Tromsø to Alta
Polar exploration meets Sami culture and reindeer meat's for dinner, as we head to Alta.
When you’re in Tromsø it’s impossible to forget that you’re a very long way north indeed. In fact, the place lies 400km north of the Arctic Circle and there’s a polar atmosphere to it, even in the middle of summer. The buildings and streets are designed around the harsh winters; outdoor shops sell year-round thick Nordic jumpers and wooly socks. From mid-May to mid-July the sun never sets, so the nightlife is really ‘daylife’. There are more bars per capita in Tromsø than anywhere else in Norway, and with a vibrant university scene the streets were full of young people enjoying the late summer evening. It’s a city full of culture, music and museums.
Ralph and I were drawn to the Polar Museum - where else? Tromsø has been the launch pad for innumerable expeditions to the North Pole and Arctic, so it was the perfect place to learn all about Roald Amundsen, who reached the Pole first, and Fridtjof Nansen, who later swapped Polar exploration for humanitarian refugee work. Its simple harbourside building contained a wealth of exploration artefacts and dioramas. The long and infamous history of whale and seal-hunting carried out by generations of Norwegians was covered in depth and a variety of bloody exhibits testified to the brutal nature of the trade. Ralph found time to practice his aim with the second enormous harpoon-gun of the the trip. I don’t think any nearby minke’s need have worried.
We popped into the shops on the way back to buy some food for the trip. Where the local corner shop in the UK would have Walker’s Crisps with perhaps Marmite as the most challenging flavour, Vikingsnacks came in Elk, Whale and Reindeer flavours. No cuddly baby seal variety, at least.
Alta was our target for the day’s ride, the last staging-post before Nordkapp. We left Tromsø determined to come back and enjoy The World’s Most Northerly City at leisure again sometime. It really is an entrancing place. From November to January when the sun never rises it might be a different matter, though. You’d definitely need those winter woollies.
We had a couple of ferries to catch in order to avoid an enormous series of diversionary routes round the fjords that pierce the coastline. The Breivikeidet- Svensby ferry and then, on the other side of the stunningly beautiful Lyngen Alps, we were aiming for the longer crossing of the Lynseidet-Olderdalen ferry. As ferries were so much a part of our trip, I thought it wise to research them when I was planning the itinerary months before. I soon realised that with a few exceptions, such as the Bodø to Lofoten ferries, it wasn’t necessary or sometimes even possible to book them in advance. Generally, the timetables were frequent and the boats ran on time. They are seen as part of the Norwegian road network, and many of the shorter crossings are free. The longer ones, such as the two we’d take today would be chargeable. Svenbsy cost 43 NOK (£3.25) and Olderdalen 156 NOK (£12), so they’re not expensive. If you’re inspired by this blog to do a similar journey it’s worth remembering that the ferries don’t take cash or credit cards. Instead, register with ferrypay.no or flytpass.no. The Flytpass is linked to Ferrypay for crossings and also acts as a payment method for toll roads (of which there are many), if you have an electronic tag.
As we lingered in the first ferry queue of the day, braving the chill of the early morning, a delightful Swiss couple, Christoph and Stephanie, took pity on us and invited us into their camper van for coffees, biscuits and a chat. Our tales of the trip became increasingly heroic until the ferry’s horn called us back to reality.
Once over the short crossing to Svensby there was a steady convoy of traffic along the 14 miles of Ullsfjord, which almost splits the Lyngen Alps in two at Kjosen. The Alps rise to nearly 2,000 metres above sea level and stand out - literally - in a land of seriously impressive scenery. There are over 140 glaciers here and although it’s a Protected Area these majestic peaks are amongst Norway’s most popular climbing and hiking areas.
All the camper vans, cars and ourselves, as the only motorbikes, were heading to the same place, Lynseidet, for the same ferry, so there was no rush and we could enjoy a leisurely pace and an opportunity to take in our surroundings. Ralph and I were so chilled we didn’t even tell any dirty jokes. Instead, I heard over the intercom his deep and staccato melody, ‘Da De De Da Da/Da De De Da Da….’, which began to grow in intensity.
‘The Ride of The Valkyries’, I thought. How fitting. You see, we can do culture, too.
