''Who cares?'' said Slartibartfast before Arthur got too excited. ''Perhaps I'm old and tired,'' he continued, ''but I always think that the chances of finding out what really is going on are so absurdly remote that the only thing to do is to say hang the sense of it and just keep yourself occupied. Look at me: I design coastlines. I got an award for Norway.''

- Douglas Adams, Hitchhiker's Guide to the Galaxy

It was late, late Sunday night when we piled on board the Hurtigruten ocean liner Harald Jarl to set course for the Lofoten Islands. IAESTE trainees from Norway and Sweden had been arriving in Tromsø since Friday night, and I had a chance to act as tour guide when we visited Polaria and the cable car.

Those of you who have been reading my diary will recall that I was attacked by a troll the last time I took the cable car up the mountain. For obvious reasons, I chose not to bring my camera up this time on the off chance that one of the trolls would be there seeking revenge. Alas, I have no photograph of the Sami tent that we turned into the Sami beer tent. This was to be the beginning of a tradition we carried forward through the trip: turning just about every conceivable locale into an ideal watering hole.

It wasn't so much that we were lushes, but rather that Liz-Iren had explained to us that if we didn't polish off the beer that they'd hamstered for our trip, they couldn't cash in the empties. And if they couldn't cash in the empties, they couldn't buy us food. So, logically, we had to drink to earn our dinner! Much like the ''clean out the beer fridge'' events at campus pubs back home, we had a moral obligation to quaff as much Mack Øl as we could.

This time, there were no trolls to assault me, but I did manage to get lost and separated from the rest of the gang. I ended up walking across the bridge and back into Tromsø, and I arrived just in time for a whale dinner in the Sentrum at the schnazzy Skarven Vertshus restaurant. Judging from the reactions around my table, the other trainees enjoyed their first taste of whale as much as I did back on Midsummer's Night.

And so, the first thing we did once settled in aboard the Harald Jarl was to settle ourselves down in a sheltered spot near the back of the boat to enjoy the view and establish the official Hurtigruten Beer Gardens. The photo above, taken around 2:00 Monday morning, shows the forming of what would eventually come to be known - tongue-in-cheek, of course - as the Offensive Foreigners Society.

The back row, from left to right, includes Lawrence from Switzerland; Espen, who by now we knew as our Norwegian guide; John from New Zealand; Donna from Northern Ireland; and Jan from The Czech Republic. In the front are Eilidh and Amy, both Scottish as haggis itself; and Shannon force-feeding fellow Canadian Tamsin some Mack Øl.

The view from our little patio was remarkable and ever-changing. We were sheltered from the rain that came down most of the night, and so it provided us with the perfect opportunity to get to know the other trainees and enjoy the view as the Hurtigruten travelled through the fjords.

Here's another picture of the Hurtigruten Beer Gardens, which, alas, is a bit out of focus. Somehow, that seems remarkably appropriate.

Eilidh reminded me of two fantastic Beer Gardens memories: Paul helping to tidy up the deck by tossing chairs overboard, and Tamsin chasing Amy around the boat like a mad woman in an attempt to secure herself the last beer. I also remember exchanging beer showers with Tamsin.

Liz-Iren and Abelone tried without much success to get some sleep in a cabin a few decks beneath us in the boat. They made one fatal mistake: leaving all our beer in their room with them. Around three in the morning we discovered that we were fresh out of beverages, and so the group of us left on a Mission: Impossible-inspired expedition down to procure some more. I did my best to act as International Man of Mystery, diving onto the deck and crawling to the room in question, flanked by an international fleet of gorgeous, intrepid women.

We achieved our objective and managed to liberate twenty-one bottles of beer from the cabin. Shortly after our victory, I found myself dressed up with a soggy mop on my head and a fleet of ebullient crazies all around. Espen fired off this fantastic shot and whisked the camera away to safety. I believe this was almost exactly the moment we coined the phrase, ''Offensive Foreigners Society.''

It was 5:00AM when Nadia shook me awake from my slumber in a lounge chair and offered me a spot in one of the cabins to crash for a while. I gratefully accepted her offer, and suddenly it was 3:00 Monday afternoon. I had lost the ''stay awake all night'' contest that Shannon and Tamsin were advocating, but I felt refreshed enough that it didn't bother me.

It was the perfect time to wake up and think about taking a stroll outside, so Tamsin and I went up on deck to see what we could see. The sun was finally beginning to peek through the clouds, and we had reached the outskirts of the Lofoten Islands. Mona mentioned to me that the bridge in the photograph is across Raftsundet.

This was one of the first images that made me contemplate life in Lofoten. The fjords are spotted with houses like these, that, for all intents and purposes, are in the middle of nowhere. The folks living there have power, they have a couple of neighbours, and they have rudimentary road access to the rest of Norway. Considering it took us thirteen hours to go by bus from Bodø to Tromsø in good conditions, one can only imagine how isolated these people must feel.

Isolated, perhaps, but surrounded by scenery like this. This waterfall was on the side of the mountain just before the Trollfjord, which the captain promised to take us into to give us a look at the scenery.

The afternoon sun broke through the clouds just as we approached the Trollfjord. I asked Tamsin as we stood on the deck if she knew what geological forces had formed this beautiful scenery. She responded matter-of-factly that this was Slartibartfast's work. Slartibartfast, of course, is the Magrathea-born world-crafter in Douglas Adam's Hitchhiker's Guide to the Galaxy who won an award for his work on Norway's fjords. He was supposed to have signed his name somewhere in a glacier, but we didn't see it anywhere.

If Slartibartfast did win an award for his work on the fjords, then the Trollfjord might have been one of his accomplishments that swayed the judges. The above shot is actually a low-resolution version of a two-photograph composite I patched together in PhotoPaint (so now you can all play ''spot the seam!''). You can click on the image, or here if you prefer, for a high-resolution version that would look mighty sweet as a Windows wallpaper. If you have a copy of Grieg's ''In the Hall of the Mountain King'' handy, you might want to queue it up before clicking, though. Quality.

We returned to a quieter spot in a cabin inside the ship where the rest of the gang had gone for a low-key break. We had come inside just in time to hear a voice boom over the ship's loudspeakers, wishing the Maltese vixen Nadia a happy birthday on behalf of all of the IAESTE gang. Kudos to Espen for such a great idea! Nadia couldn't resist the urge to call home to Malta from the ship, as her exam results had just been published short hours before. She returned to us with a beaming smile to report that her results were exceptional. What a tremendous birthday present! We all had renewed reason to continue our celebrations.

The boat docked at Svolvær on the island of Austvågøy less than two hours later. Liz-Iren cracked the whip and we stumbled out of the boat and onto stable ground, carting our belongings and the Arctic Week supplies with us.

Click here to continue to Page 3: Svolvær to Kræmmervika