Tromso - of Darkness and Light

 



Sunrise across the Fjord - 1030am - view from the balcony

It’s minus 2 degrees c outside and dark. 

In fact it’s been dark for quite a while today.  The sun rose around 1030 hours and set again 2 hours later at 12.30pm.  This is latitude 69.6828° N, 18.9428° E -  in the Arctic Circle. 

Welcome to Tromso (pronounced Tromsa by the locals)in Norway home to 72,000 inhabitants. 

“Your picked the wrong time of year to go” comments one friend on SKYPE – you could have had all day sun instead!”



Sun starting to set - 12.30pm (2 hours of "daylight") - 27 Nov 2014

Well, that all depends on your goal for being here.  Mine is to see the Northern lights.



view from the road - 12.10 - a brief walk from the apartment
in Aslandvegen, Tromso

I have chosen to stay in a place the opposite side of the city in one of the fjords. The place is called Aslandvegen in Tromso and you don’t need a lot of imagination around here to believe you are in the Chronicles of Narnia and Aslan is nearby.   

The Northern Lights activity map dials show the likelihood of activity here over the next few days are good.  That’s the good news.  The forecast for rain today and snow tomorrow are not so good news.  Cloud cover is not that useful for watching these natural fireworks.

http://www.aurora-service.eu/aurora-forecast/

 

Sporting the latest in polar fashions

When I packed my bag in July – I packed mainly for a summer trip – though this was always on the itinerary.  I am testing the power of layering my icebreaker tops (and my icebreaker leggings) along with a recent purchase of a Norwegian woollen hat. 

This is my last push and planned point on my journey before winding my way back to Frankfurt then New Zealand.  A birthday present to myself that I hope the sky will unwrap for me.  We’ll see.   

Gunn has an effervescent personality.  She lives with her little sister, Frida, in a small apartment overlooking one of the fjords and across the bay from Tromso town.  Another gem of an AirBnB find.  When I arrive we chat – she is from the bottom of Norway (Bergen) though enjoys working and living here.  She works as a Nurse is the Gastro ward in the local hospital – it is the largest in the North and receives a lot of patients referred within the region.  I ask what she is doing all the way up here…is the scenery and place that good?  She just smiles. 

Both sisters speak excellent English.  That’s easy they comment – all TV here is in English and we learn it all the way through school.

The next morning as I look at the view of the sunrise over the balcony, I see what Gunn was smiling about.  The vista is breath-taking. 

Every home should have one!

The wall in the lounge is covered in a World map.  Gunn and her sister are well travelled; there are well thumbed books on the shelves covering Africa, Morocco, Mexico, US, Indonesia to name a few.  Gunn is still relatively young and her sister is in her last year at school.  “That’s an impressive list of travel destinations.”  

“Yes, born out of practicality really,” she replies casually.  “Norway is way too expensive for locals to be able to travel here.  Anything overseas is cheap in comparison.”  I’m quickly learning that. 

Gunn explains some of the local fare and places.  There are whales that have been sighted in the bay of a neighbouring fjord.  There’s a great local supermarket that is owned privately so stocks mainly local produce – it is about a 10 minute walk away.  There’s an island in the bay with a bridge over to it – and there are usually wild reindeer there munching in the fields. 

Much to see! 

The sunrise this morning was around 10.30.  I slept in due to a planned all-night vigil for the Northern Lights tonight.  I put on my thermals and coat.  “Have you got a torch?” Gunn asks.  It’s 11.00am and I am heading out for some brunch.  “You don’t have much light left” she comments.  “It gets dark early and quickly here.”  

I put my torch in my pocket.  Before I get out the door, Gunn slaps a reflective bracelet around my jacket wrist “Leg or arm, it doesn’t matter where” she comments “ …just make sure you wear it.”  With all the efficiency and kindness of a nurse, she ushers me out the door.

The sea is on my left as I negotiate the ice-covered footpath to the supermarket.  If you get there early enough apparently there’s many food samples of all different products “as good as a free breakfast” Gunn had said.  Sure enough  -food fit for a king.  Great little spot and I buy some of the famous local “brown” cheese, some bread and other fare and sit down by the waterfront to eat.  It’s 12.10 in the afternoon and the sun is already setting over the horizon.  The water looks calm and smooth enough to skate on – and I’m sure in a few months you might be able to do just that.

