Image: An inmate convicted of murder sunbathes outside the wooden cottage where he lives at Bastoy Prison, Norway's only island prison.Can a prison possibly justify treating its inmates with saunas, sunbeds and deckchairs if that prison has the lowest reo ffending rate in Europe? Live reports from Norway on the penal system that runs contrary to all our instincts - but achieves everything we could wish for.
On a clear, bright morning in the tranquil, coastal town of Horten, just south of Oslo, a small ferry slides punctually into harbour. I am to take a short boat ride to the sunlit, green island of Bastoy shimmering on the horizon less than two miles away. It is a curious place. There are no secluded holiday homes or elegant hotels with moorings for passing yachts. The 120 people who live there never visit the mainland, but then why would they?
They spend their days happily winding around the network of paths that snake through the pine forests, or swimming and fishing along the five miles of pebble beaches, or playing on the tennis courts and football pitch; and recuperating later on sunbeds and in a sauna, a cinema room, a band rehearsal room and expansive library.
Their commune has handsomely furnished bungalows with cable TV. The residents eat together in an attractively spacious canteen thoughtfully decorated with Norwegian art. The centrepiece is a striking 10ft long model of a Norwegian merchant ship.
If it sounds like an oddball Scandinavian social experiment, you'd be right. Bastoy is home to Norway's only island prison. I am here to scrutinise its hugely controversial approach to crime and punishment, and to do so with some knowledge; the last time I set foot in a prison was as a foolish 23-year-old man.
After my law degree, with a young man's lust for adventure, I ended up in a notoriously harsh prison in Nepal. Through crass stupidity I tried unlawfully to bring gold into the country. I wasn't in for long but the experience terrified me, which was all I needed to get my life in order. That, to me, is the purpose of a prison. Bastoy is the polar opposite.
On board the ferry I am greeted by a shaven-headed prison guard, Sigurd Fredericke, who is my guide and protector for the day.
'Don't worry,' he grins, shaking my hand with a reassuringly vice-like grip.
'Bastoy is not like any other prison you know.'
He pauses, looking furtively around the boat.
'You see that man there,' he whispers, pointing discreetly at one of the three uniformed ferry workers, 'he's one of our inmates - a murderer.'
As we chug ever nearer, and the outline of an old church steeple rises above a backdrop of pristine pines, it becomes clear that Sigurd is absolutely right. Slowly, the idyllic sight of what appears to be a quaint Norwegian village reveals itself, complete with cosy cottages, dirt roads and even horses and carts.
The first person we see on the island, on a wooden verandah outside a modern bungalow, is a man in swimming trunks stretched out on a sun lounger. Nils is 36. He was given a 16-year sentence for shooting dead a fellow amphetamine smuggler over an unpaid debt. Now he's relaxing between his shifts as a ferry worker. Read More
