Exploring Norway and the Arctic by cruise ship — and by wheelchair

The golden September sun was wonderfully warm as I passed through the sliding glass doors at the aft of the ninth deck and emerged into a silent, mystical world.

There, surrounding the ship and seemingly close enough to touch, were the towering gray and green granite walls of the Trollfjord.

A silver waterfall ribboned hundreds of feet down the face of a cliff as dozens of fellow passengers, transfixed, stood at railings, snapping images of the fjord.

There was little sound as our ship, the MS Trollfjord, squeezed through its namesake fjord’s 300-foot-wide mouth before coasting deeper into its 1.2 miles. The cruise ship — 445 feet long and home to more than 300 passengers — felt as nimble as a kayak.

This was Norway. This was the reason a coastal cruise had called to us. This was magic.

For our return to Norway, my wife, Heidi, and I chose to make it our first-ever cruise. We first visited in 2017 with friends. Seven years ago, we explored the cities and towns by train, bus and ferry.

This would be very different, seeing Norway from the sea. And, seeing Norway from a wheelchair.

Since I was diagnosed with multiple sclerosis in 2014, my mobility and stamina are dwindling. Seven years ago, I could still walk and hike — with frequent rests and an occasional fall. Now, I spend more of my time out sitting in a battery-powered chair.

If there is a plus to my condition, it is this: The time to travel is now, while I still can — although the chair limits where I can go and what I can do.

When we told our travel agent, Maggie Knuteson of Travel Leaders in Woodbury, of our desire to return to Norway, we said it needed to be wheelchair-accessible.

She found Hurtigruten, a Norwegian cruise company that also sails to Antarctica, Greenland and Iceland. It offers a 15-day “Svalbard Line” cruise, named for the route up and down the Norwegian coast. At the halfway point, it crosses open sea to the Svalbard archipelago high above the Arctic Circle.

We booked a handicapped-accessible cabin and headed to Bergen.

We arrived in Norway’s second-largest city to near-constant wetness. Since my chair isn’t supposed to be out in the rain, how would we get around Europe’s rainiest city?

Carefully.

On the Saturday of our cruise departure, a downpour fell as we waited in the hotel lobby for our charter bus to the port. Luckily, the rain ceased just as it was time to climb aboard. We folded my wheelchair, stowed it in the bus’ luggage bay and left.

After a stress-free boarding and finding our cabin, Heidi and I explored the ship.

There is no casino aboard the Trollfjord. No onboard entertainment. And no children. For the next two weeks, our focus would be on up-close views of Norway’s fjords, towns and villages up and down the country’s 1,600-mile glacier-carved coastline.

The ship’s multilingual Coastal Experience Team offered lectures and lessons highlighting the coast’s history, culture and cuisine.

Three onboard restaurants served locally sourced seafood, vegetables, meats and cheeses. A two-story observation lounge at the fore offered a comfortable place to sip coffee or a cocktail. Or a place for Heidi to knit for our new granddaughter.

The ship had one large wheelchair-accessible public restroom and one smaller one. Our cabin’s restroom and shower were also accessible and easy to navigate. And there was a wheelchair elevator.

When we were ready to venture beyond the ports we visited, Hurtigruten offered several daily excursions to area points of interest. Many were dramatic.

At Andalsnes, the Romsdal Gondola swayed as it climbed a cable to the top of its 2,320-foot peak. Out on the elevated boardwalk, our ship and the village below seemed like toys. Neatly terraced fields carved from ascending peaks of granite resembled layer cakes of trees and stone.

In Tromsø, a city of 80,000 called the Gateway to the Arctic, we explored storefronts and churches as we branched out from the harbor and city center. Then, we decided to explore its neighborhoods as the streets climbed higher and higher.

Not a great idea, it turned out.