I am here for 2 nights; my plane departs at 0630 tomorrow back to Oslo en-route to Spain.

Tromso city life

The number 42 bus weaves its way through the ice covered roads into the sentrum area of the main city.  It is 2.00pm and feels more like 6.00pm as it’s been dark for a couple of hours.  This place plays with your senses and it starts to dawn on you just how your subconscious handles your biorhythms including appetite and sleep/rest.  For no apparent reason I feel hungry – the body telling me it must be near dinner time, my watch telling me that this could be a late lunch – though it was not that long ago that I ate.  The city shops are a mix of tourist fare (some good woollen clothes – Norwegian made – if it’s good enough for the locals then… 

 

Some sports shops – OK, well a lot of sports shops.  Book shops and  some restaurants  - many of the more up-market ones offering fresh seafood or reindeer steaks. 

 

Of nights and lights

Gunn had said that the Northern Light activity could (if someone remembers to turn the celestial light switch on) be active as early as 5.00pm up until around 2.00am.  Bio-rhythms askew, I head back over the other side of the bridge and Fjord to rendezvous with a 5.30pm sky watch vigil at the apartment.  Nature has a different plan and it is raining.

Writing and blog back at the apartment with the odd peek out the window and back door – looking skyward.  Rain.

It’s 10.30pm and Gunn arrives home from her shift.  I have been at the keyboard and lost track of time.  “Have you seen the lights?’ she asks.  Apparently the rain has passed and the night sky is clear.  She leads me outside and points to the distant night sky behind the house.  “See?”  - it’s not the firework red and green that you see in the photos.  Instead, as my eyes grow accustomed, I see an eerie green light that almost looks like a mist seeping its way through the sky like a green ink stain on a black carpet of night.  “If you have a good camera and take a photo – you’ll get to see it more clearly.  When conditions are like this, the naked eye can’t see the detail” coaches Gunn.  She points to the dirt trail that weaves its way up the hill behind the houses in the neighbourhood.  “You need to go up there, away from any street or house lights if you want to get a decent view of it.” 

Headlamp, coat , hat and camera, I negotiate the trail up the hill.  The path has been well-trodden, the recent rain obliging the ruts and grooves by filling them in and nature taking over the duties by freezing these into a sheet of ice – the effect looks like a small glacier or frozen waterfall cascading down the hill.  Great as a path to guide – not good for walking on. 

At the top of the hill there is no-one, no sound, no light, just trees and the night sky.  Clear. 

I look up and try to spot the Aurora.  It is hard and I oscillate between seeing a typical night sky and imaging seeing a “fog” of green as though an extra in some ghost movie.  Time to try the camera.  Set to keep the shutter open until it gets enough natural light, I point the camera skyward and click.  The shutter opens and I try to hold it steady – in the anticipation of the click of it closing and capturing the moment.  5 seconds and an eternity later the click of the shutter closing – like the comfortable noise of a gate latch - secure.  The display on the back of the camera pulses with a glimpse of what the lens has seen.  Sure enough, green that my eye did not see. 

I look up – trying to discern a shaft of light –trying in my minds-eye to isolate and therefore contextualise exactly where the aurora is.  No use.  It takes a while to dawn on me.  I am actually standing looking up at one point when in actual fact, the aurora is across the sky and all around me.  I point the camera in several shots in an arc over my head – sure enough, rewarded with green and red halo in each shot…captured on digital, not discernible to the naked eye.

I smile.  A metaphor for life really –trying to capture and see the moment and not being able to when in actual fact, it is going on all around you.  The price you pay for focus is your distance from the subject.

Apparently the clear view of the aurora in the night sky so often in the postcards and pictures is rare to see with the naked eye.  The vista tonight is more typical –an eerie green that performs a silent and slow-motion dance across an ink-black night sky.

It is close to midnight by the time I manage to negotiate my way down the hill through the frozen waterfall of the path and back to the apartment.  Gunn has ordered a taxi for the morning to rendezvous with my early flight.  It is picking me up at 0515 for a 6.30 flight to Oslo then two more onward flights to arrive in Porto Portugal.   
 

Tromso.  This place has a rhythm and tone all of its own.  It slows the heartbeat right down like an induced coma and provides vivid dreams of colour through glowing sunrises, calm and icy waters and apparitions that weave through a permanent night sky. 

