around.
We say goodbye to Yoga Lady, impressing on her, one last time, how her house is truly blessed by the greatness of its possible former inhabitant. She nods patiently. We head off down towards the harbour, and on the way we bump into a distinguished whiskery old chap who is greeted by Per and Gunnar with some degree of reverence. He is a retired historian. Per and Gunnar introduce me as a person from London who is writing a book.
“What’s it about?” he says peering into my face.
“It’s inspired by the life of Mary Wollstonecraft,” I say.
“Ah yes – that Wollstonecraft. I’ve read her and I didn’t like her,” he says. “She’s one of those feminist types, all her writing is just a load of emotions.”
I’m stunned. I know of course that people don’t like her. In history she has been despised, slandered, rejected from all sides. I know this. But after so much fan-club action I’m unprepared, and too slow to gather my wits in her defence:
“But – but, there are lots of, you know, facts too!”
Afterwards I’m ruffled, I’ve let her down. As we walk away, the indignation grows. After all, she writes about Reasonall the time. But even so, should there really be no emotion? Emotions have their uses: “We reason deeply, when we forcibly feel!” And anyway, who wouldn’t get emotional, surrounded by dismissive entitled old farts LIKE YOU? I retrospectively crack my mind’s knuckles. Yeah. He got off lightly.
Gunnar and I say goodbye to Per and continue down to the harbour to find Mick. He is the skipper of the boat we’ll be travelling in, and a well-known local figure. He’s originally English, but moved to Norway decades ago. Mick has a stripy maritime top and a cockney accent; he’s tall with white bristles all over his face and head. He has crinkles around his eyes from staring at distant blue horizons. He is the most perfect specimen of a sea captain you could ever wish for. He also plays bluegrass banjo and has a broken heart, I discover within a few moments of meeting him.
“This boat is a Colin Archer!” Gunnar announces while Mick beams with pride.
“Ah, a Colin Archer,” I say politely.
“A Colin Archer, yes, a genuine Colin Archer,” they repeat with joy. It turns out that Colin Archer was a nineteenth-century Norwegian shipbuilder of Scottish descent who became a national hero. He designed the nation’s fleet of lifeboats and built the mighty
Fram
, sailed by both Nansen and Amundsen on their legendary polar expeditions. The same Nansen who invented the Nansen Passport for stateless refugees. As a quietly huge gift to the world, this almost beats Kragerø’s ice cream.
“You are safer in a Colin Archer than in any other boat!” shouts Mick, as we hoist my rucksack and Will’s buggy onboard. I have a fleeting recollection that the same was said of the
Titanic
, but this is indeed a powerful-looking boat. “This is my girl!” he booms. “After my wife left me, the boat is all I have. She’s thirty-two foot long, weighs eleven tons, and her average speed is five to six knots depending on the wind.”
She is called
Anjava
, and we’re finally all aboard her sturdy deck. I freely adopt the gendered sailor-speak, now that I can talk about Colin Archers with confidence. I feel positively seaworthy. The engine roars into life, then settles to a steady chug, and there’s the satisfying smell of diesel. And off we set: Mick the skipper, Gunnar the detective, and me and Will, on the soaring wooden decks of the redoubtable
Anjava
.
This is the most anticipated day. We are hot on the trail. This part of the journey was huge for Wollstonecraft: she had left Tønsberg and was making her way by sea to Risør. So far she has been doing all she can to gather support for her cause, but at Risør she will actually meet the captain, face to face, in a showdown that could change everything. Her fortunes are in the balance. The wind is in my face. I’m gulping down the
We say goodbye to Yoga Lady, impressing on her, one last time, how her house is truly blessed by the greatness of its possible former inhabitant. She nods patiently. We head off down towards the harbour, and on the way we bump into a distinguished whiskery old chap who is greeted by Per and Gunnar with some degree of reverence. He is a retired historian. Per and Gunnar introduce me as a person from London who is writing a book.
“What’s it about?” he says peering into my face.
“It’s inspired by the life of Mary Wollstonecraft,” I say.
“Ah yes – that Wollstonecraft. I’ve read her and I didn’t like her,” he says. “She’s one of those feminist types, all her writing is just a load of emotions.”
I’m stunned. I know of course that people don’t like her. In history she has been despised, slandered, rejected from all sides. I know this. But after so much fan-club action I’m unprepared, and too slow to gather my wits in her defence:
“But – but, there are lots of, you know, facts too!”
Afterwards I’m ruffled, I’ve let her down. As we walk away, the indignation grows. After all, she writes about Reasonall the time. But even so, should there really be no emotion? Emotions have their uses: “We reason deeply, when we forcibly feel!” And anyway, who wouldn’t get emotional, surrounded by dismissive entitled old farts LIKE YOU? I retrospectively crack my mind’s knuckles. Yeah. He got off lightly.
Gunnar and I say goodbye to Per and continue down to the harbour to find Mick. He is the skipper of the boat we’ll be travelling in, and a well-known local figure. He’s originally English, but moved to Norway decades ago. Mick has a stripy maritime top and a cockney accent; he’s tall with white bristles all over his face and head. He has crinkles around his eyes from staring at distant blue horizons. He is the most perfect specimen of a sea captain you could ever wish for. He also plays bluegrass banjo and has a broken heart, I discover within a few moments of meeting him.
“This boat is a Colin Archer!” Gunnar announces while Mick beams with pride.
“Ah, a Colin Archer,” I say politely.
“A Colin Archer, yes, a genuine Colin Archer,” they repeat with joy. It turns out that Colin Archer was a nineteenth-century Norwegian shipbuilder of Scottish descent who became a national hero. He designed the nation’s fleet of lifeboats and built the mighty
Fram
, sailed by both Nansen and Amundsen on their legendary polar expeditions. The same Nansen who invented the Nansen Passport for stateless refugees. As a quietly huge gift to the world, this almost beats Kragerø’s ice cream.
“You are safer in a Colin Archer than in any other boat!” shouts Mick, as we hoist my rucksack and Will’s buggy onboard. I have a fleeting recollection that the same was said of the
Titanic
, but this is indeed a powerful-looking boat. “This is my girl!” he booms. “After my wife left me, the boat is all I have. She’s thirty-two foot long, weighs eleven tons, and her average speed is five to six knots depending on the wind.”
She is called
Anjava
, and we’re finally all aboard her sturdy deck. I freely adopt the gendered sailor-speak, now that I can talk about Colin Archers with confidence. I feel positively seaworthy. The engine roars into life, then settles to a steady chug, and there’s the satisfying smell of diesel. And off we set: Mick the skipper, Gunnar the detective, and me and Will, on the soaring wooden decks of the redoubtable
Anjava
.
This is the most anticipated day. We are hot on the trail. This part of the journey was huge for Wollstonecraft: she had left Tønsberg and was making her way by sea to Risør. So far she has been doing all she can to gather support for her cause, but at Risør she will actually meet the captain, face to face, in a showdown that could change everything. Her fortunes are in the balance. The wind is in my face. I’m gulping down the
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