No buffets or entertainment – just an incredible cruise experience, period

Most cruises are a blur of activity – buffets, crowded pools, and entertainment that’s as predictable as the setting sun. But this is different. The boat barely seems to move, and when it does, it feels like it’s only taking me from one staggering view to the next, all while I sink into the kind of silence I forget is possible.

I’m four days into a 12-day round voyage through the Norwegian fjords aboard Havila Capella, and I’m settling into the rhythm. Mornings are blissfully slow, with breakfast served from 7am to 10am and lunch and dinner at a set time – same table every day, where my partner and I dine next to two lovely Swiss ladies.

Between meals, I explore coastal towns or lounge in the Havblikk Bar, watching the scenery unfold. But today marks a milestone – we’re crossing the Arctic Circle. At 7.15am, we glide past the glowing globe that marks the latitude shift. Technically, the Arctic Circle isn’t a fixed point, but the globe serves as a rough marker (and a great photo opportunity).

In winter, below the Arctic Circle, the sun doesn’t rise until about 9.30am, but I’m quickly realising I won’t be seeing much of it at all. And that’s exactly why I’m here. I didn’t board this cruise in November for sunshine – I’m here for the Northern Lights.

Shortly after the crossing, the air is thick with fog, and fat snowflakes drift down in slow motion. It’s my first proper snowfall of the season, so I bolt to my cabin, pull on my snow boots and jacket, and rush to the promenade deck. And wow, there’s so much of it. I hold out my gloves, catching flakes as they pile up. As we sail on, the snow intensifies, rising from the sea. Then, as quickly as it arrived, it stops. The sky clears, and suddenly, mountains begin to appear on the horizon.

We’ve entered a different world – one where the mountains loom larger, harsher. Most are buried in snow, and the ones that aren’t look almost too sharp to be real, a jarring contrast to the soft, green hills we left behind below the Arctic Circle. There’s barely a sign of life now. The quaint villages, their red-painted walls and grey rooftops have given way to empty, inhospitable land. But then, as we drift into a still, glassy channel, Ornes emerges – a tiny town on the border between the Arctic and the rugged Helgeland coast.

Havila isn’t just a cruise ship. It’s also a working ferry and mail carrier. Over the voyage, we stop at 34 ports, some in the dead of night (4am isn’t exactly sightseeing hour). This stop is a brief 15 minutes – a forklift unloads barrels, a few passengers hop aboard, and that’s it. I don’t set foot in Ornes, but just seeing it feels like discovering a place I never knew existed.

Soon after we depart, the cruise director gathers us for an Arctic crossing ritual – a Viking-style ice bath. A man in tattered grey rags appears and ceremoniously baptises each of us with a ladle of ice water. It’s like being slapped by the Arctic itself. I manage a weak “skal!” before bolting for a hot shower.

Our first official stop today is Bodo, a small but lively city that seems to have everything within walking distance – arts, culture, adventure, and, crucially, pastries. I have just over two hours to figure out what earned this city the title of European Capital of Culture for 2024.

My first clue? Craig Alibone Patisserie, where I’m practically steaming up the glass, watching bakers fold sheets of buttery dough into croissants. I devour a pistachio and raspberry dessert shaped like a rose and, of course, a croissant. A walk through the city reveals neon-lit bars, a boutique selling salmon-leather handbags, and street art that feels like an open-air gallery.

Back on the ship, I sink into a lounge chair with my book while my partner sits beside me, knitting a beanie – a hobby he’s picked up on board. With no scheduled entertainment, it’s up to us to make our own, which means embracing things we rarely find time for in our busy lives. For him, that’s learning to knit. For me, it’s finally finishing the book that’s been gathering dust at the bottom of my bag.

Now that we’ve entered the Arctic, the menu evolves to match. Tonight’s dinner options are Arctic char, king crab legs, and cloudberries – a golden northern delicacy that, my waiter informs me, grows only in these latitudes. There are no buffets here. Every dinner is a three-course affair, lunch is served tapas-style, and breakfast is a la carte. This is slow, deliberate dining, on a cruise that redefines the usual experience.

Kirkenes marks the end of the northbound journey, but for those of us doing the full round trip, it’s only the halfway point. Seven days after leaving Bergen, I wake feeling a little restless – not just because it’s my 28th birthday, but because the Northern Lights have yet to make an appearance. I know it’s silly to be frustrated with something that depends entirely on nature’s whims, but I can’t help it. Like everyone else on board, I’m here to see the Arctic sky burn green.

After a morning of dog sledding (one of the many excursions offered) we’re back on the water by 1pm. My musher casually mentions that today marks the beginning of the polar night. Curious, I ask how he handles months of darkness. He shrugs, “It’s not always pitch black. We see the Northern Lights all the time.”

Dinner takes an unexpected turn when we hit rough seas. The bow drops (hard) sending a ripple of gasps through the dining room. Back in our cabin, the ship is still swaying, and I find myself hypnotised by the curtain’s rhythmic motion. Then, the Northern Lights alarm sounds.

Clothes, camera, tripod—we grab everything in a flash. With the elevator out of service, we scramble towards the stairs, clinging to the railings as the ship pitches forward. Keeping my camera steady feels impossible, so I switch to Plan B – pressing myself flat against the freezing deck, hoping both my stomach and the shutter can keep up.

At first, the aurora is shy, just a brush of green watercolour across the night. Then, like it knows we’ve been waiting, it begins to move, twisting, flickering, stretching itself across the sky. A cosmic gift. Over the next three nights, the Northern Lights return. Sometimes faint, sometimes so brilliant even the crew stood in awe. That’s when I knew it was special.

The southbound journey to Bergen is quiet, almost meditative. Every day brings a discovery, whether it’s the way the morning light hits the mountains or the way the landscape transforms as we cross back over the Arctic Circle. We bid farewell to fairy-floss skies and hello to more than an hour of daylight. I spend hours in the lounge, lost in the view, my partner beside me, knitting.

This is a different kind of luxury, one that isn’t about excess but about space, quiet, and the humbling feeling of being small in the vastness of it all. Nowhere is that more obvious than on a cruise through Norway’s fjords, especially aboard a ship that doesn’t feel like a typical cruise.

THE DETAILS

Cruise
Havila Voyages’ 12-day Round Voyage starts at $2300 a person in winter and $3300 a person in the summer season. Drink packages and specialty dining are available for an additional cost. It is worth monitoring the site for sales closer to the sailing date. Havila requires passengers to have travel insurance. See havilavoyages.com

Stay
It’s best to stay in Bergen the night before. Scandic Bergen City has rooms starting from $175 a night. See scandichotels.no/bergencity

Fly
The easiest option is to fly directly to Oslo from Dubai, then take a seven-hour train ride or one-hour flight to Bergen. Emirates and SAS offer regular flights. See emirates.com

The writer travelled as a guest of Havila Voyages.