Arctic
crush
The friendly residents of one of the most remote parts of
Norway have begun to organize to combat overtourism.
By Elizabeth Becker
THE LOFOTEN ISLANDS, Norway — Here in this country’s Arctic region, the traditional concern has been military, specifically Norway’s role as Europe’s first line of defense should a menacing fleet or air armada try to invade from the north.
With its daunting fjords and northern lights, these islands have the feel of the “end of Europe,” the landscape of Viking lore, not of Henrik Ibsen’s modern realism.
That is changing.
In the past few years, these sparsely populated islands have earned a new and unexpected reputation as the latest region threatened by overwhelming waves of tourists.
Unexpected because Norway is considered a leader in environmental causes, and the Arctic region of Norway has a deserved reputation for earnestly pursuing sustainable or ecotourism. Wildlife safaris here are sea-bound, taken in Zodiac boats riding waves in search of whales or of sea eagles diving for fish. Nature is the draw; the narrow coastline cradled by hills and mountains interspersed with meadows and bogs that draw hikers, photographers, rock climbers and stargazers.
But chaotic crowds of tourists are spoiling some of the island’s standout destinations.
Uttakleiv Beach may be the most extreme example. In 2005, National Geographic declared it the most romantic in the world, the archetypical blessing that turns into a curse. The rugged, sinuous beach is literally invaded by tourists every summer.
The rugged, idyllic Uttakleiv Beach, which is ill-equipped to handle the tens of thousands of tourist it receives. The village of Uttakleiv has 12 year-round residents. Photo by William Nash
The rugged, idyllic Uttakleiv Beach, which is ill-equipped to handle the tens of thousands of tourist it receives. The village of Uttakleiv has 12 year-round residents. Photo by William Nash
The small village of Uttakleiv — year-round population 12 — watched as visitors showed up by the hundreds, then the thousands, then the tens of thousands. This past year, 250,000 tourists jammed into the beach with tents, volleyball nets and garbage.
Many stayed just long enough for an Instagram “money shot.” Others slept overnight in deluxe tents arranged by a continental tour group. The rest slept rough, often using the great outdoors as a toilet. Other than paying a small parking fee, these tourists paid the village nothing for upkeep of the beach or to clean up the mess they left behind.
“One weekend it was 8,000 liters of garbage,” said Eldar Andersen, one of the dozen villagers who are trying to regulate this free-for-all. He proudly showed a line of industrial-strength garbage cans the village installed last year with money earned from that parking fee.
But that is the extent of the village’s control over the tourist invasion. It can’t send tourists away, even when there is barely room to walk, and locals can’t enjoy their own beach. The village can’t collect new fees at all, much less enough to ensure proper sanitation and safety.
Eldar Andersen with the new industrial-strength garbage cans the Uttakleiv village has installed to cope with the garbage tourists generate. Photo by William Nash
Eldar Andersen with the new industrial-strength garbage cans the Uttakleiv village has installed to cope with the garbage tourists generate. Photo by William Nash
Residents’ hands are tied by a national law known as the “right to roam.” Promulgated in 1274 by Norway’s King Magnus VI, the law has been interpreted over the centuries as giving anyone the right to go freely through any uninhabited area of Norway.
The right to roam fits with Norway’s democratic self-image and its deep ties to the outdoors. (The country has won more medals, including gold medals, at the Winter Olympics than any other in history, and by a significant margin.)
In the tourist explosion of the 21st century, Norway has been discovered as an overlooked gem of pristine outdoors and intriguing northern culture, attracting more than 6 million foreign tourists, more than the population of the country. The greatest recent increase is from Asia.
While there is understandable pride in those numbers, here in the Arctic, the crush of tourists in very confined spaces is pushing right to roam to the limit.
As it is, tourists to Lofoten travel freely and are largely unaccountable. Hiking on trails or open terrain, stopping where there are no toilets, no showers, no fire pits and no garbage cans doesn’t stop tourists from building fires where they please, fouling streams with feces or interpreting “uninhabited” to include cemeteries or an empty barn.
