Norway travel diary: Chasing the Northern Lights and Orcas

“Two ‘clock,” the voice uttered in a hush over the boat intercom. Expectant, tense, hopeful. I heard a whisper from near my elbow, “She’s wrong, it’s just 10.40.”

It was the missus, tapping her smartwatch and flashing the time. I nodded in disapproval, then gently but firmly swivelled her spray-drenched, knit-cap-covered head toward the direction indicated by the crew, forcing her gaze out to sea. Her eyes widened. At the same moment, a collective gasp rippled through the boat, validating the glee now unmistakably spread across my wife’s face and mine.

Orcas!

“Welcome to Tromsø,” I whispered in her ear. “Stop talking,” she hissed, unromantic, all business, “and take pictures.” With quiet resignation, I aimed my smartphone toward the pod of killer whales and mentally ticked one more item off the bucket list. “Aye aye, captain,” said I.

The decision to travel to Norway and using the country as a stopover to our final destination, Switzerland, was mine. The idea to visit Tromsø was hers.

“We must catch the Northern Lights this time,” she said, fixing me with a glare. I winced, shielding myself from her ire, hiding behind my laptop as I quickly and quietly swapped Bergen for Tromsø on the itinerary. All of this while we sat at home in Sharjah, scrolling through destination options and pretending this was a mutual decision. The context for her ire was a Finland trip more than six years ago, and a failed snowmobile excursion in Rovaniemi town to see the Northern Lights. Dark, cloud-covered night skies promised adventure and romance in spades, but no Lights. Tromsø, in Norway would be our second attempt to catch the magical aurora borealis in the Arctic Circle. “This had better work,” I prayed.

By the time we landed in Oslo in mid-November, the cold had already filed a formal complaint against us. It arrived on a wind-swept late dark afternoon, sharp as a freezer setting. “This is what Scandinavians call a gentle welcome,” I said as the wife unsuccessfully searched for a bit of sun that might have bravely accompanied us from Dubai. A short drive into the city centre later, we checked into our hotel, collapsed for a strategic nap, and agreed that survival itself deserved applause.

Morning brought redemption in the form of an excellent hotel breakfast. As I loaded my plate like a man preparing for a polar expedition, my wife raised an eyebrow. “Do you need that much smoked fish?”

“Absolutely,” I replied. “This is Norway. Even breakfast expects stamina.”

We wandered to the Oslo Opera House, admiring how Norwegians casually invite you to walk all over their architecture. “So people just… climb this?” she asked. “Yes,” I said. “In Norway, even buildings believe in cardio.”

Karl Johans Gate followed, where shopping is an Olympic sport. My wife window-shopped with intent. “Do you think I need a Norwegian sweater?” “I think Norway needs you to buy one,” I replied. An electric catamaran cruise through the Oslo fjords rounded off the day, silent enough for my wife to whisper, “This feels very zen.” “That’s the boat,” I quipped. “It judges loud people.”

The next day we flew to Tromsø, landing well above the Arctic Circle. Our hotel sat right by the marina, and wandering the snow-covered streets felt like stepping into a particularly tasteful snow globe. “It’s beautiful,” my wife sighed. It was.

We crossed the Tromsø Bridge — Tromsobrua — more than once, each time stopping mid-span to take in views of the freezing waters below and the city glowing faintly under polar darkness. From there, we made our way up to the Tromsø viewing point, where the city spread out beneath us like a scatter of stars dropped carelessly on snow. “This feels dramatic,” my wife said. “Norway specialises in casual drama,” I replied.

The Arctic Cathedral followed, its sharp triangular lines rising starkly against the winter sky. Inside, the stillness was profound, the stained glass catching what little ambient light there was. “It’s spectacular,” she whispered. I could not help but notice that we were beginning to agree on a lot of things, magical this.

That evening, touring company Best Arctic collected us around 8pm for the Northern Lights expedition. Our group included travellers from the US, France, Italy, the Czech Republic, and a Colombian couple whose romance would later outperform the aurora itself. We drove deep into the wilderness, towards Skibotn, an area known for its favourable microclimate and reliable auroral activity. Our driver, a Norwegian army veteran and Sami tribesman, regaled us with stories of moose hunting and Arctic survival. When asked if he had ever ridden a reindeer, he replied patiently that reindeer were too small, better yoked to sleds, though snowmobiles were now preferred. My wife leaned over and whispered, “So no reindeer Uber?”

The science followed: solar particles colliding with Earth’s atmosphere, colours often more visible on camera than to the naked eye. Around midnight, green wisps shimmered above us. Cameras clicked. Tromsø’s Polar Nights were explained to us: between late November and mid-February, the sun simply doesn’t bother showing up. It’s just night. That, and the aurora borealis.

Then the Colombian gentleman proposed under the lights. My wife gasped. “Well,” I muttered, “that’s every anniversary gift sorted for the rest of his life.”

Isabell, our Swiss guide and resident photographer, took group photos before we wrapped up at 3am. “Worth it?” my wife asked, half-frozen. “Absolutely,” I said. “My toes may disagree, but they weren’t consulted.”

Sleep was brief. At 8am, we boarded the MS Berg for a killer whale expedition with Brim Explorer. This is where I discovered that sea sickness is all too real for landlubbers like me. As the hybrid catamaran rolled through freezing waters off Nord-Lenangen, my excellent breakfast attempted an early exit. Through sheer will, hope, and a quiet prayer, I convinced it to remain where it belonged. My wife, meanwhile, stood serenely at the rail, entirely unfazed. “Are you okay?” she asked, looking at my visibly green face before continuing to take pictures. So much for sympathy, even as a crew member rushed to offer water and a barf bag.

The crew managed over 140 passengers with calm efficiency, offering hot food, warm beverages and fascinating insights into marine life. We learned how orcas hunt in pods, herding thousands of herring into dense bait balls before striking with astonishing coordination. When the orcas appeared, black fins slicing through steel-grey water, even my nausea paused in reverence.

Food adventures were a constant during our Norway trip, with excellent repasts and some suspect meals, accompanied by a steady stream of complaints from the missus. An Indian palate curated for curries and spice staged vehement protests against boiled meats and vegetable showcases that appeared to have met seasoning only in passing. I was a tad bit more adventurous though, trying reindeer steak, well done, which made it chewy and resolutely grey. “How is it?” my wife asked. “Historically significant,” I replied. She, meanwhile, found true joy in kanelbolle, the country’s famed cinnamon buns, at W.B. Samson on Karl Johans Gate, declaring it a compelling reason to return to Norway.

As we boarded our flight back to Oslo and onward to Zurich, the final leg of our two-week European tour, she smiled and said, “Next time: Sami camps and husky rides.” I nodded. “Of course. I’ve already emotionally surrendered.”

But more on that in another travel blog.