Grand tours: Will we be drinking beer or oil?

Last heard of busking his way from England to Santiago de Compostela (in a column for this travel section and a follow-up book, 'Pilgrim Snail'), Ben Nimmo turns his attention to Scandinavia. Fascinated by the blood-soaked trails and travels of Svein Forkbeard, Britain's least known and shortest reigning king, Nimmo decided to retrace Forkbeard's journey to England, backwards, in a leaky boat called 'Peregrino'. The resulting book, 'In Forkbeard's Wake', is a voyage around Scandinavia that delves into Viking past while drolly dissecting Volvo present.

Haugesund is not the crown jewel of Norway's coastline. Concrete may be the material of which architects' dreams are made – which says something about architects – but it should never be allowed in a country famous for rain, snow and long winter nights. The name Haugesund means "sound of the grave-mound" (how do grave-mounds sound? Sepulchral, presumably) and nothing the architects have done to the waterfront has animated it. It does, however, have the distinct advantage of providing an expansive and well-drained open space conveniently near the city centre, ideal for all kinds of public events. (I should be writing brochures.) By six o'clock that afternoon, the first of the festival, most of western Norway had turned up to celebrate. I stood on the town bridge to watch the party, and it was like looking down on a Cuban fiesta. The long, broad quay was jammed with brightly dressed revellers, many in towering velvet jester's hats. This was no village fête, all sobriety and soggy bunting. Beercans glinted, plastic beer-mugs sloshed, children ran around garrotting each other with the strings of helium balloons, fishmongers shouted their wares, and as the bars flung their windows wide the squeaks and doodles of warming-up musicians turned to a full-throated "When the saints ...".

I like Norwegians, so I'm allowed to laugh at them. I like jazz musicians, so I can laugh at them too. The combination of the two was almost bound to offer some amusement. The key to jazz behaviour is showing off. The key to Norwegian drinking etiquette is a certain boisterous heartiness, a red-faced slap-on-the-back mentality which hasn't changed much since the Stone Age; then as now, Norwegians had a lot to put up with in terms of climate and environment and the best way to do it was to be drunk and noisy. Thus when jazz performers meet Norwegian audiences it is a clash of the Titans. The players are trying to show off to listeners whose main trait is showing off, and since there's not much else to do in Haugesund, the listeners are absolutely everybody in town.

I spent one happy evening watching a British salsa band strut their stuff in front of a home crowd – salsa because the Sildajazz organisers realised very early on that a four-day diet of nothing but Dixieland drives strong men to violence. They were a professional outfit, and since they spoke not a word of Norwegian their leader had come up with the bright idea of making a joke of it. He'd brought a huge yellow cue-card on stage and at appropriate moments he read it in a stilted BBC accent, pausing in all the wrong places and occasionally stopping to confer with the rest of the band as to how you pronounce "øl". (Which means "beer", unlike the German "öl" which means "oil". Never confuse the two. It's not pretty.) The audience decided to join in.

Conductor: "Hei. And welcome to ... er ... Howge ... no that's not right ... Horege ... no ..."

Voice from audience: "Haugesund!"

"Aha! Thanks you, sir! Haugesund. Are you having a nice virgin?"

Whoops and cheers as the band's Norwegian host hurries on stage. Swift confabulation.

Conductor in English: "Right. If anyone sees a guy called Tommy here, kill him for me – that was his translation ..." In Norwegian: "Are you having a nice festival?"

More cheers from the crowd.

"Good! Now we're going to start playing. If anyone has any requests, please bring them here with a bottle of oil ... er, beer!"

And they did.

To order a copy of In Forkbeard's Wake', by Ben Nimmo, at the special price of £5.99 (RRP £7.99) including p&p in the UK, call the HarperCollins Credit Card Hotline on 0870 900 2050 and quote Dept 837M.

Follow in the footsteps

Fish, fjord and festivals

Haugesund's fortunes have been built on the herring industry and North Sea oil. But these days it is also the venue for the Norwegian film festival and the international SildaJazz festival. The town's real claim to fame, however, surrounds the story of a baker who emigrated to the US. His daughter became a star as Marilyn Monroe, and a monument to her was erected here to mark the 30th anniversary of her death.

Getting there

Scandinavian Airlines (0870 607 2772; www.scandinavian.net) offers return flights to Haugesund via Oslo from £216 and b&b at the SAS Radisson from £99 per double room per night.

There are two crossings a week from Newcastle to Haugesund with Fjord Line Ferries (0191-296 1313; www.fjordline.co.uk), with fares from £60 per person and £60 per car until the end of February. Berths cost from £20 per person.

Robert Burr