“There are no fees, no registration, no accounting, no idea who is visiting from which country and which tourist agency,” said Remi Solberg, mayor of Vestvagoy, which includes the popular Haukland Beach.
A visit to these Arctic Circle islands destroys the notion that overtourism mostly threatens historic European cities, the great world monuments and already heavily populated countries.
It turns out that’s not true. Overtourism can happen anywhere, depending on the region’s strengths and weaknesses and its ability to devise a wise approach to managing tourism.
During five days traveling the length of the island and some of the region, crossing fjords and the open sea, talking to farmers, surfers, ocean guides, fishermen, officials, tourism experts, entrepreneurs and restaurateurs, I heard islanders wrestle with plans to preserve their singular landscapes while still welcoming visitors. Their concerns were both universal and intensely parochial.
To expand on these problems, mayor Solberg joined Ole Kristian Fjjeltun-Larsen, a farmer and surfer who is paid by the municipality to do the minimum upkeep of Haukland Beach in the summer high season.
Remi Solberg, mayor of Vestvagoy at Haukland Beach. Solberg is working on solutions for the overtourism the Lofoten islands are experiencing. Photo by William Nash
Remi Solberg, mayor of Vestvagoy at Haukland Beach. Solberg is working on solutions for the overtourism the Lofoten islands are experiencing. Photo by William Nash
“Until seven years ago, no one was in charge of maintaining the beach,” Fjjeltun-Larsen said. “We didn’t need it.”
Pointing to a cluster of high-end camping tents on the beach, he related how tourists pay $60 to a French tourism agency to pitch their own tents on a public beach but pay nothing to the community.
“They are there for free,” Fjjeltun-Larsen said. “They don’t pay anything. We have tried for a long time for the possibility to charge a fee, but the government doesn’t allow it.”
The mayor agreed that it was “not easy to paint this picture. It’s a big frustration.” The beach needs money from fees to finance urgently needed infrastructure, including public toilets and better roads.
And the beach is far too crowded.
Solberg complained, “Locals can’t find any room anymore. The beach is taken over by international tourists. We’re discussing where is the limit: What is the value, the real value of the beach and wilderness?”
They listed alternatives: Declare the beach a no-car zone and allow only a certain number of bus shuttles. Create a large parking lot nearby, again with limited spaces, and stop cars from parking along the roadways and blocking traffic. Whatever small steps they could take.
Hits to the economy
Fish, especially cod, are the source of this island’s traditional wealth and, coincidentally, its beauty. The red cottages of fishing villages clinging to the water’s edge are regular features on tourism websites.
On Lofoten, the locals can eat cod for breakfast, lunch and dinner, and on hikes they munch cod jerky. At Anita’s Sjomat cafe, the chandelier is a tiered fantasy of hanging dried cod. The lunchtime favorite is a cod burger, which was quite delicious.
The conversation at our table was “whither fishermen?”
Bjorn Jensen, a fisherman and member of the board of a new national park, said, “Today, tourists already have more space than fishermen. We need space for our fish racks, space for access to the sea. We live in a small area up against the mountains with little space.”
He went on to describe how tourist demand in the summer for renting those quaint, refurbished cottages has reduced housing stock for locals during the high season, when shops and boats and restaurants need affordable housing for seasonal employees. It is the Arctic version of complaints heard around the globe.
“Tourism can’t replace the income from fishing,” Jensen said.
The local fishing industry has other worries, ranging from potential oil drilling in the area’s ocean floor to climate change affecting fishing grounds. Yet tourism seems the most urgent concern at the moment.
A fjord ferry delivering passengers and mail to remote villages. Photo by William Nash
A fjord ferry delivering passengers and mail to remote villages. Photo by William Nash
The foreign crowds on this island of only 25,000 people, with misunderstandings and mayhem, at times seem unbearable.
Liv Rask Sorensen, assistant chief of the Nordland County Council for regional development and head of a group on tourism strategy, said, “In high season you can’t even walk alongside the road it’s so crowded with buses and cars. Even ambulances can’t get through. Farmers have trouble herding their sheep when tourists invade their pastures thinking they are uninhabited.”
