In high summer, the sun doesn’t set in northern Norway, making it prime time for a unique rail adventure, following the tracks from the capital Oslo all the way into the Arctic Circle
Black coffee warming my palms, I breathe in the smell of hot dogs rotating on the worktop stand and decide that now’s not quite the time for one.
The attendant, Tor Helge, potters around the dining car, his whistling presence companionship enough as I look out onto the Gudbrandsdalslågen, one of Norway’s longest rivers, its waters twinkling in the light. Like Christmas trees on stilts, pencil-thin pines fringe its banks and a sandy islet rises up like a backbone between the flow.
Whispering alongside, the train leans into a turn before we swing wide and I edge towards the window, spotting a handful of people flyfishing for trout, pike and perch, waders up to their thighs. Hikers appear on a pathway and a group of cyclists glance sideways as we pass. The sky’s a milky blue, sunshine glinting on the peaks of the Dovrefjell mountains — it’s a classic summer scene. Only one thing’s different: I glance down at my watch and it’s 3.50am.
With a mild ache behind my eyes, I’m urging my body to adjust its circadian rhythms to the natural phenomenon of Norway’s midnight sun. North of the Arctic Circle, from mid-May to mid-July, the sun stays above the horizon, with no distinction between night and day. During this period, Norwegians embrace the gift of time — and light — by hiking, fishing, climbing, sailing, sea kayaking and generally roaming around drinking and partying in the soft orange glow of ‘night’.
Intrigued by the idea of groundhog daytime, I’m taking the sleeper train from the capital, Oslo, up to Trondheim on the 300-mile Dovre Railway. From Trondheim, I’ll transfer onto the Nordland Railway, which weaves up the country for another 450 miles to Bodø (pronounced boo-der), the final station on the line, just north of the Arctic Circle.
The previous day, I arrived in Oslo expecting to find the city alive with noisy beer gardens and gourmet food trucks, and cyclists weaving between them in floaty dresses — but a ghost town awaited. “Everyone leaves in July,” said Fredrik, a waiter at a bookshop cafe. “Most people go to France or Italy or escape to their summer houses. For two to three weeks in July, it’s dead here.”
Fortunately, the station had a number of restaurants where I could linger until it was time to board the train. Departing promptly from platform four, the service creaked and groaned out of Oslo Central at 11pm, before it relaxed into the journey, an even thumpthump taking us behind warmly lit apartment blocks, the city’s spr
