that’s about it’.
But the more attention I paid to the countries along the path of my descent through the Continent, the wider my eyes grew: the Norman coast of France was so called because the Normans are the Northmen, 4 and the city of San Sebastian in the Basque Country was founded by Norsemen early in the ninth century. Eric the Red was a Viking famous for exploring Greenland and settling the best farmland there (not a great amount of choice, one suspects). It is now established fact that his son, Leif Ericsson, landed on the coast of North America.
Eric was very modest, I think, not to christen Greenland Redland. And, in one of history’s great what-ifs, had he and not Sonny Ericsson kept going west it might have been the old man who ended up being remembered as the Viking who named America (as in I Am Eric, aaaargh!).
It is not as though there was any shortage of land to explore back home. Of all twelve countries I will pass through on this voyage, there is none in which I will do more travelling than Norway. By train, bus and boat I will go more than 4600 km, or 277 km a day, nearly three times the overall average. It is worth spending a few moments to examine why.
A map-gazer might imagine Norway to be bigger than it really is (one-and-a-third Victorias). Here it’s not size that matters so much as extent: those long hours between rest stops are due to the Arctic region’s remoteness from major population centres — it is nearly as far from north to south as from Melbourne to Brisbane — combined with the profusion of fjords necessitating long roundabout routes rather than direct ones.
It’s high time someone came to the defence of those of us who refuse to travel light, who are constantly being urged to go further and do more with less. A pox on the minimalists, I say. My luggage on this odyssey consists of one sportsbag, one suitcase and a large hessian bag full of clothes. Adding my backpack and its contents, that makes about 50 kg of accoutrements.
Some of this bulk is unavoidable. A certain amount of urological gear I must take with me. Some is an indulgence. A dozen books for the road fall into this category. And some of it is there for no better reason than that I am notoriously sloppy when it comes to packing. But, it occurs to me, there is one powerful argument for travelling heavy. If a robber has designs on your belongings, keeping them in a 20 kg bag acts as a powerful deterrent. He can’t just lift it and run off.
But how do I cross a continent with so much to weigh me down? The secret is that it’s never more than 200 metres between hotel and bus, or railway station locker and platform. That’s the theory, anyway. For the most part it works well enough — and when it doesn’t I put the sportsbag and suitcase in a locker, if one is available, and carry the rest on my lap. From where I sit, those who pack as little in the way of portable goods for two years abroad as they would for a weekend in the countryside are suffering the severest disability of them all — a lack of imagination. When all is said and done, you only pass this way once. Thus endeth my homily on the unbearable lightness of luggage.
137 km
Just after 10 am (having reset my watch two hours earlier than Moscow time) I arrive in Kirkenes — a neat ‘frontier town’ even if it is 45 km from the border — just in time to hear that the thrice-weekly ‘boat’ is about to leave for Mehamn.
North Cape is often touted as the northernmost point of Europe. But look closely and you’ll see it’s on an island. If you’re going to call the tip of an island the north of Europe, the honour should really go to some windswept cape in Franz Josef Land or Spitsbergen. Avoid the tourist hordes with their vain boasts. A quick map consultation reveals your destination as a far lonelier road, a promontory 100 km to the east of North Cape’s island. This balloon-shaped land called North Half Island (Nordkyn) is ‘tied’ to the
But the more attention I paid to the countries along the path of my descent through the Continent, the wider my eyes grew: the Norman coast of France was so called because the Normans are the Northmen, 4 and the city of San Sebastian in the Basque Country was founded by Norsemen early in the ninth century. Eric the Red was a Viking famous for exploring Greenland and settling the best farmland there (not a great amount of choice, one suspects). It is now established fact that his son, Leif Ericsson, landed on the coast of North America.
Eric was very modest, I think, not to christen Greenland Redland. And, in one of history’s great what-ifs, had he and not Sonny Ericsson kept going west it might have been the old man who ended up being remembered as the Viking who named America (as in I Am Eric, aaaargh!).
It is not as though there was any shortage of land to explore back home. Of all twelve countries I will pass through on this voyage, there is none in which I will do more travelling than Norway. By train, bus and boat I will go more than 4600 km, or 277 km a day, nearly three times the overall average. It is worth spending a few moments to examine why.
A map-gazer might imagine Norway to be bigger than it really is (one-and-a-third Victorias). Here it’s not size that matters so much as extent: those long hours between rest stops are due to the Arctic region’s remoteness from major population centres — it is nearly as far from north to south as from Melbourne to Brisbane — combined with the profusion of fjords necessitating long roundabout routes rather than direct ones.
It’s high time someone came to the defence of those of us who refuse to travel light, who are constantly being urged to go further and do more with less. A pox on the minimalists, I say. My luggage on this odyssey consists of one sportsbag, one suitcase and a large hessian bag full of clothes. Adding my backpack and its contents, that makes about 50 kg of accoutrements.
Some of this bulk is unavoidable. A certain amount of urological gear I must take with me. Some is an indulgence. A dozen books for the road fall into this category. And some of it is there for no better reason than that I am notoriously sloppy when it comes to packing. But, it occurs to me, there is one powerful argument for travelling heavy. If a robber has designs on your belongings, keeping them in a 20 kg bag acts as a powerful deterrent. He can’t just lift it and run off.
But how do I cross a continent with so much to weigh me down? The secret is that it’s never more than 200 metres between hotel and bus, or railway station locker and platform. That’s the theory, anyway. For the most part it works well enough — and when it doesn’t I put the sportsbag and suitcase in a locker, if one is available, and carry the rest on my lap. From where I sit, those who pack as little in the way of portable goods for two years abroad as they would for a weekend in the countryside are suffering the severest disability of them all — a lack of imagination. When all is said and done, you only pass this way once. Thus endeth my homily on the unbearable lightness of luggage.
137 km
Just after 10 am (having reset my watch two hours earlier than Moscow time) I arrive in Kirkenes — a neat ‘frontier town’ even if it is 45 km from the border — just in time to hear that the thrice-weekly ‘boat’ is about to leave for Mehamn.
North Cape is often touted as the northernmost point of Europe. But look closely and you’ll see it’s on an island. If you’re going to call the tip of an island the north of Europe, the honour should really go to some windswept cape in Franz Josef Land or Spitsbergen. Avoid the tourist hordes with their vain boasts. A quick map consultation reveals your destination as a far lonelier road, a promontory 100 km to the east of North Cape’s island. This balloon-shaped land called North Half Island (Nordkyn) is ‘tied’ to the
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