January 31st, 2012 at 10:03AM
Joking on the coastal route Once on the Hurtigruten, the Norwegian coastal shipping service, an entire brass band boarded our vessel, with musicians of all ages down to small boys and girls. They were going to the next port up the coast and earned their passage by playing sombre but rousing marches in the forward lounge. The faces of the instrumentalists were quintessentially Norwegian: pale, long, incurious, handsome faces. One boy asked me where I was from, and when I told him he said, “I have a grandmother in Wales.” “You don’t mean it!” I exclaimed in delighted surprise. “No,” he said, “I was only joking.”

Joking on the coastal route

Once on the Hurtigruten, the Norwegian coastal shipping service, an entire brass band boarded our vessel, with musicians of all ages down to small boys and girls. They were going to the next port up the coast and earned their passage by playing sombre but rousing marches in the forward lounge. The faces of the instrumentalists were quintessentially Norwegian: pale, long, incurious, handsome faces. One boy asked me where I was from, and when I told him he said, “I have a grandmother in Wales.” “You don’t mean it!” I exclaimed in delighted surprise. “No,” he said, “I was only joking.”

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