There’s a different and special perspective you get by being here.  It is hard to put in words; instead my memory returns to that dreamy smile of a local when questioned why anyone would want to live here.

 

 

Oslo – and visiting a special time capsule

Perfectly preserved.  The wood glistens,  inside the tongue and groove has a utilitarian paint finish and below decks, the natural stain of sweat, grime, sea and history provide for a sturdy footing. 

Over 100 years old, this ship is arguably one of the most versatile of its time still around today.  And you can reach out and touch it, board her, walk on her decks, in the cabins and the galley.  I touch the map table – like a child who can’t quite believe I am able to .  Close your eyes and imagine the discussion over dinner, look at the map under your hand –you are touching history, touching where a finger pointed to a point on a map yet to be reached.

Her name is the Fram and she was the ship used by Roald Amundsen and his team to sail to the Antarctic on the way to becoming the first to conquer the South pole. 

http://www.frammuseum.no/Visit-the-Museum/Fram.aspx

 

This is a dream for me – a planned pilgrimage that I have wanted to do for over 10 years since studying the Arctic explorers and, in particular, Amundsen. 

 

This is Oslo – and within 200m of the maritime museum on the waterfront is the Fram museum (which had 900m Krone spent on it) and the Kon Tiki museum.

 

Whether you subscribe to the heroic nature of captain Robert Falcon Scott, the compassion of Shackleton or the pragmatism of Amundsen, this is one of the few (accessible) places on earth you can walk amongst, touch and feel polar exploration from the heroic period. 

 

What struck me on reading Amundsen’s account of their successful trip to the South Pole (simply and aptly named “The South Pole”) was his complete pragmatism and telling the story straight – no gushing or flare in the writing, just an account of the facts with the occasional detour to praise his various men.  As a lesson in logistics, this is one of the best books I have read.  Now I can’t wipe the smile off my face as I look into Amundsen’s cabin on the Fram, walk past and touch the map table, walk down to the engine room and admire the massive diesel  engine. 

 

Fram’s famous history does not stop there.  She was designed and commissioned by Fridtjof

 Nansen, another famous Norwegian adventurer (and somewhat of a mentor to Amundsen).  The Fram successfully negotiated both North and South Poles.  Her secret was not in the ability to break the ice, rather to work with it.  Nansen purposefully designed her wide with a shallow draft that would enable her to “pop up” onto the ice if the water under her firmed up into ice rather than risk her being crushed. 

 

It is a tribute to Norway that they have recognised the part the Fram plays in history and Norwegian (and international) maritime history.  If you are a fan of arctic exploration or of historic ships, come to Norway, walk on and below deck on the Fram, close your eyes and see the Norwegian flag standing firmly at the South Pole over 100 years ago. 

 

Postscript – a seafaring history and gene pool  

If you have Irish, Scottish, English, … and many other European heritage with blond hair and blue eyes, you probably have some Viking rape and pillage or general settlement in foreign lands to thank for that. 

A 10 minute walk from the Fram museum is the Viking museum,  Three Viking vessels in various (and quite remarkable) states of preservation – as found in burial mounds on land – serving as coffins and “ships to the afterlife” for long forgotten Viking royalty.  Vikings -the ultimate race in pioneering.  The museum covers the Viking ships but also the contents – including farming equipment, sledges, saddlery, weapons, cooking equipment and clothing -   a reminder that not only was this a seafaring race but also a pioneer race that invaded and/or settled (depending which part of the historic puzzle you are on!) many lands.

Your ancestry?

 

 

Alongside the Fram museum is the Kon Tiki museum –tribute to Thor Heyerdahl, a man who wanted to prove that the South Americans could have reached Polynesia in pre-Colubian times. He built a boat using the technology and matierals of that early period and launched and expedition to prove the theory possiblel.

http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Kon-Tiki

A model of the Kon Tiki raft used on the jouney

 

I have one day in Oslo – I could have used more but my thirst has been satiated by the one thing I really came to see – and the bonus of getting to see a few other nautical and historic elements of Norway along the way.  In a way I am happy to only spend a short time here – I will be back – though next time I will ensure a healthier bank balance – Norway and Oslo in particular is an expensive place.  But well worth the visit.

