14 September 2002 - Mission Accomplished!
Unscathed (the snoring had scared all the dangerous animals away), our heroes awoke early, well 10am, and decided to kick off with a bacon sarnie and a cup of coffee at the edge of the lake. No-one said camping had to be primitive...

Al took the first stage, out of the forests and up into the mountains towards the Norwegian border. As we continued into the North West of Sweden the weather and the scenery once more began to change. Into the mountains and the temperature was dropping by half a degree every ten minutes as we began to climb from sea level up to about 2000 feet.

The mountains were awesome. They were pretty cool to look at too, but they made for some fantastic arcade-style driving! By now we were beginning to feel like we were really getting somewhere. The temperature had dropped from 14C when we left Lappland to 5C as we came up into the clouds and peaks of the Norwegian border. A border that realistically we would have missed, had it not been for the fact that the (very rare) lines in the middle of the road changed from white to yellow.

And we were finally in Norway, albeit 5 days later than planned. Having popped over the mountains at Mo I Rana we joined the Arctic Highway for the next leg north.

The Arctic Highway - quite a grand title for the only road in the country that goes this far north. Quite a grand title for what is effectively a badly marked and almost unsurfaced 'b' road that walks a fine line between 'useful route' and 'certain free-falling death'. The edges of the road as we left Mo I Rana were clearly marked (by 300 ft drops into the fjord below, usually without any form of barrier) but nobody had bothered putting any other markings down. We soon found out why when we met our first lorry - the road isn't wide enough for cars and lorries to pass without using the verge! Fortunately lorries are few and far between up here. People are few and far between up here.

By now we were watching the GPS unit, closely monitoring our latitude. N66'33'' was our goal - the Arctic Circle - and Mo I Rana was N66'20''. It looked like we were actually going to do it! We even had a full tank of petrol! 45 miles north and the scenery took another dramatic turn. Over the space of about 500 yards, the lush green foliage of the fjords just stopped. No trees, no green stuff, just rock and mountains - it made Dartmoor look like somewhere you would want to live. God, it even made Plymouth look like somewhere you would want to live. We were beginning to spot snow capped peaks poking through the clouds to the left and right of us as we wound our through the valley, and as we passed under the shadow of a huge glacier (which no doubt was busy depositing scree willy-nilly around the landscape) we saw the monument that marks the exact point the Arctic circle crosses the highway, and the memorial to the Russian POW's who had been made to build the worlds most desolate road.

And there was much rejoicing.

The Arctic Circle Visitors Centre is not what you could call 'one of Europe's busiest attractions'. I think it is probably fair to say that it is not actually what you could call 'one of Europe's attractions'. As the only car in the car park, probably for ten years, it looked slightly less popular than the vegetarian restaurant over looking the seal culling centre further down the coast. We decided to leave whatever strange creatures staffed the place alone in their dark cave of a 'centre' and wandered up to the monument for the obligatory photo call. It was here that we found the sign that strictly prohibited the placing of stones on top of each other - a sign which had been ignored by hundreds of people, or at least by one person with too much time on his hands. Little piles of rocks littered the horizon, like little piles of Troll poo - quite surreal given our location and the backdrop of forbidding mountains and glaciers. And scree, of course.

Dan took over for the next hundred miles up to Bodo, largest town in the Nordlands. The scenery began to change every time we left a tunnel - from glaciers and mountains to fjords and forests it was all stunning. The houses around the edges of the fjords had turf and grass roofs, which can look quite odd with smoke pouring out of them - somehow reminiscent of the Telly Tubbies house. Allegedly. There was lots of scree too.

Nightfall saw our arrival in Bodo so we went straight to the 4 star camp site and demanded a suite. Mildly upset that all of the suites had been taken by the Pink Floyd tribute band that were playing in the hotel - sorry camp site - bar that evening, we checked in and got ready to explore the highlights of Bodo. After Dan had made some interesting and soon to be published discoveries regarding belly-button fluff, that is.

For some reason Bodo was completely levelled in one day in 1940. By whom or why we were not entirely sure, but it seemed like it was due another levelling. Completely rebuilt in the 50's, it's a sort of Northern Exposure / Milton Keynes hybrid, with a fishy smell thrown in for good measure. That said, there was quite a bit going on - far more than we had encountered anywhere else since leaving Amsterdam.

Bad Boy Volvos were something that we hadn't encountered before. Imagine Sutton on a Saturday night, only replace XR3i's for Volvo estates. Then take into account the lack of Halfords' in the Arctic circle. We're talking hand customised, hand lowered, hand painted estate cars, cruising around with mdf body kits nailed to the sides. Hmmm, nice touch.

The next few hours were rather surreal.

We headed out to the best fish restaurant in the Arctic Circle - as one of Norways larger fishing towns we thought the fish here would be pretty awesome. It was of course closed - unlike most closed restaurants, however, the tables were laid, there were lit candles on every table, just no people. And a locked door. Odd, not to mention dangerous.

A quick pint (£6 each) in the very Nordically titled 'Wind Jammer Pub' and the barman recommended 'Egon's' next door. Beating a hasty exit as our fame spread around the bar (crazy English etc) we found ourselves is the only open restaurant in Bodo - Norway's equivalent of a Harvester. Another strike for the Galloping Gourmets.

From there, we found a late bar off the beaten track.
A late bar with a piano in it.
A late bar with a piano in it and a piano player from Preston, North West England, called Dave.

Dave started his set by insulting the Norwegians in the bar, too quickly for them to get upset, before taking the piss out of the American Marines in the corner. One of whom was actually called Chuck. For real. A closer look at our surroundings revealed something on the ceiling that looked rather like a blood stain. Dave started winding up the Marines by slagging off the US precision bombing screw-ups over the last few years. We left before Dave joined the blood stains on the ceiling, and retreated to the roof-top bar of our hotel.

Things did not get any better.

Obviously in town to complete an oil deal of some description, we were sharing the bar with two groups of Americans. Not entirely what you expect 100 miles north of the Arctic Circle. Biting our tongues against laughter and outrage, we settled into a couple of Lagavullins and listened. Intently.

The only way to do justice to the conversation we overheard is to present a few eavesdroppings as direct quotes. It is important to remember that the speaker appears to be the CEO of a large international oil company and represents the top 1% of his country. A country that is undeniably the most powerful in the world. And outside it, apparently.

'Americans are actually genetically superior to other humans'
'The American people own the Moon'
'Islam is generally peaceful - it's the rabble on the outside {punch open hand with fist} we're gonna nail.'
'We have declared a holy war on Islam. Or Iraq.'
To the Norwegians in the bar 'Say, didn't we rescue you from the Germans?'
'I think we should pay the Brazilians subsidies for using their oxygen'

And, our favourite:

'World opinion be damned!'

We need to get out of this place... Even further North we think! Good night!

PS, only too late did we discover that 3 whiskies each cost us £64...

More soon...

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