We have been blessed with extraordinarily good weather. While the sun’s up (which it is for 24 hours a day unless there’s cloud cover) most folk are out in t-shirts. It’s hard to believe that this is the high Arctic - not that I’ve seen anybody in either of the ship’s pools yet. Mind you, out of the sun and in the wind, it’s a different story.
Monday morning we sailed into the little town of Honningsvag in the North Cape, Norway’s northern tip. The quay there was barely 2/3 the length of the ship and it took a while before the captain was happy with the numerous hawsers securing his vessel to bollards and buoys.
Then followed an hour-long circus while the crew struggled to attach a long gangway to the ship. The quay – really more of a pier – was narrow and there was no easy way to swing the gangway around. Most days we have exited through a small door low in the ship but the low tide had dropped this door too far below the quay for comfort.
By the time the gangway was in place, the incoming tide had raised the ship sufficiently for us to use the usual door – and we streamed out. All very embarrassing and ironic. Mind a three-metre tidal rise and fall is no easy business to cope with, except for the small whale that was sporting itself in the harbour.
It was evidently not in the least distressed by the pilot boat that hovered around us, dragging the hawsers across the water to the anchor buoys.
The town is really just a fishing port and tourist drop-off for the bus excursions to the Cape. We had opted not to go on an excursion (which might have been a mistake, given the rave reviews they got) choosing to wander around the town instead.
In the little museum we came to understand why all the places we had seen so far looked so new and smart. The retreating German occupation force in 1944 levelled towns and villages as they went in a scorched earth policy intended to slow down the advance of the allied forces. So virtually everything one sees has been built post-war. 
A leisurely amble through the town brought us to the old church, reportedly the only building that was left standing after the destruction of the town. To my great surprise I came across a small open basket beside a notice asking for donations for a new organ.
In the basket was a handful of coins and a couple of notes. They were there for the taking by any thief. Thieves were clearly thin on the ground. We added to the collection as we left the church. I hope the parishioners get to enjoy their new organ one of these days.
Tuesday morning found us sailing up yet another fjord to the island city of Tromso, easily the biggest and busiest centre in the region. Like most of the towns we have visited, it sprawls across several islands linked by bridges, ringed by low snow-clad mountains.
Our excursion bus took us first to the city museum, located strangely on the outskirts, well off the beaten track. It was well laid out and we spent an easy hour there. 
So was the cable car ride to the summit of one of the many snowy summits overlooking Tromso. In the sunny weather, many of our companions were in shirt-sleeves. Great patches of melting snow lay all around.
Our final visit was to a spectacular Lutheran church, built in 1965. It’s much easier to look at the pictures than to try to describe it. What I can say is that it was filled with light, a pleasure on the eye and a solace to the spirit. We were welcome to take photos and we did.
Our tour guide was happy for us to leave the tour bus at that point and to wander across the spectacular bridge from the mainland to Tromso proper (a 15 minute hike) to explore the city centre on our own.
We enjoyed a beer (me), coffee (Jonesy) and a prize-winning club-sandwich at a harbour café (£30 please!) before idling our way around a craft market and the main drag.
At one of the stalls in the market we found a few small gifts. In general, we were disappointed by the quality of the offerings in the numerous souvenir shops. These displayed the usual plastic tourist tat along with animal furs and and locally-made clothing. The souvenirs were mainly cheap and horrible, the clothing attractive and very expensive. Norway is not a country in which to save money.
The weather was perfect, a warm sunny day with a slight breeze. Shorts and t-shirts were the norm. Squares and public patches of lawn were occupied by bikini-clad sunbathers catching up on their tans.
After a quick visit to the city’s art gallery, we took a shuttle bus the several kilometres back to the ship. To my amazement the bus entered a tunnel that proved to be part of a network of subterranean ring-roads. 
Traffic approaching from several directions swirled around a series of underground roundabouts. When we emerged five minutes later, we were right at the harbour on the far end of town. I’ve never seen the likes.
The last spectacle of the day was passing under one of the two great bridges linking Tromso to the mainland on either side of the fjord. The captain informed us that there would be a metre to spare between the funnel and the arch.
I couldn’t swear that it was exactly a metre but there was certainly little to spare. I snapped away with the camera like most of those around me. Then Jonesy and I retired to the cabin for a welcome baggy. We’d walked miles and it felt like it.
TROLLS ARE EVERYWHERE TO BE FOUND
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