MINUS 18 DEGREES BUT WHO’S COUNTING?

Thursday 23/11/2017.

Honningsvag to Kirkenes.

Sunrise 9.42am Sunset 10.43am -18C.

The times are different from yesterday because we have crossed time zones and come back south.

Strange fact:- did you know that Kirkenes is less than 30kms from the Russian Border and is further east then Istanbul? This fact, is known only to a few, Ray Howe and myself, in fact, being the only remaining survivors of people who have attempted to read Mercator’s book.

Kirkenes is the end point of the ships journey and will shortly turn around and head back to Bergen. Many of the passengers got off, including some who had become our friends and a new lot has got on. They seem to be fewer in number and the ship seems strangely quiet, may be that is because many are frozen and have retired to bed.

There are three time zones on board, GMT, Local time GMT +2 and Stomach time. Stomach time tells you that if you eat a heavy meal after dark ( Lunch at 12.30pm, GMT +2, and it is pitch black outside) then four hours later you need to go to bed. Can’t argue with that.

People began leaving the ship at 9.00am but Ilze and I left 30 minutes later because it took us that long to get dressed. I wore nearly everything I owned, including two pairs of gloves. Gentlemen, a handy hint, do what your mother told you and go before you leave, in -18C finding it with two pairs of gloves is a serious business, the zipper I mean. We intended to walk to the museum but after less the 800 metres realised that we were woefully underprepared. Ilze reported that the cold was making her eyes water and that ice was forming on her eyelashes. We coughed almost continuously due to the dryness of the frigid air.

But that 800 metres was a winter wonderland. The snow creaked and crunched, the icicles dripped off the trees just like on a Christmas card and the air was bright and clean. We hastily sought refuge in the equivalent of Bunnings before beating a hasty retreat to a K-Mart like shop. When we entered the floor by front door was littered with a pile of clothing and shoes just like outside an overflowing Brotherhood bin. The difference was it belonged to the shoppers who simply shed two layers onto the floor and collected them later. In a town of 2000 people no one could get away with wearing a stolen coat beside the KGB are less than 30kms away. Ilze spent a happy hour comparing fabric and wool prices with the phone app, as a feeble excuse to remain in the warm.

We eventually re-clothed ourselves for the harrowing 200metres back to the ship but then found access to our cabin blocked by pools of water. There had been ice in the harbour as we came in and with visions of the Titanic we hastily sought an explanation, the cold had frozen some pipes which had burst.

We now claim new DROC records for the 800 metres at -18C. and the, harrowing 200 meters over ice in inadequate clothing.

Peter and Ilze.