this was no ordinary day. Today was the official start of 'The Stockholm Water Festival'. Quite what this was I could not tell. There were lots of Marquees up and several large stages had been erected and wired up for live music. Unfortunately the only live music I could hear was coming from a Gospel Group that seemed to be gathering a fair crowd in the centre of the City. As the excitement was obviously too much for me I wandered off to get a loaf of bread.

It took a while but I did eventually find a shop that sold bread, I didn't realise that it was so hard to come by in this part of the world! It was almost midday. Stockholm was absolutely packed solid and the water festival was in full swing. I stopped to take a photo of some Peruvian street entertainers. As I lined up my shot one of them approached me - "Money for the music", he said. I was slightly pissed off with him and tried to explain that I wasn't interested in the poxy music and just wanted to take a photograph. He laughed and I gave him a worthless coin before attempting to find Mark back at the church.

We stocked up on food and spent the rest of the day in Stockholm before going to the Station where we waited for the 11.07 p.m train to Oslo - the Capital of Norway. Whilst waiting we met some Swedish girls and I learnt my first phrase in Swedish - "Ha debt sur bra!".

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Days 13 - 16

The Royal Palace, Oslo

DAY 13 - OSLO.

Friday 6th August 1993.

The streets outside Oslo Station were deserted when we arrived at 8.15 am. Nothing was open so we sat at a fountain in what appeared to be a market square. I made some sandwiches knowing full well that I would have to make the bread last. As it got later the streets came to life and Oslo got warmer. We walked to the harbour and encountered many fisherman selling their catches straight from their boats.

High above the harbour was a castle and museum which we went to. The views were magnificent and you could see all over the city which had more hills than I'd imagined. We also visited the Royal Palace and Gardens that lay at the top of a wide, sloping road.

Oslo was a very picturesque City with some fine architecture and it provided me with enough snaps to end my film. I really wanted another but could not afford one. At the end of a long day we returned to the Station. We had a think about what our next step would be and decided that a trip to Bergen on the Norwegian coast was called for. The train journey to Bergen is said to be one of the most picturesque in the world but more importantly a night train represented another free nights sleep for the person with a mere 3 Kroner to his name.

We had a seven hour wait in Oslo station and when the train did arrive it was almost full. As usual we gambled and took two empty seats hoping that nobody would have reserved them. Somebody had reserved mine but fortunately they never turned up so I didn't have to pay, Mark had to pay as his seat had not been reserved.

Bergen, the second largest city in Norway, lay the other side of the most spectacular fjords and mountains in the country and the landscape meant that it would be a long journey to get there.

DAY 14 - BERGEN AND THE FJORDS.

Saturday 7th August 1993.

Not much sleep was gained from the journey to Bergen and so when the train pulled in at 7.00 am I was not feeling up to it at all.
It seemed that Mark also had little sleep for he was in a foul mood like myself. It was cold at this coastal city and apart from the occasional seagull there was little sign of life. Now and then we passed an early riser who wished us a good morning but everywhere seemed shut and there was no shelter from the weather. We found a bench and sat in a small, grassy area for a while wondering what our next step would be.

In the end we agreed that it wasn't worth waiting all day for a night train back to Oslo as among other things we would not see the 'spectacular scenery' on the way back. Instead we would spend a few hours in Bergen and then head back to Oslo where we hoped to catch a train to Gothenburg in Sweden. From there we had a chance of getting a ferry to Frederikshavn in Denmark. A good idea but would it work out?

Bergen, centred around the fishing industry does not appear to be very large. Many of the residential areas are situated on steep hills that surround the city. The most interesting part that we saw was the large fish market on the harbour. It provided everything from prawns to Whale meat. Yes Whale meat, even though I thought a whaling ban had been imposed on Norway. Mark took a photograph of the blubbery stuff and we joked about sending it to Greenpeace. Not only did they sell Whale meat, on a different stall they had a variety of animal furs. On closer inspection we discovered them to be those of Reindeers and a species of Arctic Wolf. This shocked me a bit as I've always thought that the Arctic Wolf is an endangered species. Apart from strung up animals the market sold a huge variety of fish and seafood, it all looked so fresh and tempting but there was no time to hang around for we had a train to catch.

At 10.15 am the train left Bergen and for once we had reserved our seats. The seats were in the same carriage but in different places. I sat near the back while Mark took a seat next to a Japanese Girl a few rows in front of me. The scenery that we passed on this eight and a half hour journey was amazing. We saw countless fjords and climbed so high that snow covered the land we travelled on. Into long tunnels that cut straight through the mountains and onto land that matched the beauty seen on-route to Narvik.

Unlike some of the train journeys on this trip this one seemed to go by really quickly and by six o'clock we were approaching Oslo central.

