It had been of no avail……I was grounded on a small airstrip, hundreds of kilometres North of the Polar Circle…..
Yes, it was true, that on the previous day, the wing of my plane to Oslo had clipped a building while taxiing at Gatwick airport, so that an alternative machine had to be found.
While this had delayed my flight so much, that I had missed my connection to Narvik on that day, I thought that I had been pretty smart by attending to the office of the rental company at Gardermoen, to inform their branch up North, that I would collect my car the following day.
After spending a night in the Norwegian capital with my veterinary colleagues, who were pleased to have an unexpected visitor, I caught the next available plane the following afternoon.
Needless to say though, that when I arrived at the small airport just East of the Lofoten Islands, my message had not been relayed, my car was gone and there was no other car to be had….neither at my own rental company nor at any of the competitors.
I just couldn’t believe it….the sun was shining, there was a blue sky with virtually no clouds and towards the horizon, one of the most scenic coastal landscapes in the world was beckoning me, while I was without any means of transport.
Public transportation wasn’t an option, as there was a bus only a couple of times a day connecting just the main towns. Moreover, it was unlikely that the driver would have been inclined to stop when I saw a good photo opportunity or agree if I wanted to make a small detour.
To travel independently, I needed my own transport.
I had pleaded, I had begged, I had shouted and I had sworn in both English and Norwegian and possibly even with a few German words thrown in. I had made it clear that pretty much any vehicle would do. I would even have agreed to a motorbike…
It was just hopeless…..as it was the middle of the summer, all cars were gone or booked up already.
After entertaining the small arrivals hall with my theatrics for the best part of an hour, the young clerk from my rental company approached me, clearly impressed by my perseverance (and probably hoping to finally getting rid of me…..) and at last offering me a solution:
100 kilometres away in Sortland, they had allocated a small two seater van for me. Getting that vehicle would require a three hour bus journey, but I could keep the car for a week and it would allow me to travel independently.
I could have kissed the man…..
The bus was leaving half an hour later and after an uneventful coach journey, I was eventually presented with a car key and a small van, which, to add insult to injury, made me a rolling advertisement for the rental company that had so spectacularly let me down….
Well, I really didn’t mind, as this little van was providing me with a roof over my head for the – at that time of the year non-existent – nights and with ample space for my hiking gear.
A couple of days later, I had visited the postcard towns of Svolvær and Henningsvær, I had stayed in a Rorbu cabin in Reine and I had travelled to the town with the World’s shortest name: “Å “……
One of the most characteristic features on this journey were the rows and rows of wooden scaffolding, that were used to dry North Atlantic cod, one of the main streams of income for the local fishing industry.
So important was this food source, that the inhabitants of Å had dedicated a whole museum just to dried fish.
It was here that I learned that despite being available all over the country, the main bulk of dried Norwegian cod was exported, to a country further South on the Atlantic coast: Portugal…..
It is 12 years later and with no rental car issues this time, I am sitting together with Neca Jerkovic, one of Slovenia’s best veterinary surgeons, at Casa da India in Barrio Alto in Lisbon.
I had met Neca a couple of days earlier at the local vet school, while she was busy opening the chest of a dog by cutting through the middle of the its sternum – not the best time for a casual conversation…..
My companion had suggested this unpretentious eatery as one of the city’s best places for seafood and sure enough, here I was once again confronted with Norwegian cod and with the memories of my visit to the Lofoten Islands.
Gutted and then dried in the fresh, unpolluted air along the polar coast, seasoned with the salt of the North Atlantic, bundled in this desiccated state which makes it so much easier to transport and shipped along century old trading routes to the South of the continent, there replenished with water of the Tagus, and married with Mediterranean vegetables and lemon juice, in front of me I found a very simple dish that was in fact a true delicacy.
The Blue Vet Diary 