Days 27 & 28: Kvaløya to Tromso and Tromso to Storsteinnes, near Svensby (140 kms)

A minute past midnight on Day 27 saw me wild camped by the ferry quay at Brensholmen on Kvaloya just as the sun was coming up:

Sunrise on Kvaloya at 00.01 am

After a relatively peaceful night -- disturbed only by a crane loading a nearby freighter with scrap metal between 1.00 and 2.00 am -- I packed up quickly and cycled a kilometre into the village to have breakfast at the shop.  Brensholmen shop has a dining room -- teak table, placemats, antique chairs -- at which customers can drink coffee purchased from the machine in the premises and feast on doughnuts, pretzels, cheese rolls or whatever takes their fancy from the shelves. It creates a village social space, an alternative to a pub or cafe I suppose, at minimal effort for the shopkeeper and considerable reward, I should think. It was half full when I was there. A very elderly villager who seemed to have learned her English intonation from 1940s British movies, inquired where I was going and how old I was (I suppose it must be starting to show), and when I told her she replied in pure Celia Johnson, "Oh I say. Bra-vo."

I cycled into Tromso on quiet roads and cycle paths with surprise big hill at the end. Tromso is on an island in a fjord. The city proper is on the eastern side, with the airport, and the direction of my approach, on the west. In the middle is the hill.

To take a break from wild camping and to experience the city properly, I stayed in the quirky and friendly Tromso Coco Apartments Hostel. After some general chores -- self in shower, mess tin and cutlery in sink, laundry in machine, and some swift adjustments to the Ven Claud's derailleur, I set out to explore the city, its wooden buildings, and the stunning sight of the "Arctic Cathedral" across the water. Built of concrete and glass in 1965, and commonly nicknamed the Ishavskatedralen – literally The Cathedral of the Arctic Ocean – it is actually the parish church in Tromsdalen, a suburb of Tromso across the sound from the city itself. It is so striking it can be seen from miles around, and is used I was told, though take it with a pinch of salt, as a landmark by pilots looking for the airport when their instruments have packed up. Its east window features a stunning stained glass mosaic titled The Return of Christ, with the right hand of God reaching down to interact with the world:

The Return of Christ window, and the "Arctic Cathedral" seen from Tromso city

The official Tromso Cathedral completed 1861, is in the town centre and is said to be the northernmost Protestant cathedral in the world. Every night in July it hosts a Mitternachtskonzert (midnight concert) which, hungry for some culture after weeks on the road, I fain attended. Two other Nordkapp-bound cyclists -- French by the way, a lot of them are -- were also there. We barely recognised each other. It's amazing how different we all look when we scrub up. Described as "The Sound of Norway", featuring music by Bach, Norway's own Edvard Grieg, traditional Norwegian music and Solveig's Song from Peer Gynt, the 45 minute concert, for cello, soprano, piano and organ, was brilliant. Soprano Gro-Anita Gyring Skog was incredible, filling with sound the atmospheric wooden cathedral that smelled of warm cedar, like a favourite old wardrobe.

Day 28 began with a hunt for a bike shop to get a replacement spare brake cable. Proving it's a small world, I was served by a young chap, Joseph, graduate of Strathclyde University, who comes from Dunkeld in Perthshire, just up the road, really, from my home.

After that I set off across the bridge over the sound and past the Arctic Cathedral, leaving Tromso on a quiet country road beside market gardens growing strawberries in polytunnels and selling fresh eggs and (for some reason) large quantities of kholrabi, which Norwegians appear to eat raw.

Sadly the rural idyll ended after eight or nine kms, and I was spat out onto the appallingly fast and busy E8 main road. The next dozen kilometres until the EuroVelo 1 cycle route turned off onto a quieter road again were absolutely hellish and easily the most dangerous cycling I've done since riding into Sofia, Bulgaria, last year.

After another ferry -- the penultimate, in fact, of this entire trip -- I found myself camped amongst epic scenery on a field margin near Svensby, on the mainland. Incidentally, it is getting appreciably colder now, and I was very grateful to the deck marshal of the electric ferry for letting me on board 20 minutes early, while the vessel was charging up, so I could warm up in the saloon.

Camped near Svensby