On the Norwegian archipelago of Støtt, a former German coastal fort, built into the hillside after the island's 1941 occupation, once housed around 200 soldiers. This military complex, with its concrete bunkers and tunnels, exists on an island that has also long served as a refuge for travellers and fishermen, a contrast that underscores Europe's complex relationship with sanctuary and control.
Fortress Echoes in the Arctic
The Støtt archipelago, just north of the Arctic Circle, has historically served as a refuge for fishermen caught in violent winter storms. An artist recounts a local legend of islands rising “like magic” to save drowning fishermen. For generations, Støtt sheltered fishing boats, with a trading post on Innerstøtt supplying those heading north to the rich Arctic cod grounds of Lofoten.
Today, this trading post is Støtt Brygge, a hotel run by Eva Ann Andersen, whose family has owned it for 129 years. Andersen, who returned 15 years ago from an international corporate career in Oslo, now offers the island as a refuge from “stress, overwork and modern urban life.” The island, reached by flying into Bodø and taking a coastal ferry, presents low-lying granite, red cabins, and tall cod-drying racks. To its west, only open ocean separates it from Greenland.
The island's population has fallen from around 120 people to just 25 permanent residents today. This decline began in the 1980s, when innovations in the fishing industry, such as larger, safer boats and trawlers, eliminated the need for fishermen to stop at trading posts like Støtt. Andersen is converting the island’s old fish factory into luxury suites, aiming to attract more international visitors and create year-round work for locals. Her daughter, Benedicte, describes the island as a “Zen mode” compared to the stress of Oslo.
The Illusion of Refuge
While Støtt is marketed as an escape for those seeking connection to land and local people, its historical military presence underscores a different kind of European reality. The island's former German coastal fort, one of its most striking historical features, once housed around 200 soldiers. This complex includes concrete bunkers and tunnels built into the hillside after the island was occupied in 1941, along with an underground hospital, ammunition stores, and gun emplacements.
This history of fortification, designed to control and exclude, stands in stark contrast to the idea of universal refuge. The hotel's rooms, starting at 1,990 NOK per night, cater to a specific demographic, allowing free movement and escape for those with capital. Visitors can cycle, kayak, take RIB boats to glaciers, watch sea eagles, or go snowshoeing, enjoying a curated experience of “nature.” Andersen's stated aim is to “rebuild this island’s society” through tourism, drawing artists and writers.
Public Spaces Under Strain
Further south, in Bath, Britain’s oldest lido, Cleveland Pools, faces a different kind of challenge to public access and communal well-being. The charitable trust running Cleveland Pools confirmed it will “definitely reopen” despite significant flood damage that closed the historic site 2 years ago, in January 2024. This closure occurred only four months after the pools had welcomed swimmers back following a multi-million-pound restoration.
Detailed investigations revealed both mechanical and structural damage, necessitating major repairs and significant fundraising. Peter Askew, chair of Cleveland Pools Trust, stated they are “moving as quickly and responsibly as we can towards reopening the pools.” The trust regained legal operation 1 month ago from Fusion Lifestyle, the lido operator that appointed administrators 5 months ago after a “prolonged period of financial difficulty.”
Askew noted that floodwater entered the plant room door, and improper management of groundwater levels when the pool was emptied caused the entire structure to lift, breaking pipework. Uneven paving stones around the pool's edge indicate further structural problems. The trust has launched a public consultation to “reach out to as many different communities for whom the pools could be useful,” followed by fundraising for repairs potentially starting about 1 year and 3 months from now. This struggle to maintain public amenities, even after substantial public funding, reflects the broader precarity of social infrastructure across Europe, often neglected in favour of border militarisation.