Day 15. Tuesday 28 May.

Started the day with cultural matters: Nordic House (no, it’s not a museum as we thought, but a concert/events hall.) But a fantastic facility – and needless to say, all the events had either just finished – or will start next week.

Then the National Art Gallery: all artists of the Faroes, a lovely space and a fabulous exhibition of linoprints, watercolours and oils, and some sculptures, by artists such as Samal Joensen-Mikines, Janus Kamaban, Ruth Smith (drowned tragically at age 35), Steffan Danielsen, Zacharias Heinesen. A large exhibition was devoted to Elinborg Lutzen – it consisted of linographs and paintings and was terrific, with many Grimm fairytale like. We hadn’t heard of these artists before – like Snorri Sturluson in Iceland our education is limited! Did we mention that this apartment is full of artworks (all originals) of Faroese artists, oils and watercolours?

      A few from the permanent collection took our fancy. T particularly liked the installation of the knitted jumpers, titled ‘Babyboom’, by Astrid Andreasen, each jumper with a traditional pattern.

A few from the permanent collection took our fancy. Then, as the sun was momentarily bright, we strolled through the (treed) park toward the old part of town.

Snow flurries then took over, so we ducked into a café for the usual, critiqued it, then hurried back to the car to move on with out-of-town sightseeing.

The remainder of the day took us over the main coastal road (#10) and two of  the ‘Buttercup Roads’ of this island (Stremoy), through tunnels, gasping at view upon view. 

Not sure what the little ‘cellar’ in the churchyard at Tjernuvik is, but this far-north village (settled in medieval Viking times) faces the North Atlantic and now surfers come for a good ride and maybe the coffee and waffles. They would need very good wetsuits.

The need to tie down stored caravans is perhaps an indicator of the wind here?

Sheep everywhere, including on the road, narrow winding cliff-top and bottom- roads, with pull-over bays at regular intervals. 

Salmon pens below. Sheer cliffs, terraced cliffs, waterfalls everywhere.

Villages and hamlets are picture-postcard, houses tumbling together and many with turf roofs, holding fast to the cliffs and clustered at the bays. T couldn’t help but think of Dylan Thomas’ Under Milkwood.

D coping with a largish manual car, narrow roads and unknown destinations. One terrific driving aid is an indicator that beeps if you go too far left or right. Could this perhaps be implanted into humans?

And a gift at the end of the day.