Scandiroads #4 Søte Lille Henningsvær

I already consider Norway as one of Europe’s highlights, but the Lofoten islands are absolutely a sub-highlight, again divided into many sub-sub-highlights. As I always want to have that local experience in which I am being flooded with the cultural aspects of a place, little town’s are my happy place. My heart just melts when I am being welcomed into a place where they feel so proud of their own DNA, their old fairy tale, their proud heritage. If not for these places, if not for these people making it their lifestyle to maintain their original culture, where would we unleash our travel desires ? As sort of a reward, I therefore make it my goal to support only local stores, the smaller the better. Thank god, there’s many ones agreeing on that with me, which is why the little town of Henningsvær won a top 10 spot at the Lofoten-list.

So off I went again, today’s sky was grey and rainy, and its wind blew a cold 9 degrees towards me. Ironically I was truly greatful, as on that day the Netherlands had to endure 42 degrees. And a place as beautiful like that doesn’t lose its beauty just because the sky turns grey and the mist hides the mountaintops. It makes it more mysterious, it is that prove that the weather is as rough as the island itself, as unpredictable. Good thing was that the roads were pretty empty, the Lofoten is an outdoor- destination, although it still has many lovely museums to stroll around in, but I myself am forever enchanted and attracted by nature. So some rain and wind weren’t going to stop me, as I found my way over the curvy hilly roads, passing sharp corners cutting trough rough mountainsides, with the black wild ocean by my side. Again it was a 2 hour ride, which in the Netherlands I would have considered long. But on this island time was nothing. I wasn’t depending on where to be and when to be, I wasn’t depending on the daylight, I wasn’t depending on a schedule. I just drove.

As the foggy clouds floated by and every now and then revealed some sharp mountains tops and the deep green hills that formed their base, the sea got rougher. The waves built up their speed as they raced towards the pointy cliffs, where they exploded into millions of waterdrops. Staring through the fog I could see a blur of houses coming up in the middle of the water, and as I got sooner I saw the only way to get there, was by defying an incredibily small, tiny bridge. Despite me loving the lack of human adjustments to this rough island, I was greatful for a trafficlight telling me when I could safely cross the bridge without having to go face oncoming traffic. The rain was still falling down softly and cooled my face immediately when I left the cosiness of the car. Here some more cars had gathered together and I saw some confused faces trying to buy a parking ticket at a very oldschool machine. I followed the colourful rain jackets over small streets between the colourful wooden houses, which seemed very old or even abandoned. I went of the track a bit and entered a small wooden bridge, that crossed a clear little lake. Despite it being as clear as polished glass, seaweed danced around under the wrinkling water surface, its movement caused by nothing but raindrops. Around the little lake colourful houses gathered, not too many and also not too fancy, but all very colourful, all leaning on wooden poles which probably made them look so unsteady. Some of the buildings didn’t even have windows or if they did, they were a dark blur. One of the red building close to me, did look modern and definitely alive, so I entered into a bright souvenir shop. Souvenirs, my weakness. A special shout-out to the little snowglobes, I can barely fit another one on my desk. A little magnet I could take and so I did, it is always a task that I have to fulfil at a new destination: souvenir-hunting. Not from the big stores that sell the dreadful I LOVE .. t-shirts and cups, no, a little local store with hand-made stuff, a little piece of the place.

For as deep as possible I hid away into my rain jacket and followed the narrow yet lively small street surrounded by the spooky fishermen’s houses, looking like a true parakeet on a mission. And suddenly the little houses moved away and made room for a little square, a perfect circle with again many small, old, coloured wooden buildings around it. but this time no abandoning, all of these buildings were full of life. Their windows lit up the grey sky and had me coming in right away. I first entered a big red building just because of the beautiful name, Engelskmannsbrygga. It turned out to be a place where they not only sold, but also created beautiful cups and glass art. Sadly not within my student budget but, absolutely perfect. There’s one way to get me crazy about shopping: local-shopping. Seeing everything the destination offers, as long as it tells a little story about themselves. I almost wanted to buy an adorable wooden hat, but it was still summer, so that would be morally wrong. Next stop was again a souvenirshop, as this little town was mainly thriving on tourism. But everything here, was made out of wood. As I’ve always considered moose my spirit animal, I fell for a wooden cup with a moose crafted on it, before I forced myself to put that wallet away and stroll around for free from now on.

Of course that plan failed, a human needs lunch, and I could have bought something from the little supermarkets, but my eye fell upon one of the many wooden signs here, as each sign, whether traffic related or store related, existed out of painted letters on wooden signs. ‘Fiskekrogen’, I couldn’t resist such a cosy name. The only not wooden building of this town was over 30 years old and as its name said, completely dedicated to fish. And I feel like a total pussy for having eaten a brownie here. I have this fear of getting sick from fish just because it happened once, I literally laughed at myself for the rest of the day but I did really enjoy my happily decorated brownie. The rain continued, but so did my journey. Dry clothes waited for me in the car but I still had a big fat hour of free parking to go, which I wasn’t going to waste just because of some water coming from the sky. Water was just part of the lofoten and the changeable water its main character, part of the rough and pure nature that thrived here. The last liquid bits of my molten heart now dripped away when I passed a ‘lokal ost’ (local cheese) store, a tiny blue wooden thingie that barely had room for a few cheeses here and there. But I had to be brave and continue, for my own financial sake.

I now entered the harbour of Henningsvaer, and what a happy place that was, I swear the atmosphere didn’t suffer from the fact that I couldn’t see the mountains surrounding this little fishermen’s town. The water was crystal clear and I could even spot a few purple sea urchins below the peaceful surface. This small canal slowly transferred into the wild black ocean around it, but this was a peaceful little harbour surrounded by the most colourful, brightly painted houses, uncomfortably balancing on their wooden poles with their boats as their floating frontyards. My last stop for now arrived after I walked over a muddy gravel road, where a bunch of crooked mailboxes proved that the quiet coloured houses actually were inhabited. This town was both spooky and fairytale, both quiet and alive, both local and touristic. But tourism is exactly what the local places need to sustain, as long as they chose to stay true to their own culture and not give into the temptation of building ugly big hotels just for that extra inflow of cash. My rainy walk now lead me to the main highlight of henningsvaer: the footballfield. Yes, a footballfield, but not just a footballfield. It was build on a little peninsula of Henningsvaer. It was a gathering of pointy little islands, that were somehow connected. And somewhere in their middle, there was plenty of surface for a big flat footballfield, which was a strange contrast between the pointy rocks. Here I ended my journey to henningsvaer as my parking time was over, what a perfect little place to just quickly randomly add to your schedule. I said goodbye to the wilderness of the ocean, and strolled back to the warmth of my car.

- It's an amazing life