I always watch for the longest day in the year and then miss it.
Norwegians are fabulous. And what makes them so fabulous is that they don't know that they are. Or if they do they don't let on. They point a lofty pragmatism at most things and are generally nice and tall. And just when you begin to suspect that they are too sensible for their own boots you notice that their eyes are grinning so you're not sure where you are. And they live in one of the most extraordinary landscapes in the world. It's dark half the time and the beer's a bit pricey. Oh and they do terrible things with knitwear and mustaches. But not all of them it has to be said.
And half the year it's not dark. If you go far enough north into the land of the midnight sun, it simply refuses to get dark at all. It's thrilling and rather handy, but also throws one right out of kilter. When we sailed north and the sun ceased to disappear the ship's community would slip into an eerie un-routine. People fail to go to bed. Passengers dander about decks at all sorts of ungodly hours. Often dressed for bed. Which only adds to the confusion for everyone. Most inconvenient too for the Pakistani sailors trying to hose the place down in their itchy sweaters.
As for below decks. Well I have to tell you that's a restless place at the best of times. All sorts of comings and goings. Stir in relentless daylight and it's a pot boiler down there. Anywhere there's a port hole there is sure to be a good time that refuses to extinguish. Crew wander alleyways not quite sure what to do with themselves. Avoiding good times or looking for one. It just seems a terrible shame to go to sleep.
By day we point at waterfalls in big anoraks and shake our heads at impossible log cabins perched on the foreshore of fjords.