Cruising the western edges of Europe with Viking Ocean Cruises

I've just spent 48 hours tramping through Barcelona: hard to resist a dawn-to-dusk round of sightseeing in this quirky and utterly beautiful city. My ship Viking Sea has lingered in port for two nights, as if reluctant to depart. Now I'm happy with a day at sea to let my sore feet unknot. I sit in Viking Sea's gorgeous Wintergarden in the sun, forking up scones with clotted cream and dithering over the two-page tea menu. I attend an interesting lecture that takes me through the glories of Spanish art. Goya and El Greco are fierce and gloomy, but modern Spain seems a happy place, and so is this ship. Cutlery and conversation clack over dinner. The coast is a blue smudge on the horizon, pink-haloed as the sun sets. Container-ship lights wink like diamonds on velvet-blue water.

Most of the Mediterranean lies at our stern. It might seem curious to be heading away from more fabled ports and almost certain sunshine, but I fancy this cruise from Barcelona to Bergen might provide more subtle delights. Viking Sea will skirt Europe's rim, taking us from the hot passions of Andalusia to the cool pastures of Normandy, then onwards to Norway where – who knows – snow might still be falling. It's a cruise for travellers who like variety, who want to experience Europe's many incarnations: Moors and Vikings, paella and pickled herrings, Miro and Monet.

After a day in Malaga, we leave the Mediterranean behind, slipping through the Pillars of Hercules in the night and onto Spain's Atlantic coast. We dock at Cadiz, port of choice for early expeditions to the Americas, where naval fortifications make for a fine afternoon's perambulation. Many other passengers have disappeared on shore excursions inland to Seville; to a farm that raises bulls for the bullfight; or to the whitewashed, Moorish villages of Andalusia. There's travel envy as we recount our various days over dinner, which is just as it should be. Any good journey should already have you hoping for a return.

We all share the approach to Lisbon, past an old fortress that guards the entrance to its bay and wide Tagus River. I tuck into breakfast waffles topped with berries as the ship glides past the city's iconic Belem Tower and Monument to the Discoveries, ducks under a suspension bridge, and wedges itself beneath the hilly Alfama district. A morning coach tour orients and presents Lisbon's highlights, leaving the afternoon agreeably free to wander at whim. I take to the pavements, past grand peeling palaces and gold-loaded churches. Cobbled squares swirl in black-and-white patterns. As I head uphill, views expand and streets contract. Washing flutters and geraniums wilt in pots. Old men at cafe tables linger over coffee: a bica, I discover, is just a bit longer than an espresso, and made with good Brazilian beans.

This is a repeated pattern on this Viking cruise, and works well: good orientation tours spiced with history and highlights, followed by ample free time. Next day we're docking at Leixoes in northern Portugal, from which it's a quick transfer along seaside promenades into Porto. It's a wonderful town whose red and orange houses cling to the side of a gorge above the Douro River. The riverfront buzzes with sundrenched cafes, the train station is a wonder of blue tiles.

Cruising is a cruel pastime, allowing a delightful sampling of destinations, yet always leaving you longing for more. The ship must sail on, but more awaits. As we head north the coast is green and windswept. We dock at A Coruna, right on Spain's northwest corner, and about as far west as you can get without falling off mainland Europe. An early-morning walk reveals a pleasant town of seaside walks and pretty squares, an agreeably ordinary counterpart to inland, tourist-filled Santiago de Compostella, our main destination for the day. The medieval pilgrim town is crammed with tour groups and weary pilgrim hikers, but there's no distracting from the honey-coloured buildings, lovely squares and great carbuncle of a cathedral, draped in gargoyles and gold.

I think I'm ready for more time at sea. Next day we're traversing the notorious Bay of Biscay, which confounds expectations with its millpond stillness. I reward my sightseeing muscles with a massage in Viking Sea's spa, then gather up my courage and plunge into the Snow Grotto, where snowflakes fall from the ceiling and ice crunches underfoot. If it's supposed to boost the circulation, it works: I'm hungry enough that evening to devour a plate-sized, excellent bistecca fiorentina in the Italian restaurant.

Where does the Atlantic end? Maybe at Cherbourg, on a Normandy peninsula that thrusts into the English Channel. The day is bracing but blue, and local guide Sophia full of enthusiasm. "We're in a fantastic region full of history, a beautiful and rich part of France. It's the closest coast to Paris, so we have many popular resorts, and Normandy became a place of fashion for all the painters. And although local cows are not as productive as Dutch cows, we produce high-quality milk and butter, brie and camembert!"

It's a day of countryside and gardens, and next day we're still in Normandy at Le Havre, where many passengers head off on a gruelling shore excursion to Paris, a three-hour drive away. I stay in Le Havre, glad that I do. Though it's one of France's largest industrial ports, it has beaches painted by Monet and a flower-filled city centre World Heritage listed for its modernist architecture, and providing a satisfying change from Europe's medieval and baroque old towns.