Å

Being the type of people to ignore rules, we took an earlier bus to Å ("Or"). With the ship moored at Reine, close to the southern tip of the Lofoten Islands, reaching Å, even further south and almost at the end of Lofoten, meant a short bus ride along a windy, mainly single-track road past gaily coloured wooden huts and a picturesque rocky coastline.

The journey was also littered with extensive farms of drying racks where, from next month until June, tons of cod will be hung out to dry, to make the famous local product of stockfish.

The village itself was quiet. Our driver said we'd done well to visit in the winter. By the time summer rolls around the village will play host to half a million visitors. 

There's plenty to see here. A boat museum, a bakery, a café, but we were happy just to walk about, soaking in the solitude, the remoteness, the crash of the waves, and being thankful that the rain held off. It started drizzling as we were making our way back to the bus.

We had time to ask one of the tour guides for a photo, and also to pay a visit to "Hut No. 3" where an elderly Norwegian lady sat knitting, ready to tell us the tale of the young man who originally built his hut in a much more populous and prosperous town, but after visiting Å and falling in love with a local girl, he returned home, dismantled his hut, numbered the pieces, shipped it to the village, and reassembled it, adding a kitchen and upper storey sleeping area, to make a suitable home for his lady love.