That morning, we had a mission: to catch the first ferry leaving the Lofoten Islands at 7:00 a.m., bound for Bodø. It was 4:20 a.m. when we left our cabin. The GPS indicated a 2.5-hour drive to Moskenes, at the southernmost tip of the archipelago. Waking up was rough, but at this point in the journey, our bodies were almost attuned to the colors of dawn.
Soon, we find ourselves on what could well be one of the most scenic roads in the world. The sky blazes with shades of pink and mauve, suspension bridges connect the islands like gateways between two worlds. Rocky ridges mingle with the still-sleeping clouds, and the mountains slowly awaken.
The sea is almost silent. A few boats are already gliding on the horizon. The further south we sail, the more the Norwegian coast disappears to the east. Ahead of us, nothing. Water is our only horizon, everywhere. We have the strange feeling of being alone on drifting islands, placed there, somewhere in the middle of the ocean.