As we got off Mark introduced me to Mizuki Ogawa, the Japanese girl he had sat next to on the train. The station was pretty
much as we left it 19 hours earlier with the usual Bin Ladies out in force and the shop as busy as ever. The three of us went out for a walk around Oslo.

This was my last day in Norway and I would take back mixed feelings of the Country, good memories of places like Narvik and the Bergen Run, the accomplishment of reaching the Arctic Circle and the disappointment of failing in our attempt to reach the North Cape. I spent the last of my Norwegian Kroner before we said sianara to Mizuki and returned to the station. I caught up on yesterdays news in the shop and wheeled away the hours waiting for the train - something which we had got used to over the past few days.

At 10.40 p.m. the train arrived and we made our way to platform 17. This particular train went all the way to Copenhagen, our ticket reserved us a seat up to Gothenburg. We boarded and found ourselves in the rare position of having to ask someone to move for a seat we'd actually reserved! I collapsed in my seat and soon dozed off. The strain of recent long journeys had taken its toll on us both.

DAY 15 - GOTHENBURG AT 3 A.M.

Sunday 8th August 1993.

I felt a heavy prod on my shoulder, Mark was trying to attract my attention. The train had stopped and two girls had come along to claim their seats. Still half asleep I groaned and begrudgingly moved my feet from the seat opposite before pulling my jacket back over my head. "This must be Gothenburg" said Mark, "is this Gothenburg?". One of the girls confirmed that it was indeed Gothenburg (or Goteborg as they called it) and this was where we got off - AT 3 O'CLOCK IN THE BLOODY MORNING!

It was still dark outside and Gothenburg didn't appear to be the most welcoming place to be stranded at three in the morning. We had no place to go and so we sat on one of the platforms in the cold. I spotted someone go into the station building and without hesitation I followed. The automatic doors appeared jammed but through the glass I could see a number of lifeless bodies decked out on the benches within.

I proceeded to pull the doors open which seemed to work and, in acting like a tramp would, found the most comfortable looking bench. I didn't have a great deal of choice for the room was full of backpackers like myself with no place to sleep. I lay down on one of the benches and fell asleep again - it was the most comfortable bed I'd had in days!

I woke up just before two Security Guards arrived (one bearing an uncanny resemblance to Eddie Hitler from Bottom) to wake up the sleeping travellers. I saw Mark on a nearby bench and woke him up saying that it was a raid by the police. He didn't believe me and at 8.00 am we left.

Gothenburg was a pretty dull place at eight o'clock on a Sunday morning so we decided to head straight for the Stena Ferry Terminal. We had no problem in reserving a place on the ferry to Frederikshavn, which came as one big relief to the both of us. The three hour crossing was free with the Nordturist card and as the ferries ran so often we only had to wait until 9.30 am.

9.30 am - We boarded the ferry. I was looking forward to getting back to Denmark as I still had some Danish Kroner left. 12.20 p.m and it was land ahoy, we were back in the Country where it all began - Denmark.

We stocked up on supplies at a supermarket in Frederikshavn before finding the station. One of those plush Danish Intercity trains took us as far as Aalborg, an hours journey south but from there we had to change and get onto a slower, regional train. This would take us all the way to Copenhagen which was our priority now. The route we took was FREDERIKSHAVN-Aalborg-Arhus-Vejle-Middlefart-Odense-Nyborg-Trelleborg-Ringsted-Roskilda-COPENHAGEN.

We eventually arrived in Copenhagen at 11.20 p.m. The station was surprisingly busy considering the time and for the second night running we found ourselves in a large city with no place to sleep. Mark suggested that we slept in the main station building but some of the characters here looked decisively dodgy. In the end we went onto one of the deserted platforms. I got into my sleeping bag, kept my pen knife close to me and huddled in the cold nights air. For the second night running I found myself sleeping rough on a main line station. The main thing was that we had made it back to Copenhagen, it had been a long, hard, haul back but we'd made it.

DAY 16 - THE VOYAGE HOME.

Monday 9th August 1993.

A Danish Intercity pulled into Copenhagen Central and I was immediately woken from my slumber, it was 6.30 a.m. and the early morning rush hour descended onto the platform.

When we left the compounds of the station we could see the city of Copenhagen, shrouded in a dense layer of fog. Rummaging through our packs we found the 'Map of Wonderful Copenhagen' looking a bit tatty and worse for wear.

Mark pointed out a Palace and Gardens on the map and it was here we headed on a leisurely stroll through the city. When we did reach the Palace it was barely visible - the white, domed towers perfectly camouflaged in the morning fog.

