The Lofoten Islands — truly one of the world’s best-kept secrets. Towering mountains rise straight from the sea, colourful little houses dot the coastline, and in summer, the sun simply refuses to set. I stayed in a cosy old fisherman’s hut, lived by the strange rhythm of the midnight sun, and ate fish I’d caught myself. Everything felt calm, simple, and wonderfully far from the rest of the world.
Until one night, things took a rather unexpected turn.
A South African girl and I, both clearly swept up in the Nordic charm, decided — quite enthusiastically — to head out in a small rowing boat around midnight to try our luck at deep-sea fishing. The tide was high, the pier was underwater, and just getting into the boat without falling in felt like an achievement. But spirits were high, and we set off with confidence (if not actual competence).
At first, it was all going rather well. She fished, I rowed, the sea gently rocked the boat. But as it turns out, the sea doesn’t stay gentle for long — not in Norway.
Bit by bit, we began drifting. At first, we barely noticed. But soon enough, the coastline started slipping away behind us, and it hit us: we were being pulled out to sea. Properly.
I rowed harder, she tried to stay calm — though I could see the panic creeping in. I kept my voice steady, but inside I was already planning how to apologise to my family from wherever the current decided to drop us off.
Then, like something out of a film, a light appeared on the horizon. A boat. Coming straight for us.
It was the hostel owner. He’d seen it all coming, apparently. Watched us from the shore, realised we were headed straight into trouble, and launched his fishing boat to come rescue us before things got truly out of hand.
Before towing us back, though, he gave us a proper taste of what we’d wandered into. The sea tossed us about like we were nothing. I felt like I was riding a bucking bronco in a rainstorm. And yet — I couldn’t have been happier. Because we weren’t going to Greenland after all.
Back at the harbour, soaked to the skin and still slightly dazed, we were met with good-natured laughter and the kind of teasing you can only earn by nearly drifting into the Arctic.
To this day, I sometimes wonder how far we would’ve floated if no one had come for us.
But thanks to a watchful innkeeper and a bit of luck, it’s just a great story — not a missing persons report.