It was too cloudy for the northern lights that night--a trend that was to continue for days--so I retreated to the cabin and looked over the ship's itinerary. I had wondered how the Hurtigruten could hit more than 30 ports in a week, and now it made sense. By 8 the next morning, the ship would have already stopped in three ports, 15 minutes apiece. Throughout the cruise, we'd typically be in and out of a port in less than an hour, often after all the shops had closed for the night. We had time to get out and explore only a few of the towns, but the frequent stopping made for a slow pace. Hurtigruten means "fast route," but it's fast only in the same sense that the pony express was once  considered "express."

Breakfast was buffet-style and quite good. There was usually bacon, eggs, and skillingsbollers along with the meats, fresh bread, jam, yogurt, coffee, tea, and juices one expects from a continental breakfast in Europe. Lunch and dinner featured plenty of seafood--trout, crab, cod, salmon--but chicken, pasta, or beef was also generally available. The food was decent if a little repetitive (enough with the boiled potatoes), but what irked many people were the beverage prices. The ship charged for everything except water: Beer was $7, Cokes were $4 each, bottles of wine started around $30, even a glass of milk cost $2. It didn't matter that the prices were typical throughout Norway.

While the Hurtigruten didn't have much happening onboard, it did offer one or two excursions each day. We wanted to see Norway at its prettiest and most rugged, and the two trips we signed up for certainly delivered. The first was a visit to the Geirangerfjord ($70). Because the fjord is so narrow, we had to board a smaller boat to navigate between the steep green walls rising out of the water. All those glorious brochures of Norway came to life, with waterfalls streaming down craggy slopes and weathered farmhouses snuggled into the mountainsides. We got off the boat at the small village of Geiranger to board a bus that wound its way over a mountain pass with spectacular views of the fjord below. Eventually we met up with the Midnatsol at another port.

The other excursion we went for was the Svartisen Glacier ($115). Again, we had to board a smaller boat, which looped its way among rocky fishing outposts and snowcapped peaks. The mammoth glacier with RV-size chunks of blue ice eventually emerged. Our boat docked, and we snapped photos at the edge of a clear oval lake fed by glacial runoff. The skies grew gray after awhile, so we sat inside a lakeside lodge, drinking hot chocolate and gazing up at the age-old wall of ice and snow.

There were also a few opportunities to get off at the ports and poke around on our own. We had four hours to check out Trondheim, Norway's third-largest city, founded in 997. Other passengers wandered around the west side of the Nidelva River, home to most of the city's hotels and stores. Going against the grain, we strolled over the bridge and discovered Trondheim's old town, where students rode bicycles down cobblestone lanes and understated markets and coffee shops inhabited small wooden buildings. 

Jeff and I reveled in our chances to get off the ship, while other passengers were content to spend hour after hour chatting or reading as dark mountains and endless sea drifted on by. Several people told me that they liked the Hurtigruten specifically because it was so quiet--no disco, no forced social events, no rowdy people to spoil their relaxation. A wide-eyed British woman whose father was in the Royal Navy was having a particularly good time. She would stop us in the hallway to talk about the ship's latest navigational marvel. "Did you see that steering maneuver through the fjord last night? Just extraordinary. Brilliant, really. These Norwegians know how to sail."

A few Americans we ran into weren't quite as happy. A Californian named Holly, who told me she had been on several luxury cruises in the past, was particularly upset because the waiters wouldn't bring her aged mother tea at dinner. "This was not what I expected," she said one night. "My travel agent is going to get an earful when I get home."

Jeff and I played cards much of the time, like a couple of kids at a beach house when it rains. But eventually I embraced the slow tempo. I enjoyed sitting in the upper lounge with a book, listening to the soft mutterings of a half-dozen languages in the room, and glancing up to see yet another bright-red home perched improbably on a mountain incline, like a magnet on a refrigerator door.

After Neptune leaves and we head further north, the scenery turns bleak. Trees and villages pop up less frequently, and in their stead are brown hills and rocky islands. With the exception of Tromsø--an attractive town with open squares, hip shops, and a backdrop of snow-covered mountains--the remaining ports lack charm. It seems like we're reaching the end of the earth, and we are. Toward the conclusion of the cruise, the only land between us and the North Pole is Svalbard, an Arctic archipelago that's home to about as many polar bears as people.

On our final night, we sit to a dinner of traditional Norwegian food: salmon, cod, and tasty reindeer meat, as well as some items I'm not brave enough to try (particularly a black sausage we're told is whale). 

Jeff and I throw on coats and wool hats and go up to the deck at around 10 p.m., full of hope after nearly a week of striking out with the northern lights. A few passengers are already there, craning their necks. I stare straight up and see nothing but darkness. Jeff whacks my shoulder and points off to the west. Just above the horizon is a soft, spooky green hue. I turn around and discover more green mist. It isn't the luminous red or yellow that I've seen on posters, but it is magical nonetheless. And, after a week of relentless tranquillity, I'm relaxed enough to stand for the better part of an hour, staring at the Arctic sky and enjoying the show.

Transportation, food and attractions