The slow season has problems, too, she said.
“In winter, we have tourists in car accidents who don’t know how to drive in the snow, mostly from India and China,” Sorensen said. “We get no help from the national government. The municipal government has to do it all.”
The list is long. It includes unprepared climbers with poor equipment and inadequate clothing trapped with injuries on top of mountains. Local helicopters rescue them, and local hospitals care for them, absorbing costs that can run into the tens of thousands of dollars.
••••
Officials on the Lofoten islands and in Nordland County know they are at a crossroads where the benefits that come with being an “it” destination collide with the fear that they won’t find answers to overtourism before it’s too late.
Overall, communities on the islands are prospering. Fishing boats still bring in large hauls, good restaurants serve local produce and arts and crafts, from knitting to ethereal folk music, are plentiful. Nights are punctuated with northern lights and silence. A unique way of life might be modernizing, but it hasn’t vanished.
A simple bureaucratic change signifies how officials now see the tourism issue — that it belongs within the community section of the county government’s business department. It can’t be seen anymore as a question of just bringing in more and more tourists.
Hanne Lykkja, an adviser with the Nordland tourism project, sees solutions as being intensely local.
“Involving local communities in the development of [the tourism] experience, management and planning,” she said, “helps them understand the qualities of their own landscapes, making them more proud and interested in taking care of their own culture.”
In Lofoten, that idea translated into a successful campaign to create Norway National Park No. 40 on the islands. Lykkja described it as a “cry out to the authorities to get help to manage the visitors.”
After two of the islands’ municipalities begged to have a national park, the government granted it this year. With the park comes money to help maintain trails and figure out how to protect from tourism’s impact on the environment.
In parks, right to roam can be curtailed to protect the environment, urging basic guidelines prohibiting fires, restricting camping to campsites and asking that waste goes into garbage cans and that humans use public toilets.
They also strongly recommend that visitors hire local guides or take tours to avoid predictable mishaps. This is all couched in “Norwegian nice,” but park officials are hoping to be able to enforce the code of conduct and take it further, such as restricting mountain bikes and closing off tracks and paths already so damaged they are dangerous.
Jensen, the fisherman on the park board, said he was looking at the American system of National Parks and its sophisticated management and authority.
The question is: Will the national government allow changes even if it requires updating rules, especially right to roam, to protect locals’ way of life and the environment as well as ensure a safe and successful experience for visitors?
Bird-watching, Norwegian style. The experience of the small communities on the Lofoten islands shows that the threat of overtourism is not restricted to large cities. The very things that make the Norwegian Arctic an appealing destination — unspoiled landscapes and locals’ unique way of life — are in danger. Photo by William Nash
Bird-watching, Norwegian style. The experience of the small communities on the Lofoten islands shows that the threat of overtourism is not restricted to large cities. The very things that make the Norwegian Arctic an appealing destination — unspoiled landscapes and locals’ unique way of life — are in danger. Photo by William Nash
Just keeping up with the crush of 21st-century tourism has put the people of the Lofoten islands in a bind, caught between their desire to be hospitable and enjoy the profits of tourism on one hand, while managing the rising costs of welcoming so many people on the other.
This is isn’t a neat dilemma pitting local problems against national interests. It’s much trickier.
At a recent two-day workshop to thrash out details of tourism plans, an unexpected divide came to light. A local politician praised efforts to build an international airport on Lofoten, which now has only two small regional airports. He was openly shocked that so many of his neighbors opposed the idea, arguing that the island wasn’t ready for the greater numbers of tourists who would arrive in the big jets.
In the end, they have little choice. Norway’s national leaders traveled to Beijing recently to discuss, among other topics, how many more Chinese tourists would visit their country, including the Arctic.
With the preservation of their pastures, mountains, bogs, lakes and open seas at stake, the people want reassurance.
Jensen, the fisherman, wondered, “Will we become like Barcelona?”