On the ferry we were directed up onto the ‘hat rack’, the narrow flying side decks that overlook the main car deck. It’s steep up and steep down, but kept us out of the way of the bigger vehicles. There’s always a heart- in-mouth moment going up the ramp and the surfaces could be notoriously slippery. We were aware that over a week had passed since any form of close shave and neither of us wanted to provoke the Trolls to mess with us. With more snow on the surrounding mountains than we’d seen so far, the temperature on the exposed fjord dropped to 6 or 7 degrees. Was this a sign of the trip to come? Would we be Ice Cold in Nordkapp?
Several hours in the saddle later we arrived in the salmon-fishing town of Alta, having left the high mountains behind. We were in the land of the Sami, the indigenous people of Northern Norway, Sweden, Finland and Russia. Some 45,000 Sami live in the Arctic tundra of Norway and they’re one of the world’s oldest cultures, traditionally making their living from reindeer herding.
To say Alta is a ‘salmon-fishing town’ is a bit like saying Wembley is a football pitch. In fact, the Alta River is one of the world’s best salmon rivers. A small number of local licences are issued annually but the big bucks come from a handful (70) of ‘out-of-town permits’ that cost several hundred thousand kroner each. Ralph and I emptied our pockets. Since we could only muster a few kroner, one used earplug and a lint-covered Trebor mint between us we decided that salmon was off the menu for dinner and Donner or Blitzen was going to be sacrificed instead.
Our lovely little log cabin at Alta River Camping was only a short trip from the Sami Siida Restaurant, a modern-day take on a traditional Sami village. The Lavvo pub, which was basically a big teepee, was shut for the evening. We had a dekko inside. There was a heavy emphasis on horns and furskins. An incongruous breeze block fireplace dominated the middle of the floor. It all looked rather sad. A bit like the junior reindeer who’d walked up to us outside, his antlers all velvet-covered.
We went into the restaurant, pretty famished after a busy day on the road, fuelled only by several lunchtime cans of Red Bull. Dinner choices were understandably quadruped focussed: reindeer stew, reindeer schnitzel, smoked reindeer. Our charming young waitress, Sunná, all togged up in Gákti traditional costume, recommended the reindeer. Well, that was a surprise. With lingonberry sauce (familiar to anyone who’s had the meatballs at IKEA), and tatty mash, the schnitzel was a rather toothsome meal. Ralph and I slunk slightly guiltily past National Velvet afterwards back to camp.
Alta is closer to the North Pole than to Oslo, so we had the definite sense of being on the cusp of a goal I’d been planning for several years, to ride my motorcycle from the southernmost tip of Europe in Tarifa, to its most northerly point, Nordkapp. Tomorrow, would, if all went well, see us reach Target Nordkapp, around 150 miles away. We were already over 4,000 kilometres away from the Midlands and it felt like ages since we’d left Hull.
Over a beer we discussed how many biking nationalities we’d already encountered on this epic trip. Back in Bremen we’d had a guess at how many different licence plates we’d see. We settled on ten countries, which was blob on, we figured. Nordkapp’s a magnetic attraction, and not just because of the Aurora Borealis (of which we saw nothing, in the eternal daylight up here in the summer). I love ticking a list - it’s what kept driving me to climb all the Munros. Scotland’s NC500, Ireland’s Wild Atlantic Way, Spain’s Tarifa, Norway’s Nordkapp - they’ve all been an ambition, maps pored over in the winter, itineraries drafted and re-drafted, accommodation and ferries booked, panniers packed to bursting and then culled, all the fidgety bits of planning that come to life once that key goes in the ignition and we’re off. How would it feel once I’d made it to Nordkapp? Would it be an anti-climax? And then I stopped and remembered the words of Robert Louis Stevenson:
“I travel not to go anywhere, but to go. I travel for travel’s sake. The great affair is to move.”
Who knows how long we each have in which to enjoy that movement? Really it didn’t matter where or how I moved. Norway, the bike, they were just the medium for the adventures I and Ralph were creating for ourselves. Memories that - the ravages of cruel ageing excepted - we would hold onto forever. Truly I had the Wanderlust.