Heading towards new adventures.

Life After Svalbard, Part 7
A Summer of Travel Ends
By Dave and Jaja

We steamed into the harbor at Svolvær where it felt cozy to be back on familiar turf. (See "Departure" from our Midnight Summer 2000 articles). We had half a mind to stay for another winter in Northern Norway, but we were also excited to be going to the lower latitudes. Scotland would be mild and "bright" year round. Compared to the summer weather in Svalbard, Scotland would even seem tropical. We planned to stay in town for a week before moving on. We were eager to perpetuate the unknown.

We were invited to a party at Kari and Thorvardur's house where we met with many old friends. We ate barbecued whale and salmon shish-kabobs, drank too much cognac, smoked cigars, danced, and played guitars. Stein sang a rambling Norwegian/English rendition of the Gypsy Kings "My Way". Gry and Kari entertained us with "Blowing in the Wind". By 4 a.m. everyone was Fearless.

Walking home in the morning-light of a high latitude summer was satisfying. The mountains surrounding Kongsmarka were glowing pink, and the lake reflected all the subtle colors of the fading night. The 1800-foot peaks at the edge of town towered over the harbor, and the distant mountains on the island Stormolla completed the panorama.

The next afternoon, Jaja and I made the general announcement to our friends that we would stay in Svolvær for another year. In an effort to add levity to our announcement we made it under the influence of sobriety. Soon after, we drank a bottle of wine to celebrate.

Thorvardur came down to the marina with his van to help us move all our belongings off Driver. For the first time in three years we were going to live ashore. We'd rented a mansion-sized summer cottage for the winter. The unknown comes in many disguises.

We hauled Driver out of the water. She now sits like an empty sea shell in her cradle, cold and lifeless, devoid of internal life. Without our junk filling every nook and cranny below, she feels like someone else's boat.

The 700-square-foot summer cabin is on a lake, at the base of steep mountains. Town is fifteen minutes away on foot. Nature is at our doorstep. Priorities.

By filling the summer cabin with all our belongings, we ruined the illusion that we'd rented a mansion. Space set apart, we think fondly of our cabin-with-a-view because Chris, Holly, and Teiga have the benefits of a Front Door. They no longer have to suffer the paranoid scrutiny of parents who worry about them walking alone on an icy dock. Freedom.

We wonder: How did all our stuff fit inside a 33-foot pointed steel box when it doesn't even come close to fitting into blunt-ended cottage? Stranger still, Driver seems smaller and smaller every time we go aboard for a sentimental visit. Perspective.

H'm...if our material possessions make a boat look bigger inside, and those same possessions make a house look smaller, I think the solution is obvious.

Buy a house boat.

.