It is a moment of culinary serenity, eating this fantastically delicious little dish, served in a place where it belongs, a place where it makes sense.

Each fall, after the birds depart, Hildegunn and her family carefully harvest the feathers, cleaning and combing and transforming them into the greatest natural filling. Eiderdown is virtually indestructible; it doesn’t lump up like the down from other birds, and it can be recycled almost indefinitely. Jason and I heard stories of families who have been buying their duvets from Lånan craftsmen for centuries, handing them down through generations and—when the duvets get a bit shabby—returning to the island for some fish cakes and to have them relined. To buy a new one is a commitment: A typical Lånan duvet can cost several thousand dollars (only about a dozen are made each year), and there’s a lengthy waiting list. But to do so is also to buy into the history of Lånan, the specialness of this place and its inhabitants—to honor what the birds have voluntarily given, as their end of the deal they have with man. I reflect on all this while sitting on the vibrating plastic deck of our rented boat, Lånan receding behind us as we bounce over the waves, back to the mainland and our car.

We are nearly at the end of our journey, bound for Kirkenes, among the last towns in Norway before the Russian border. After Lånan we resumed our northward migration, via Lofoten, Narvik, and finally Nordkapp (the North Cape), near the very top of mainland Europe, and a great place to watch the midnight sun set over the sea. We’ve just passed through Honningsvåg—a small community that is probably the northernmost location where people live year-round—and turned onto a road that ends abruptly at the sea. According to our GPS, we should now be at a dock where a car ferry stops several times a day; a car ferry that we hoped would cross a few fjords and shorten the final leg of our journey. But we see nothing indicating any form of transportation: no people, no cars, no ferries, no timetable—no nothing except this empty road and an abandoned dock surrounded by broken nets and floats and the frigid gray sea.

In the distance, we spot an elderly man with a cane walking by a dilapidated building, and we head toward him. When I ask about the ferry, he remains silent for a second, fixing us with a funny expression, then erupts into laughter, layered intermittently with coughing fits. He goes on laughing for a little longer than I think necessary, and I am beginning to suspect that he might be mad. Finally, he stops just long enough to tell us that the ferry hasn’t operated here since 1997. Then he hobbles off down the derelict pier, giggling and muttering something about Swedes and their GPS. Back at the car, we search the glove box and find a timetable for the Hurtigruten, a line of passenger and freight ships. It turns out that one of Hurtigruten’s combined cargo-and-cruise vessels will leave from Honningsvåg in a few hours.

Cods drying on racks in Norway.

At the appointed time, we arrive at another dock on the opposite side of the village, but the ship waiting for us doesn’t look at all like the floating monstrosity we’d imagined. What’s in front of us now resembles a classic luxury liner from another era. The black-painted hull and straight bow, the polished wooden decks and brass fittings, remind me of a time when traveling the coast of Norway by boat was both the fastest and most comfortable option.

We are excited and relieved when the official-looking man beside the gangway says that, yes, there is space for two passengers all the way to Kirkenes, and that dinner will be served in the main dining room in a few hours. And we are as distraught as we were excited when we realize that the M.S. Lofoten cannot accommodate our car. She is, in fact, the last ship in the Hurtigruten fleet that doesn’t carry vehicles.

There is nothing to be done. We take a quick tour of the ship’s elegant wooden decks and salons, then bid the Lofoten fare- well and return to our trusted Škoda to continue driving, once again, toward Kirkenes.





1 / 12 Chevron Chevron Photo by Karen Gardiner Lofoten's Artistic Legacy The Lofoten archipelago is 800 miles from Oslo and 95 miles north of the Arctic Circle. Its remote beauty has long made it popular with artists: Norwegian painter Gunnar Berg made his name depicting Lofoten many times until his death in 1893, and many contemporary artists, like multimedia artist AK Dolven , have been so inspired by the dramatic landscape they’ve made this place their home. The landscape has also appeared in works of classic literature, with Moskstraumen, one of the world’s strongest systems of whirlpools, located off the uninhabited island of Mosken, appearing in the work of both Jules Verne and Edgar Allan Poe. Here are some tips for having an art-focused visit to Lofoten.