Love me like a sailor - or how I got cockblocked by a piece of cheese

For the first time in my life, I was speechless to tears by the dramatic landscape surrounding me. My little Prius felt even smaller than it was, dwarfed by towering peaks and jaw-dropping cliffs. My drive from the airport to the tiny fishing village of Hamnøy was supposed to last about an hour and a half—but I ended up taking almost double the time, partly because I kept stopping to take in the views and partly because I was going a bit under the speed limit on the winding roads, some of which merged into a single lane—a reminder of when this archipelago was used solely by locals.

My awe did not stop when I finally arrived in Hamnoy. I was going to reside here for three nights, in a renovated cabin called “rorbuer”, previously owned by a fisherman. At the heart of the Lofoten Islands, the cabin was coming with the best view one could ever asked for: the Olstinden mountain, one of the archipelago’s most iconic peaks, rising steeply from the Reinefjorden, daring anyone to look away from its raw beauty.

It was the end of May, and with it came one of the reasons I flew to Norway: the midnight sun. From 10 pm to 4 am, the sun lingered on the horizon, gracing everyone in its realm with what seemed like an eternal sunset. Golden hour stretched past the usual sixty minutes, promising me more time to explore.

Once I settled into my cabin, I decided to walk and see the farthest village I could reach by foot. The archipelago was too big to explore without a car, but being near the tip, I figured I could walk to Sakrisøy—or maybe even Reine. It was a windy, moody day, but not very cold. The clouds hovered low over the mountains, letting a few rays of sun pass through, accentuating the dramatic landscape. Hamnøy was famous for its red rorbuer, but as soon as I stepped off the bridge to Sakrisøy, the dominant color shifted to yellow. According to a sign, the colors reflected social rank. Red was the cheapest, made with ochre and cod liver oil. Yellow, made from copper byproducts, was for the slightly wealthier—merchants or petit bourgeoisie. White, the most expensive, was made with zinc and reserved for the richest families, who sometimes painted only the street-facing or ocean-facing wall to flex their prosperity without spending too much. Everywhere, huge wooden structures held hanging fish, yet the air was surprisingly fresh. I was alone on the walk, only disturbed by a car passing every 20–30 minutes. After exploring Sakrisøy, I continued toward Reine.

The walk took about an hour, but with the sun refusing to set, time wasn’t an issue. About halfway there, I stopped to photograph a mountain—and then it happened. An insanely loud bang. My eyes darted to the peak: an avalanche had just started right in front of my camera. Frozen in awe for two seconds, I then ran, realizing that what looked far could sprint toward me. Once safe, I stopped and listened. It faded like the last grain of sand dropping in a giant, angry hourglass.

The next day, while hiking to Kvalvika Beach, I kept hearing those explosion sounds echoing through the mountains. At first, I worried they were happening above my head, but they were all far away. It was surreal, still, to hike with these pops in the background. After exploring Nusfjord and A—a scenic drive I’ll never forget—I decided to spend my last day embracing a famous Norwegian expression: koselig. Koselig is the feeling you get when you come home from a cold walk and sit in front of a fire with a warm cup of chocolate. It’s the magic of sharing a meal with loved ones, watching rain fall from inside your cozy house, or feeling the cold air on your cheeks while admiring mountains and sea from a spa. I was walking back from the spa to my cabin to grab a forgotten bottle of water when I ran into Alex. Alex had blond shoulder-length hair, bright green eyes and a smile as white as the snow on mountain peaks. He was short, but his elegance and calm confidence easily added five inches. I don’t remember exactly what he said, but he made me laugh instantly. A few minutes later, I learned he worked in the rorbuer’s kitchen. He invited me to dinner, later that night. I was happy to have some company to share a meal with. Norway was magical, but meeting people here was harder than anywhere I’d traveled so far. Locals minded their own business, and it wasn’t high season, so tourists were minimal. Alex was a firefighter from southern France, on a sabbatical to explore the world. He was living one of his dearest dreams: sailing around the world on an old-fashioned sailboat. After taking countless sailing classes, he finally got hired as crew for a sailboat that had started a few months ago in France. Now they were stopping in Lofoten to make some cash, refuel, and restore the ship before heading to Greenland.

He was inspiring and as dinner went on, I felt more and more under his charm. Witty, clever, curious, passionate -the kind of man you don’t just meet, you also study. We talked for hours, sampling almost everything on the menu, when the owner approached. “It’s on the house! As a welcome-to-the-team gift, Alex.” He lingered a bit, then gently pushed us toward the door—the restaurant was closing. “So I live in a van right now, because they didn’t had a rorbuer available yet. Do you want to hangout there? I know it’s odd but I have a guitar and a bottle of wine, we can continue our conversation there?” I wanted to, but I had a 3 am flight. It was 11 pm and I was fried. “I don’t think I’ll drink more tonight, I have this flight very early tomorrow- but you can come hangout in my rorbuer for an hour? I’ll have to kick you out at midnight, for real tho.” He smiled. “I can do an hour”. I smiled back. Of course he could. Love me like a sailor. I walked back to my rorbuer and did a quick cleanup pass (I was scattered all over as I needed to make my luggage) while Alex got to his car to go fetch his guitar. 20 minutes later, I was letting him in the rorbuer and we were both sitting on the couch, talking and admiring the view of the mountain bathing in the eternal sunset. Even though I had set a timer on this meeting (I know myself, I had to or this would have end up with exhausted me driving through a cliff, the next morning), Alex was not in a rush to action anything. He was asking tons of questions, flirting and holding eye contacts intensely- waiting patiently for me to give him a cue that this hour could move to the bedroom. And I would have given it—if it weren’t for the dessert we had an hour ago.

Brunost, a brown cheese made from caramelized whey, had decided to stage a revolt in my stomach. Cock-blocked by cheese. Really.

I thought it would pass, but alas, the Norwegian cuisine had other plans in mind. I had to send Alex off, which he totally understood. We exchanged numbers before I jumped in a hot shower, almost in tears as my stomach flipped. Thirty minutes later, the cramps passed, and I collapsed into bed with barely enough time before my 3 am drive to the airport.

Even at 3 am, cruising sunny roads in my tiny Prius, I felt blessed. I promised myself I’d return to Lofoten—to see the northern lights - and to remember to avoid eating brunost on the same night I plan to get some action with a damn cute sailor.