 

Classical Norwegian architecture - crisp, clean - looking out to sea

Roald Amundsen

The Fram - at the Pole atop the ice

Amundsen and South Pole party - forever watching over the bay at the Nautical museum

Amundsen and party watching over future Viking adventurers

View across the bay from the Maritime museum in Oslo

 

London – Mustn’t grumble!

The Madrid to Heathrow flight has touched down and I listen to the English couple beside me as the plane taxis to the Terminal.  This is my first time in a native English speaking country for 4 ½ months and I have to smile as I remember  the British stoicism. 

I am here overnight en-route to Oslo. 

I try to translate from British [attempt in italics]

"Well, that's a surprise, the flight is actually early.  Wonders will never cease.  Wish the others had been like that."  [Great - look at that. We're early.]

 

"Yes, the trip wasn't a total disaster.  Just the one delay that meant we didn't get to spend the extra hour in the park bird watching.  Shame that." [Two weeks of doing what we enjoy and with one minor hiccup.  Great holiday!]

 

As I walk from the station to my friends Wayne and Sharron's I notice that hard set look on the faces of many of those who have finished their working day and begin the journey homeward.  It's somewhere between a gritty determination and a resigned stoicism - the look that some runners have who are the exception to the term "fun run".

Wayne and Sharron brighten up the evening.  We head out for dinner.  They are recent arrivals in this fine city and will make it their home for the next few years.  We have much to talk about and update on.  This is a team who are great friend's of my brother and whom I have *made the very presumptive move of adopting as friends also...interesting and nice how that happens with siblings friends over the years.

It's not too early a start next morning - a brief walk to the station then off to Stanstead -bound for Oslo.

I order lunch at the airport.  It arrives . 

“Sorry sir,here’s your lunch."

 

Vigo and water

Most of my journey has been one way –other than the odd stop off in a main airport hub to proceed on to the next destination.

The last month has been an exception.

 

Galicia beckoned and I took heed.  Alongside her, Portugal.  Two places that have become special to me on this trip and I have returned to before coming back to New Zealand.  I have the offer of more diving here and catching up with friends.

Vigo has the last vestiges of autumn – and oscillates between cold rainy days and then an 18 degree “one out of the bag” crisp clear day.  The harbour shows its colours – like a teenager – one moment calm and serene, the next a raging torrent of hormones, bluster and foam with dark clouds overhead.

It’s Saturday afternoon and Maria has arranged to go diving with the local dive club,  I am cordially invited and show up sans any equipment. It is a calm and clear day though the mercury is hovering around 15 degrees – and the water promises something similar in temperature.  The first thing I notice is the predominance of dry suits by the party on board the dive boat.  I’m one of the minority in my borrowed  7mm wetsuit. Still, the dive is calm, visibility is (I’m told a good) 12m – none of the Andaman nor Aegean sea clarity –but more than compensated for by the sea life including 2 congor eels, a variety of fish and fauna. 

 

There are around 10 in the group and I follow along like the junior puppy that I am with a very experienced group. A 59 minute dive around 15m depth on average. After and on board the boat, Andreas breaks out some binary liquid packs which he proceeds to bend and twist.  These look like ice packs  - but have the opposite effect.  The twisting motion sets off a chain reaction and the liquid firms up into a gel under the plastic coating – and warms to around 45 degrees – he gestures for me to put this under my wetsuit top – I need no further encouragement to do so. 

This is only part of the treatment to keep us warm for the 20 minute boat ride back from Castro bay (no co-incidence in name – Castro is a Galician name and Fidel of Cuban fame traces his roots back here).  Andreas hands around a bottle –most take a single swig and hand it on.  Rum?  I wonder – then my turn – Coffee liqueur – another local delicacy. It starts working its magic from the inside out to meet the warmth of my heat pack  -now that’s what I call after-diving-service. 

We pass through a flotilla of yachts – all in full battle regalia storming up the coast  - Spinnakers puffed out like chests of boxers in a ring mid fight.  Maria points at the various yachts – it’s a handicap race. The yacht she normally skippers isn’t racing today – but an arch rival is. 

To our leeward, as if to mirror their parents are a flotilla of p class under sail – under the watchful gaze of mother duck in the form of an inflatable RIB with a powerful 200hp idling along.

Whichever way you look in Vigo your eyes are typically drawn to the sea.  Whether it’s the harbour including the very active sea and freight port or fishing boats or one of the four marinas leaking out or welcoming in various size, shape and powered craft.  The bridge looks out over what looks  like a battery of rafts –which are actually pontoons whose long tentacles are home to mussel farms. 

