This evening it is precisely a week since we moored up alongside the quay at Båly harbour in Spangereid. A strong wind from the west has for the last seven days put an effective stopper to the Sea Stallion’s journey to Dublin. For the first day or two I went all to pieces from fidgetiness. The speed from Kattegat to Skagerrak was still in my body, like one’s pulse after a long run.
As time passed and the days went by, however, I became resigned to the period of waiting.
I can’t remember the last time that I went round in circles for a whole week. Without having to do anything other than wait. Wait and be prepared when the time came.
Now the time has come.
At the beginning of the week I found the waiting tedious but gradually as the impatience in my body and my head became diluted with still more waiting, I became quite content to have nothing to do. And the last few days I have actually looked upon the period of waiting as a welcome privilege.
When do we modern people have a week in which there is absolutely nothing that we have to do? More or less never, I would say. Even when we are on holiday we have a multitude of plans: family and guests to see, tourist attractions to visit, our homes to be renovated and converted. For a whole week I have had absolutely nothing that I had to do except to wait for an easterly wind.
And yet this is not really so. I don’t think that it is possible to stop playing the role of being a busy person on this voyage with the Sea Stallion. Night after night I have sat and written texts for the homepage. Completely without firm deadlines that had to be kept to but nevertheless with the thought at the back of my head that someone back home or out in the wide world was expecting me to produce new texts for the homepage. I have enjoyed this break, however, once the restlessness in my body had subsided. I have enjoyed listening to the jokes and the tone among us all has become more and more impudent as a result of all ‘this rustic life’. And I have enjoyed being lazy, where going for a walk to the Spar-grocer to buy an ice-cream and a can of Norwegian Ringnes beer is the only real task for the day.
The only disadvantage with idleness is that I long for those at home with renewed intensity. The family. The children. My girlfriend. Oh God! Norway is so close to those at home. Could it possible happen that my girlfriend would come by and share some of the waiting period with me?
Now it is time for us to go and I believe my girlfriend was thinking more clearly than I could when we thought that a visit was a possibility: Namely to stick by our decision that it was best to stay apart and take pleasure in the thought that we shall meet in Dublin. To meet already here after the difficult parting in Roskilde would have given me a few wonderful hours with the girl I love but it would have led straight away to a repeat of the painful parting.
I believe that there are people who are really good at saying goodbye. I am not one of them. For me it is terribly distressing every time.
Today’s weather forecast has put a final end to any idea of seeing my girlfriend in southern Norway. Now it is too late. We shall be sailing tomorrow morning. And the next time we see land we hope that it will be on the other side of the North Sea, with Orkney in sight.
I am ready. Actually looking forward to the three-four-five days at sea. I’m curious as to which route the depression that we are to sail under is going to choose. The depression is very strong. There’s a lot of wind in it. The more southerly the route it takes, the more we shall have the wind in our backs. If the depression turns north, we shall have the wind “right in our snot”, as the skipper says. And it can be strong... perhaps even gale force so that we shall be forced to turn our backs to it – to “siggla unna” as I think it was called in the Viking Age. And to sail back to where we come from. It will be a marvellous experience to feel nature release some of its forces out on the open sea. I am excited at the thought of seeing the waves surge up, of hearing the wind whistling in the sail, of ‘meeting myself’ when weariness sets in and there is still a long way to go before we reach harbour.
I don’t know exactly what it is possible to do out in the middle of the North Sea; whether I shall be able to write home. If it is possible, I shall write every day. If it is not, I shall write as soon as we reach land.
Under all circumstances I shall let you know what it is like to sail over the North Sea in a Viking ship.