We caught up on some of the sites we'd missed first time round and even saw the famous 'Little Mermaid' (which, in all honesty, is a bit of a let down). Unfortunately the fog meant that much of the cities beauty was hidden from us - the Gardens of Tivoli for example. After a good few hours we returned to the Station to wait for that all important final connection to the port of Esbjerg.

We sat on a bench in the main building, every now and again one of us would go off for a walk around while the other stayed with our packs. One of the times when Mark disappeared I got talking to an American sitting nearby. He had seen my Minnesota Vikings cap and thought he'd found a fellow yank and more likely a fellow Minnesotian. For Darin Tucholke hailed from Eagan, Minnesota and like me was a keen fan of the Minnesota Vikings American Football Team. He must have been slightly older than myself and every second word seemed to be an expletive. However, he was a really friendly and talkative and we chatted for ages about our team - it must have bored Mark silly when he returned. Darin was over here on his own doing a big tour around Europe, having already covered places like Athens and Rome, he was on his was to Amsterdam and like us was waiting for his train.

His train had come in but before saying goodbye he gave me his address and telephone number and in typical friendly yank style said "Here's my address, if you ever come over, call me - you'll have a roof over your head!". I thanked him kindly and the last thing I said to him was "I'll see you in a few years then!". There's nothing more I'd like then to visit Minnesota and see the Vikings.

12.55 p.m. - Our train pulls in and we quickly board it. This was the last of our train journeys on the continent and one that we had already covered on our very first day here. We took our seats on the plush Intercity near to a Costa Rican couple (you get all sorts over here, you know) and relaxed knowing that the hard part was now over.

We arrived at Esbjerg in good time, the Dana Anglia wasn't due to leave until 6.00 p.m.

We were sitting in a large lounge area when the announcement to board blared out on the tannoy. Once on board we located our cabin, unloaded our packs and had a refreshing wash. Basically from then on we just sat in the restaurant. I produced some British pounds that I had saved for the journey back home from Harwich. We hadn't eaten in ages and all the food looked so tempting, yet whenever either of us looked as if we would succumb to such temptations the other strongly stated the case against this. Once in Harwich we still had to afford a train fare back to Sittingbourne - the thought of missing the ferry and being stuck in Denmark did not compare with having to spend a night in Essex!

So we sat and waited, and waited, and waited. Soon Denmark and Scandinavia became a distant speck on the horizon and the Dana Anglia passed the Longships race. Everyone on board flocked onto deck to catch a glimpse of the largest Sailing Ship in the world as it came within metres of our ferry. We stood for a while watching the ships go by before returning to the restaurant to play cards and drink free water from our free plastic cups.

Darkness fell and, in desperate need of an early night, we decided to call it a day. We lay on rock solid mattresses in our coffin-like cabins somewhere in the North Sea, tomorrow we would be back in our homeland - Great Britain.

DAY 17 - GOOD TO BE BACK?

Tuesday 10th August 1993.

A refreshing shower on the Dana Anglia was just what the doctor had ordered and, although feeling the effects of malnutrition (alright, I'm going over the top - it wasn't quite that bad) I gathered my belongings. The weather outside our ship was bleak, it was as if we had travelled from one extreme of the earth to another overnight.

On the grey horizon, among the many large factories I could make out the silhouette of a ferry terminal. For what seemed an eternity the Dana Anglia slowly crept forward until the menacing slab of stone which was the terminal engulfed us.

It soon became obvious that we had missed no great heatwave while on our travels. It was tipping it down outside and a bitterly cold wind reminded us that we were home. For the 16 days that we had been gone we'd only had one really ***ty day and that was 200 miles North of the Arctic Circle! We had bathed in 27 degrees heat, had roamed the streets of Seinajoki in nothing more than Shorts and T-shirts and had sat outside our tents watching the midnight sun in the still air of Narvik. This was Scandinavia, a country much further North than most of Great Britain, much closer to the harsh weather that sweeps down from the pole. Yet it's always Britain that gets the depressing weather, why?

As I dwelled on this matter I spotted a familiar face, my parents had decided to turn up and give us a lift home. I didn't know whether to laugh or cry as my thoughts turned back to the plates of chips that I so longed for on the Dana Anglia. I explained the situation to them and after acting as if I was on the brink of starvation convinced them to stop off at a nearby petrol station shop. I bounded in with my one pound coin glistening and (still suffering from Scandinavia Syndrome) was amazed at how much I could buy with it. Mark and I both went into a state of euphoria and soon cleared the shelves of anything vaguely edible.
An hour had passed, we slouched on the back seat of our car feeling contented once more. The hum of the car's engine carried me into a deep sleep and all I could think of were those immortal words - "There's no place like home, there's no place like home....". Actually, that's not entirely true, I actually thought - "wouldn't it be great to have a proper bloody bed to sleep on!".

THE END