Gryllefjord and back

What a trip! Thirteen hours to an area so remote my Lonely Planet guidebook does not even mention it.

But worth every twist and turn.

Gryllefjord is like most northern coastal communities in Norway. It is a fishing town. The population is just 378, all who speak one of Norway’s two official dialects Bokmal, which literally means “book language.” The scenery is breathtaking. It is like someone pushed their thumb into snow-capped mountain range, let sea water fill the gap and dropped in several hundred quaint wooden wharves and fishing boats.

Appreciating Gryllefjord’s natural beauty was easy. Getting there was not.

The trip began at 7 am with a ferry from Tromso to Finnsnes.

The 1 hour 40 minute ride was calm at times.

And rough at others.

Finnsnes is not designed for tourists, which is weird given ferries arrive there several times a day, including the massive Hurtigruten. There are no museums, no galleries, and no attractions in this small city of 4,000 (a town conspicuously absent from my guidebook).I had more than four hours to pass, so I took the advice of a hotel worker and walked to the apex of a large bridge linking Finnsnes to the town of Senja. He said view from the bridge “spectacular” and he was right. What he failed to mention was the bridge’s sidewalk was extremely narrow and exposed to passing traffic

So, up I went, aware I was the lone pedestrian on the bridge, but relieved given the space constrains.

At the Finnsnes bus station I nearly stepped on the wrong bus to Gryllefjord, which happens when schedules are posted in a foreign language (my fault, nobody else) . Once on the correct bus, we twisted and turned along a road so narrow cars routinely pulled to one side to let us pass. When we arrived in Gryllefjord at 2 pm I was delighted but a little green around the gills. Before disembarking, I showed the driver my crumpled bus schedule and pointed to the return time. “Yah, Yah,” he said with a smile. “Please, please,” I thought to myself. I didn’t plan on eating. I packed my own salami and blue cheese sandwich but when the only bathroom (or water closet -WC) I found was in the town’s one café it seemed only fitting to buy lunch given I’d stunk up their one bathroom. Canadian guilt.Feeling brave I ordered a whale burger. “I can do that,” the owner said not very convincingly (more due to effort than availability) “but we also have the buffet. Come. See," she instructed. I ended up with a delicious spread of fish, homemade tartar sauce, and bread.

Just before I left, the owner’s daughter and grandson stopped in for lunch.

I spent the rest of the time wandering the streets in awe of the sea to sky mountains, cute houses and unpredictable weather.

And then …the wind blew the clouds away.

The bus, driven by a different driver, arrived at 5:05 pm sharp. Indeed all travel, whether by air, boat or bus has been remarkably punctual. I plopped myself down and stared out the window.

And even though it appears we are driving on the left side of the road we are actually right in the middle. (No audio with this clip)

Hard to believe it is June (Also no audio with this clip.)

The rest of the trip, including the ferry back to Tromso, was unremarkable, or I should say without incident. Back in my hotel room at the Clarion Hotel Bryggen, I pulled open a Tuborg (a Danish beer) and stared at my computer. I wanted to work. I also wanted to check out the rooftop hot tub. But the call of my bed was greater than the call of the wild. Can somebody please close the curtain. I need to sleep.