Time to head out of the city and continue the long trek to the Arctic wilderness. The train is spot on time and spotlessly clean, and I settle down in my seat (next to an army recruit who worryingly is rubbing some sort of brown substance on his gums!) for the long haul to Trondheim. A bit of Bach to keep me company, and then perhaps, appropriately, some Grieg - but then my iPod goes down - why don't they make batteries that can last for more than a blink of an eye! So now I have nothing but the noisy kids in the seats behind me to take my mind off my companion. But he turns out to be impeccably behaved, and so macho he doesn't need the travel blanket and pillow the Norwegian Railways have thoughtfully provided for us, so he gives his to me.
This is an unbelievably beautiful journey, and thanks to the light evening, I miss nothing. The train travels through miles of Norwegian pine forests up mountain slopes and along fjords and rivers, and it all looks as though we have stepped into a picture-book. The blues and greens are broken by the occasional cluster of dark-red wooden farm buildings (this red seems to be the traditional Norwegian colour and pops up everywhere - does anyone know its origin?).
All this light seems to mean people round here work very hard - the lumberman in the Dumbas forest was driving his logging tractor at 3.15am as we passed! And all these forests mean the Norwegians are doing their thing for climate change. More on this later.
After Bjerka the train takes on a distinctly local feel. Families get on and greet other passengers like long lost cousins - I feel I am intruding on a private function. Hampers come out and food is passed around, and the children take over the aisles for their games. Things are changing, and beginning to become wilder in more senses than I had bargained for.
How do you know you are approaching the Arctic Circle? Well, it's all about the white stuff. It was staying, obligingly, near the top of the mountains, but now it is coming down the slopes - not so white any more, but the dirty grey of unwashed linen, and slightly more threatening. I am pleased I've packed my thermals. The train passes through several wooden tunnels, constructed, so the conductor informs me, to protect the track from snow in the winter.
And then there is the magical moment when we actually cross into the Arctic Circle! It is marked by triangular cairns on either side of the track. Fellow travellers in the seat behind me bring out a bottle, surreptitiously wrapped in a blue plastic bag - but I can see what they are up to! I wish I had the forethought to do likewise - this does seem like a moment to toast. Now I feel I have definitely left hectic civilisation, and the Arctic wilderness seems much closer.
Then at last I arrive in Bodo, after 20 and a half hours on the train! This is the end of the train line - from here on its the buses. But here disaster strikes - there is a hitch with the accommodation I had arranged, and I am without a place to sleep! Frantically phoning around the town produces nothing - in the whole of Bodo there is not a bed to be had. The thought of turning up at the police station and begging a night in the cells is distinctly unappealing, so I hate to have to confess this, but I turn on the pathetic female act, and a kind man decides he can, after all, find a bed in the corner of his Pensjonat for me. Tomorrow I shall have to find out what is so special about Bodo that the world decamps here for a cold summer break.
