It is midnight in June. Powder pink and dark grey clouds drift across a pale sky, their hues mirrored in the still waters of Lake Inari. Small islands of pine and budding birch cast distorted shadows near the horizon of this vast lake in Lapland, northern Finland. Silence reigns. It is so quiet that I barely breathe, afraid to disturb the peace. Only me, the lake, and a moonbeam-colored moth whose wingbeats are inaudible.
I sit beside my compact campervan, gazing in awe at the rose-tinted panorama. I have no desire to sleep and miss this moment. I revel in the wild freedom and the exquisite sensation of being utterly alone, with no one in the world knowing my exact whereabouts. Normally, I would be long asleep by midnight, exhausted from work and family life. But I have left my husband and adult children at home in England for an eight-week solo camping adventure through Denmark, Sweden, Finland, and Norway. My singular goal: to reach Nordkapp (North Cape) and Knivskjellodden, Europe's northernmost point at the top of Norway, in time for midsummer.
Earlier that day, I met Father Christmas. "If you're driving north, be careful of the reindeer," the costumed gentleman said as I sat beside him at Santa Claus's Main Post Office in Rovaniemi, the capital of Finnish Lapland. This place is considered over-touristy in winter, but not during my summer visit. "We have 230,000 reindeer here in Finland, but only one of them has a red nose." As it happens, I saw countless reindeer in Finland, Norway, and Sweden, creeping through forests and grazing along the coast. Not Rudolph, to my knowledge, but many females with calves, all legs and ears.
Encounters with Reindeer and the Midnight Sun
My meetings with reindeer and the night beside Lake Inari are two of many memorable experiences on my road trip through the Land of the Midnight Sun. This region is so named because north of the Arctic Circle, the sun does not set below the horizon during summer. It also stays light for long hours south of the Arctic Circle, including in Denmark, where my Nordic adventure began in Rødby on the island of Lolland, after I drove my campervan from the UK via Germany.
Other than reaching Nordkapp, I have no plan and no accommodation booked. Instead, I utilize the popular practice of Allemansretten (everybody's right, as it is known in Norway), which is also legal in Finland and Sweden: the right to stop off-grid overnight on uncultivated land, leaving without a trace. On my journey, I parked and stayed overlooking fjords, beside mountain passes, and with lake or coastal views.
From the flat plains of Lolland, Denmark's fourth-largest island, my route north took me to Helsingør for the ferry across the Øresund to Helsingborg in Sweden, leaving a rear-view image of Kronborg Slot – "Hamlet's Castle" – at dawn. Luminous lupins and puce pinks lined the roadsides of my 370-mile cross-country route to Sigtuna, 30 miles northwest of Stockholm. This lakeside settlement of colorful timber houses is Sweden's oldest town. Half an hour's drive north lies Linnaeus' Hammarby, a pretty 18th-century farm that once belonged to Carl Linnaeus, the botanist who developed the binomial system of naming species.
Exploring Sweden's Uppland Region
Hammarby is wonderfully representative of Sweden's Uppland region. I walked 10 miles through the cultivated countryside along the Dannmark Trail between Linnaeus's farm and Uppsala, a route he would walk with his biology students for nature studies. Students at Uppsala University (where Linnaeus was a professor) were celebrating finals when I arrived, mingling around ice-cream cafes and in floral parks and botanical gardens. Nearby, the vast twin spires of the city's rust-red cathedral protruded above blossoming rowan trees.
From Uppsala, I followed the E4, a road that reaches the border with Finland, covering more than 600 miles over six days. Along the way, I crossed Scandinavia's longest suspension bridge, the Högakustenbron, at the Höga Kusten (High Coast), a UNESCO World Heritage site. Vast stretches of empty road lined with little but pine trees provided a chance for contemplation. But it was not until I arrived in the colorful town of Karasjok days later, having crossed from Finland into Norway, that I truly understood the scale of the Nordics. Karasjok feels very far north, yet it is still a four-hour drive to Nordkapp.
Karasjok is the Norwegian administrative center for the indigenous Sámi population of Sápmi, the cross-border cultural region that includes parts of Norway, Sweden, Finland, and Russia. The parliament building resembles a traditional lavvu tent, and nearby, Sápmi Park offers an introduction to Sámi traditions. Leaving Karasjok, the road winds alongside Porsangerfjorden, passing fishing hamlets, waterfalls, shaly mountain cliffs, and tremendous viewpoints before dipping beneath the Arctic Ocean by tunnel to reach Magerøya, the island upon which Nordkapp sits.
Reaching Nordkapp and the Midnight Sun
I chanced upon fine weather as I climbed beyond Honningsvåg, one of Norway's northernmost towns, over snowy mountain plateaus to reach Nordkapp. A tear formed in the corner of my eye. I was alone, about 2,500 miles from home by the quickest route, and I wished my family could see what I could. But this was a solo adventure, and I had reached my goal, staying up all night to watch as the midnight sun sent orange beams across the Arctic Ocean. Captivating.
My return journey south through Norway (and ultimately Sweden and Denmark) was not by the quickest route. It was contorted, meandering west and east. I enjoyed picnics beside turquoise sea coves on the Lofoten Islands, watching pods of dolphins in the Norwegian Sea. I saw bulging rivers and thundering waterfalls in Saltfjellet National Park. Then I passed small farms and meadows with emerald stripes of hay, amassed buttercups, and long lakes through the region of Trøndelag. It was Norway bursting into color after the bleached landscapes of the north. Occasionally, I covered a long stretch in one day – 200 miles or so. Other days, I simply stayed put, enjoying the view or stepping out for long walks.
Atlanterhavsvegen – a 22-mile national scenic route across skerries and strung together by bridges – was captivating. Then I visited Runde, one of Norway's westernmost islands, renowned for a colony of puffins that breed on the cliffs. A steep mountain walk across the island revealed clusters of people perching on cliff edges, hoping to witness the spectacle of birds coming in to roost. But it was the east of the island where I parked up and sat alone for days, watching an otter swimming among the lichen-speckled black rocks, alerted by a clatter of ducks and ducklings, shelducks, wigeon, and oystercatchers. Keeping my distance, I observed parent gulls sheltering fluffed-up chicks as curlews called overhead. Orchids, sea campion, clover, and a host of other flowers smothered the coastal ground. A memorable time.
Wild Camping at Sognefjellet Mountain Pass
So too was my wild camp at the summit of Sognefjellet mountain pass, the highest road in Scandinavia. I set out from Lom, an attractive town that sits between three national parks and possesses a famous stave church and the fascinating Norwegian Mountain Centre. The road, also a designated national scenic route, runs alongside the pretty Bovra River initially, then climbs into some of Norway's wildest scenery. My overnight was cold, with huge frozen lakes of glacial blue and roadside snow above the height of the campervan. In the morning, as Nordic skiers and a pack of snowmobiles headed out to nearby glaciers, I brushed snowflakes from my windscreen to begin the descent to the green and lush Sognefjord. It was as if I had stepped through a wardrobe and imagined the wintry summer scene.
I appreciate that being alone by choice is entirely different from loneliness. I am often asked during my solo travels, "Don't you ever get lonely?" I can feel lonelier, I explain, in a crowded room than camping in the wild. Yes, leaving family behind creates a sense of "wish you were here"; special moments I would like to share. But this adventure is about understanding that the memory is mine alone. The thrill, the excitement, the calm, and occasionally the trepidation. I would do it all again tomorrow.
