Reine is a cluster of red cabins on stilts over a fjord in Norway's Lofoten islands, under granite peaks that come up out of the water behind them. The village was not built for the view. It was built for one fish. Every winter the skrei, Arctic cod, come down from the Barents Sea to spawn off these shores, and the rorbuer are where the fishermen slept through the season. You can sleep in one now, with the fjord under the floorboards and waves against the posts below your window. The wooden racks along the shore are the other half of the trade: from January to April they hang with split cod, drying in near-freezing wind into stockfish, with no salt at all.
The view everyone comes for is above the village. Nepalese Sherpas laid a stone stairway of nearly two thousand steps up Reinebringen, the peak at its back. You come out on a narrow ledge at the top, and the islets, the cabins and the peaks run out to the open sea. Above the Arctic Circle the light goes to extremes, and the fjord doubles whatever the sky does. The sun never sets from late May to mid-July; from autumn the aurora comes back, green in the sky and green again in the water. A kayak crosses Reinefjorden into coves where the only sounds are your paddle and seabirds off the rock. Across the bridges the stilt houses on Sakrisøy are ochre-yellow instead of red, with drying racks along the shore and the sharp peak of Olstinden behind. Off the southern tip of the island the Moskstraumen turns, the tidal whirlpool that gave every other maelstrom its name; Poe and Verne both made it worse than it is. The stockfish keeps for years without refrigeration, and Lofoten has been selling it since the Viking age; most of it still goes to Italy.