The sea is in my veins too. Mine is naturally Pacific; this Atlantic, half the world away, but like any sea, welcoming and foreboding in equal measure. 

I watch the sunset outside the bar at the yacht club and marina downtown.  They don’t discriminate between members and non-members when it comes to serving drinks here – as long as your Euro is the same colour as everyone elses.  The sun is setting across an oily sea, the light glints off the windows of the houses on the far shore of Canges across the bay. The hills serenely and comfortably cloak the cityscape from behind.  This is Vigo in Pontevedra, Galicia, Spain.  I’ve come to love Spain and the Spanish people. 

It does have it's moments.  I visit the local swimming pool. Few people here speak English and my Spanish is close to non-existent at the moment.  I manage to work out when there is lane swimming and return at the allotted time.  "Passport" the cashier requests.  "Er, no, sorry, I don't carry my passport to the pool with me."  I figure this may turn into a protracted discussion with me retreating to get the document.  However, the lady beside the cashier hands me a piece of paper "Write your name."  I dutifully do it, they tap away at the computer.  I am issued with a receipt with my name on it.  Turns out the local council facilities are sticklers for issuing receipts.  The pool is not too busy.  Every lane has anywhere up to 3 people in it.  I notice that there are no markings on the lane - all are used by people doing backstroke or breast-stroke at a similar pace.  Given the time of day, the main users of the pool are elderly.  Mmmmm....no rating for the lanes.  Giving queue theory its due - I choose what turns out to be the slowest lane then alternate to the remaining lanes which comply with the theory by then becoming the slowest lane.  Welcome back to Spain.

Delightful and crazy in equal measure.

 

Kalymnos- rock on! (climbing - the story mainly in pictures)

The climbing family is a loose and transient group who ebb and flow like the tide depending on where there is good weather and good rock.  Kalymnos offers both.

Different backgrounds, nationalities, shapes/sizes, ages and skill levels actually are the thrown together in the cauldron and the result is usually a rich soup.  Week 2 at Kalymnos and I jump into the pot with the others.  I have been lucky enough to find a climbing site where I have arranged some contacts in advance. Turns out one of them I have been communicating with for a month is actually my next door neighbour in the apartment I am in.  Hardly a surprise as he was the one who recommened the place.  I thank him for the recommendation – hardly what I expected for climbing “digs”.  Turns out XXX is Polish, remote working as a developer for a UK software company.  The arrangement works for him and his employer.  He puts in around 10-12 hours each second day, then a half day in the meantime when he climbs.  Good arrangement – if you can get it!

He is a young and strong climber – climbing around 7a-7b (around grade 25).  He has also teamed up with Anthony, a young Frenchman who has a small van which is his mobile home and climbing gear transport.  Anthony is working on an 8a b level.   These two have bodies that look as if they have been chiselled from the very rock they are climbing.

Terry is a Canadian mountain guide from BC of indeterminate age (you know the blonde ski bunny and outdoor look who could traverse a few decades).  She climbs strongly and picks off grades that push her boundaries – good technical climber – taking her time to work through the moves conserving energy. 

Not all are as toned – there’s a mix of climbers at the various crags – some around my age or older – all very good climbers – and I do my best to keep up.  All are friendly and I am soon adopted into belaying or sharing climbing time with some of the groups.  Occasionally a goat from the local herd will happen by to check if any hapless climber has left their bag open with some lunch in it.  The sun bakes the rock and the climbers in turn.  The view is stunning – a 30 minute walk up to the base of the climbs rewards you with a beautiful vista. 

There are over 2500 routes on the island – a testament that North Face have their annual competition here. 

Most climbs are long (40 or more metres and with additional multi-pitch continuations beyond that it you are in the mood!)  and have easier grading than I am used to from the Ariege in France.  I do a personal best by leading 3 grade 6b+’ (grade 21) – though not sure if the NZ rock grades would agree (!).

I have to confess that I prefer this to Railay (perhaps the time of year I went) – climbing in Kalymnos in November is pleasant – not too hot and without the humidity of Thailand to compete with.  That said, there are times in mid-summer here that it is too hot to climb. Certainly worth a look and try if you are over this side of the world.