The Northern Lights - when they appear - can be one of the greatest experiences in travel. Anthony Horowitz found the hunt a disappointment but Teresa Machan struck lucky.
'How would you like to see the Northern Lights?” the editor of Discover asked me at the end of last year – and in that question, and my answer to it, lay all the pleasures and perils of travel writing.
Of course I wanted to see them. I’d read Philip Pullman. I’d seen Joanna Lumley on television, lying in ecstasy in the Arctic wastes with a swarm of electric particles dancing around her and a full philharmonic orchestra tucked away just out of sight. And now, thanks to this person at the end of the telephone, I could see them myself.
I cancelled everything. Forget the Foyle’s War production meeting and my red-hot tickets for David Tennant as Richard II. I grabbed my suitcases and my wife, who had agreed to come with me, and together we set off on the adventure of a lifetime: sailing from Bergen to Kirkenes in Norway on what our cruise company, Hurtigruten, called “the world’s most beautiful voyage”, and rightly so, for we would be sailing through gorgeous fjords, past soaring mountains and dazzling glaciers with cormorants following in our wake.
From the moment we arrived at the desolate terminal in Bergen, to be told by a representative that our boat had broken down, things began to go wrong. Bergen, a city on the west coast of Norway, had little to recommend it on this day. What is it best known for? Well, the Black Death started here. It was drizzling. The bookshop didn’t stock my books. And this was where we were stuck for the next 30 hours.
Bergen didn't hold much appeal for Anthony Horowitz
We boarded another ship the next day but we didn’t love it. The décor reminded me of a cross between a Las Vegas casino and a care home. I just don’t know what they were thinking of when they ordered those mustard-yellow carpets with the Olympic rings. Entertainment consisted of a solitary pianist at an electric piano. The food was not great. Lectures were just short films projected from an ancient laptop. The boat, in reality a car ferry, was about one-10th full, and the Ancient Mariner probably enjoyed a jollier atmosphere.
Perhaps other travellers realised that in December you get only about three hours of daylight. We barely saw any fjords. Half the time, due to weather conditions, our ship – the Nordlys – couldn’t even make it through them, which left us, uncomfortably, in rocky seas. We did see a lot of container ports. Hurtig ruten (“fast route” in Norwegian) provides a vital supply line for all the towns and villages along the coast. We visited quaint places we’d never heard of and which we were unable to spell – Ørnes and Skjervøy, for example. But we had less than 30 minutes to explore them. Drown our sorrows? Hardly. Food and wine are insanely expensive in Norway, and wine started at £30 a bottle.
Here’s my problem. All I’m doing is complaining and I’m not sure that’s what travel writers are meant to do. Maybe I should be focusing more on the giant crabs they showed us on deck, which were quite fun. Or Trondheim cathedral, impressive even at 8.30 on a freezing Tuesday morning. What will Hurtigruten say when they read this? They did invite me, after all, and they gave me the best cabin.
But if I’m going to have a regular column in this newspaper, which does seem to be the idea, surely my first duty is to be honest about what I experienced? I should mention that there was a large group from Bath, who seemed to be enjoying it a lot more than I was and clearly didn’t mind either the food or the swirly carpets – but then they were on board for much less time.
Can I offer some advice? If I were you I’d travel in late February or March, when you might still see the Northern Lights but you’ll have more daylight, too. Actually, I’d still recommend Hurtigruten – I’m not even sure there’s an alternative – but I’d start much farther north. You can fly direct to Tromsø, which is inside the Arctic Circle and cuts out days of pointless cruising. Kirkenes has an airport, too, and if it’s really the lights you’re after, you could just fly there and sit next to the runway for as long as it takes.
This article should finish with a surprise twist, and believe me when I say that, as I paced the empty corridors and sat in my cabin with my increasingly acrimonious wife, I was desperately hoping I would be able to write it. This would be the bit when I actually saw the Northern Lights and was able to tell you that, after all, the whole experience was not just worthwhile but life-changing.
Well, I did see them! On the last night they glimmered for a short time and they were strange and ethereal and very beautiful. There were spirals and ribbons twisting across the intensely black sky and I felt an extraordinary sense of loneliness and desolation as the universe began its command performance. To the east, Venus was more intense than I’d ever seen it and the moon was a brittle, brilliant white. Best of all, there were four or five shooting stars, something I had never seen before. They fizzed above me, blazing for a few seconds and then gone. Quite thrilling.
But unlike Joanna Lumley, I’m afraid what I got was more Northern lite than lights. We saw none of the colours and very little of the intensity. It was all over quickly and I’m afraid I went to bed feeling: you’ve seen them now. You don’t have to go back.
I will try to do better next time.
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