Norway

After many a Scottish island holiday together — long ferry rides, walks along sea lochs, the comfortable rhythm we'd settled into — we agreed it was time to look further afield. Norway. The fjords. Somewhere new, but somewhere that promised the same kind of grand, quiet scenery we'd come to love.

The trip began with a short hop from Edinburgh down to Southampton on a small propeller plane. Mum, characteristically unfazed, climbed the steps with a smile, ready for whatever the next week had in store.

We checked into our hotel, then took the train into the city to stretch our legs. Southampton turned on the weather for us — warm sun, big skies — and we found our way to one of the central parks, chestnut trees in bloom, white blossom drifting across the grass. A quiet, unhurried afternoon before the big day ahead.

Back to the hotel for dinner and an early night. Tomorrow: the ship.

The sun came out for us in Southampton — warm, bright, the sort of day that makes you wonder whether you've packed the right clothes for Norway. We laughed about it in the car on the way to the terminal: we'd prepared for cold, and here we were sweating in the queue.

Sky Princess loomed at the dock, gleaming white and impossible to take in all at once. Inside, the atrium took our breath away — that great blue chandelier overhead, gold and marble everywhere, the hum of a thousand people settling in for a week away.

The first proper day on board: nothing to do but enjoy the ship. We took it slowly — morning coffees, a wander, then down to the theatre for a daytime show of Deal or No Deal with the audience playing along.

Later, a quiz in the Piazza. We'd already found that this was going to be our place — live music, somewhere to sit, the rhythm of the ship moving around you. We'd come back here many times over the week.

Then, the main event: formal night. We dressed up — Stuart in a tuxedo, Mum in a black dress with red peonies — and made our way down to the atrium for photographs. It felt very glamorous, very old-school cruise.

The highlight was the Captain's Champagne Waterfall — Mum got to pour the champagne over the tower of coupes, an honour neither of us had expected. We finished the evening at the theatre for Rock Opera, which was genuinely brilliant. A great cast and a memorable night.

Our first morning in Norway. We slid into Stavanger under a clear blue sky and decided to start the day in style — a vast room-service breakfast on the balcony, far more than two people could reasonably eat, eaten in dressing gowns while the Norwegian coast drifted past.

Ashore, Stavanger was a delight. We wandered up through the old town — Gamle Stavanger, with its narrow cobbled lanes and immaculately kept white wooden houses — and then back down through Fargegata, the famous painted street, every building a different colour: pink, lemon, turquoise, lavender.

We stopped for coffee and cake in the town centre. The trolls outside one of the souvenir shops were too good not to pose with — three grizzled old fellows in waistcoats, looking thoroughly grumpy at the world.

Back on board for the evening, and the theatre again — this time for a country music band, before another stop in the Piazza on the way home.

The Loen Skylift was the day. We'd booked it before we left and had been quietly looking forward to it all week — a cable car climbing more than a thousand metres straight up out of the fjord.

The queue at the bottom hummed with anticipation. Then the doors closed and we were lifted out over the trees, the village shrinking below, the fjord opening up, snow appearing on the peaks around us.

At the top, we stood on the viewing deck and just looked. The fjord stretched away in both directions, Sky Princess no bigger than a paperclip on the water far below. Snow-capped mountains rolled to the horizon. It felt like being on top of the world. Truly emotional — for both of us.

We had a hot chocolate at the summit café — warm hands, big views — and rode the cable car back down still slightly stunned. The evening, fittingly, was a quieter one: another visit to our Piazza, drinks in hand, taking it all in.

Skjolden sits at the head of the Sognefjord — the longest, deepest fjord in the world — and you feel it the moment you arrive. The fjord is so still it doubles the mountains perfectly in the water. Sky Princess looks enormous everywhere except here, where she sits like a model boat at the foot of the cliffs.

We started slowly — a proper dining-room breakfast for once, eggs and bacon, toast, French toast across the table — and then a gentle wander around the small village before the main event.

And what an event. A RIB ride through the fjord. Bucket-list stuff, both of us said — and it really was. Crystal-clear skies, water like glass, the boat skimming along under cliffs that just went up and up. We had the best time. Mum, gloves and life vest and hat all on, beaming the whole way.

Back on board, a cocktail to settle the day's adrenaline. The Piazza, again, was the right place to be.

Our last port of call — and the morning was a brisk, grey, classically Norwegian one. Bergen is the kind of city that looks made for cool, drizzly light: the painted wooden warehouses of Bryggen line the harbour in deep reds, ochres and mustard, leaning gently into one another as they have for centuries.

We walked into town, took in the fish market, and wandered the narrow Bryggen alleyways — wooden boards underfoot, leaning gables overhead, a thousand years of trading history tucked into a few hundred metres.

Then up the Fløibanen funicular for the city view. At the top, two unexpected guests: a small white goat lazing on the path, and a giant grinning troll — a fitting second cameo to the trolls of Stavanger.

Lunch back on the ship — a curry, of all things, on a fjord cruise — and then an honest, well-earned afternoon snooze for both of us. The evening: Spotlight Bar in the theatre, and then a cocktail in the Piazza, this time with a violinist playing classical music in the atrium. A perfect quiet close to our final port night.