I read the book How I Became a Pirate by Melinda Long and David Shannon in first grade. The bright acrylic illustrations bring to life the story of a kid named Jeremy, a brand-new pirate recruit. He descends into the chaos of pirate life—from ditching baths and bedtimes, to singing sea chanteys and finding treasure.
I think that was the moment I decided a pirate’s life was for me.
***
Across the Nærøyfjord in Western Norway, there’s a town called Gudvangen.
Town is a loose term. No restaurants, gas stations, or grocery stories here. Just a dock, a hostel, and the Viking Village.
Surrounded by mountains up to 1,700 meters high, waterfalls, and icy waters, the Nærøyfjord was dedicated to Njord, the god of trading and sailing. Njord must have liked the place, because it was a flourishing Viking trading town.
Now, though, it’s a village tourists pass through to get to Bergen. With seven hours of November daylight to explore in, my friend Clara and I didn’t want to miss the view on our route to Bergen. We booked a night in Gudvangen’s Budget Hostel.
“Besides,” I said to her. “It’s a Viking Village.”
Cue the excited pirate chorus trundling around in my head singing their “Yo ho, yo ho” song.
Because while I didn’t know much about Vikings, I did know they were basically pirates.
“Viking” comes from the Old Norse word vīk (meaning bay) and which formed the root of “vikingr” (pirate). And in Gudvangen, there’s a whole dang village of real life Vikings you can go visit—no kidding.
Their reputation as bloodthirsty wild men of the North is probably exaggerated, since their most likely bitter victims wrote their histories years later. Probably.
***
The walk to the Budget Hostel froze my nostril hairs.
Clara and I walked with our backpacks and bag of instant noodles. The darkness was only interrupted by the small gift shop light.
With viking leaders and warriors like Erik the Red, Ivar the Boneless, Ragnar Lothbrok, and Cnut the Great singing away in my head in time to Clara’s chattering teeth, the walk wasn’t the worst part. Nor was the fact that the Vikings in the Viking Village only opened up to visitors on weekends.
It was the Budget Hostel.
The paint was peeling, shutters hanging off hinges. The paper sign on the door read: “Closed for seasonal maintenance. Please see the reception in the gift shop.”
The pirate chorus of Erik the Red, Ivar the Boneless, Ragnar Lothbrok, and Cnut the Great was a bunch of quitters.
***
The gift shop cashier had to finish pouring someone’s beer in the restaurant quadrant of the gift shop before she could come to the reception desk.
“Hi there,” Clara said. “We booked a night at the Budget Hotel? But it says it’s closed for maintenance.”
The only bus out of Gudvangen left thirty minutes ago and wouldn’t be back until morning. With no hostel…
“It’s closed for maintenance,” the Bartender-Shop Manager-Front Desk said. “But, I’ll tell you what, I’ll give you this key, and we’ll upgrade you to the Viking Experience for the night.”
She handed us a real metal key with the number five on it.
The pirate choir took up their celebratory song again with vigor.
***
Number Five had a grass-thatched roof and a wooden exterior. The glass door reflected the mountains all around us. Clara fiddled with the key until the doors swung inward, and—
Behold, the Viking Experience.
The bed was layers of animal skins, the bed posts made of oak carved to look like the dragon head of a ship. Along the wall was a lake-shaped slab of mirror, surrounded by carved wooden animals. Some Viking’s shield and spear were hanging up as decoration on the other wall.
And a skylight right above the bed.
“No way,” I think I said, as we dropped our bags, feeling like we should be eating roasted reindeer and toasting flagons of mead.
Instead, we used the small electric kettle to make our instant noodles and tucked ourselves into the fur-covered bed.
All the pirate rules—or lack thereof—came back to me and I thought to myself: the Viking Experience must include no bedtime, no shower, maybe we need to raid our nonexistent neighbors, and we shan’t brush our teeth or hair.
But it was 5 pm.
And the stars were out in full force, because the single gift shop light couldn’t touch them.
So Clara showered and I brushed my teeth. Then she convinced me that having unwashed Viking hair wasn’t part of the Viking experience. We didn’t raid our neighbors. I brushed and re-braided my hair.
Then we watched the stars. Maybe we talked; I can’t remember.
Those stars, man. I can’t describe them, all framed up by the dark mountains.
I fell asleep reading about the Vikings, and listening to the muffled silence of an old Viking village where the Vikings only work weekends.
It was 7 pm.
***
Do you want to know how How I Became A Pirate ends? It ends with Jeremy realizing the pirate life doesn’t include bedtime stories. The pirates bring him home. Sometimes we forget to appreciate the small, beautiful things in life, like brushed teeth after instant noodles, and a warm bed after the frost tried to swallow you up. And pirates show you the way back.
We couldn’t be pirates forever—even Vikings weren’t pirates forever. History shows Gudvangen went from a settlement to a trading port, then port to town, then town to a dock, bus stop, and a Viking Experience.
But if they got to see that kind of night sky every night?
I kind of wish we could.
Gabrielle Eisma graduated Calvin with a BFA in studio art and writing in 2022. She’s from Grand Rapids, Michigan, where she now works as a writer and illustrator for books for (mostly) children and middle grade readers.
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Gabbie, this was so fun to read! You write so vividly – I could picture the things you were describing. Thanks for taking us on your journey!