In just a few blocks, the incline became so steep that Heidi had to push my chair from behind. Its motors couldn’t handle the climb. But, when we tried to turn onto a side street, the slant made it feel as if I and my chair would topple at any moment. After several gut-churning twists and a brief quarrel, we retreated to flatter ground before grabbing a coffee and returning to the ship.

Aboard the ship, my wheelchair got me almost anywhere. And, in coastal towns, many restaurants, museums and churches were open to me and my chair. Other times? High steps, steep streets and tiny corridors blocked my path.

Crew members, however, were responsive and removed barriers whenever possible on the ship and suggested routes to take when off it. Guides helped us choose several suitable excursions.

Whether we were hopping a bus to a fishing village comprising a series of bridge-connected islands, or rolling through tunnels on the way to see Norway’s million-kroner tourist toilet, drivers and fellow passengers were kind and patient.

At Honningsvåg, the northernmost city of mainland Norway, we boarded a bus to the North Cape — the northernmost point of mainland Europe.

We emerged from the sprawling visitor center into a warm Arctic sun and joined a throng of tourists headed for the globe sculpture on a cliff. Visitors scrambled up the steps to the metal globe to snap selfies and gaze out over the sea 1,000 feet below.

I got out of my chair, held Heidi’s shoulder as I climbed the steps and smiled for our photo on top of the world.

We were 1,000 miles from the North Pole. And we’d get closer.

One night, we left calm coastal waters to lurch across the rough Barents Sea. We docked the next day at Longyearbyen, a town on Spitzbergen Island in the Svalbard archipelago.

A former coal-mining colony, Svalbard’s largest settlement is a village teeming with an eclectic international community of Arctic adventurers, students, scientists and tourists. Visitors are asked to remove their shoes — even inside shops and businesses.

After more than a week of healthy Norwegian cuisine, we binged on a basket of fries and beers in a pub at a Radisson Blu hotel.

The next day, we stopped at Ny-Alesund (”New Alesund”), another former mining site and now a research station hosting scientists from 20 glaciology and climate institutes from 10 countries. There, among the permafrost and treeless landscape, 100 researchers study the effects of climate change on the Arctic.

From this spot at King’s Bay, polar explorer Roald Amundsen in May 1926 launched an airship that would cross the North Pole 700 miles away.

While the whipping wind and 30-degree temperatures coaxed me to return to the warmth of our ship, Heidi was mesmerized. Maybe, she said, it was the contrast between a dozen scattered century-old wooden buildings set against the burst of vibrant green moss on permafrost. Or perhaps it was the starkness of a blue-tinged glacier in the distance winding its way to the sea.

She shakes her head in wonder still.

Not ready to leave, she joined a line of folks waiting to walk out to the mast where Amundsen moored his North Pole airship. An armed escort was required. Polar bears, it seems, are frequent, hungry visitors here.

More than an hour later, Heidi returned and reported — perhaps a bit disappointed — no bears.

After leaving the Arctic behind, we spent the next several late-summer days heading back south along the coast and past a picturesque world of small, brightly colored villages set against gray and green cliffs.

The weather, once gray and chilly, had turned positively balmy. Passengers now gathered for hours in the sunshine of the back deck.

Until we entered the town of Alesund through an opaque curtain of cool morning fog.

Destroyed by fire in 1904, the town was rebuilt in the Art Nouveau style. Rattling down the town center’s cobbled streets, we marveled at its early morning calm.

I saw a family in a square snapping photos of a couple teens wearing traditional garb. A stop for a treat at a tiny bakery, awash in the scent of coffee and sugar, topped our time in this picturesque port. Alesund, we decided, merits a longer stop if we ever return.

Our voyage ended as we pulled into Bergen, now bathed in sunshine and 70-degree temperatures. So, as many residents do in this sun-starved city, we played outside on our last day.

We rode the town’s famous funicular to the top of Mount Floyen to take in the sight of the harbors below — as we did seven years earlier.

Breathtaking and mostly accessible, Norway delighted us once more.