Day 23. Wednesday 5 June.

It was going to be a slow day. Our flight from Copenhagen to Oslo was a very civilized 11.45 AM, which meant we could have a leisurely breakfast, final pack and on to the already reconnoitred public transport system. So why did D set the alarm for 6 AM? (it’s because….??????)

Walk, bus, train, plane…. and we were in Oslo. While T was attending to other matters D was accosted by a lady from Mumbai who asked if he was Norwegian. He replied in the negative and she was quite downcast because she wanted advice on how to get to the Central Railway Station (Sentrum). That D could tell her, as he’d already researched it and had the plan down pat. T emerged and the lady attached herself to us, following everything we did until boarding the train. She explained that she was a project manager in IT security in India and had been sent here by her company. We assume that it was at short notice, as she’d only looked for a hotel yesterday. She was aghast at the prices: we gently explained that this was the reality. She did say that as a vegetarian her food costs wouldn’t be too high, and T had to gently disabuse her of that error. Furthermore, she wondered if people would speak English here, as she didn’t have a local phone and would need to seek directions (T thought that she had her survival skills fairly well-honed).

Sentrum was a surprise – unlike most central stations we’ve been through, which have ranged from grotty to unappealing, it was clean, bright and offered what looked like quality dining/drinking outlets.

Before leaving Sentrum, we sorted out what we had to do to get on our bus (a train substitute for the first leg) for Friday’s travel and then began the walk to our apartment. It’s not far on the map, but the sight of the hill leading up to the Royal Palace was enough for a diversion to the nearest tram stop. The tram took us to close to the street we’re staying on – Parkveien – but needless to say, it is at the other end. On arrival we’ve found a tram stop right outside our front window – a mixed blessing, as the noise will disturb us into the night!

A late check in because the apartment wasn’t quite ready, but after dropping off our stuff and getting a bagel (the two bagels cost more that the two bottles of tax-free wine!) down the road, a slow walk back down to town through the palace gardens – Slottsparken – down to the Parliament building. Outside was an interesting chronology of the right to vote: universal franchise in 1919.

No matter how hard you try, it is exceedingly difficult to look dignified with a seagull sitting on your head.

(You can tell how short we are of photos for this blog!)

As a further comment, the beggars/homeless in the streets were far more noticeable than anywhere else we’d been on this trip, but by no means were they a bother other than as a prick to social conscience. Far fewer bikes than Copenhagen, but lots more electric scooters.

Eventually tired legs and tireder feet pushed us back to the apartment. It will be an early night.

Question: Which former Australian PM features in a Phantom comic?

 

 

 

 

Day 22. Tuesday 4 June.

We’re in the general area of the EU, where you’d expect commonality. But so far not one washing machine that we’ve encountered operates in the same way (made worse by a lack of instructions). To add to the task, last night the current one didn’t want to stop – each attempt just started another never ending cycle. We now have the most washed clothes ever.

Because there were no museums open yesterday that’s where we headed today. First on the list was the Design Museum, a celebration of Danish style. They certainly do chairs well – but lots of other stuff as well. The display posed an interesting question of the balance between functionality and form. The display presented a good compromise between the two.

 

Coffee, of course, and then across to visit our Mary at Amalienborg Palace, but either she wasn’t at home or was otherwise busy on Princess duties. D thought the drill of the guard needed sharpening.

Disappointed, we lunched in the adjacent gardens where we were ‘entertained’ by a couple repeatedly filming themselves in contrived scenes.

As we left, T recognised two friends from Canberra, Steve and Di and greeted them with, ‘I thought you were in Facebook’. D had dismissed them as just some other tourists, not registering who they were. We joined them for a coffee and a sharing of experiences: they had been in Iceland & Faroes 3 weeks ahead of us, but in a campervan (we’re jealous) as well as Helsinki and Tallin; they were flying home tonight.

The Geological Museum was hosting an exhibition originating from the Victoria and Albert focusing on nature (sources, colours, sustainability) and design in 400 years of fashion – the basic message being the consequences of exploiting natural resources for garment and accessories production. It was fabulous and the message resonated. T doubts that cotton jeans will die out but is prepared to take another look at viscose and tencel and wonders whether the dress containing seaweed is worth the effort. However she is confident that the ‘sandshoes/sneakers with everything’ fashion is a better option than heels.

5000 of the beatles were used in the dress!

 

T asked the young woman behind the counter when they closed – 5 PM. When asked the time now, she dragged out her iPhone and responded: D then asked whether it was the same time as on the watch on her wrist (it was). She gave the sort of (smiling) ‘bugger off’ wave he’s used to.

As a finale we decided to take a bus tour – on urban transport – through and beyond the Norrebo region. This was getting out of the swish or tourist focused Copenhagen into areas where people actually lived. The difference was remarkable, not least because of the numbers of hijabs, shawarma places and gold jewellery (the Op Shops were closed!) but also because the buses became packed with ‘ordinary’ workers, rather than tourists.

Can you guess what this shop sold?

The roads swarmed with cyclists of every different sort, mostly without helmets. Everyone (well 50% of population) cycles.

We walked back though an old cemetery which was now a public park – the presence of the dead didn’t seem to bother couples conversing on the grass!

 

Tomorrow, Oslo, a short stopover before heading into deepest, darkest (that should be lightest) Norway. The forecast is not promising.

Every relationship requires a balance, of complementarity. This is a neat summary.

Day 21. Monday 3 June

Today was to be ‘Shakespeare’ at Kronborg Castle, at Helsingor (Hamlet’s Elsinor) but it turned out to be less about the Bard and more about the tensions between Swedes and Danes in the 17^thcentury. At breakfast T wondered whether a tour of ‘The Bridge’ was a possibility, but then dismissed it. It seems to be offered as a day with a driver who talks….and some reviews referred to the downside of that. T is used to a driver who doesn’t talk.

So, armed with the lunch pack and umbrellas for that forecast afternoon thunderstorm, we were on the bus & train again, by now quite expert. Helsingor township felt instantly different from the city; much older, quieter, quainter.

A coffee at a special place kick-started our morning excursion. It was quite different from yesterday in hipster-ville – we reckoned today we reduced the average age by a couple of decades!

A walk around the harbor toward the castle delivered the first highlight, the trapeze girl hanging from the boom of a ship practicing her stuff while a photographer filmed from beneath and a young girl (6 years old?) enthusiastically clapping. Reminiscent of our Grant grandgirls in Melbourne a few summers ago…

  

And some interesting and provoking artwork, part of the local council’s program – the message is simple.

The castle is indeed a magnificent thing, occupying the headland, staring across the sound at Sweden.

There were a number of sections to explore, starting with a guided tour of the dungeons from where 400 Danish soldiers suffered through a major siege (17^thcentury) and 3,000 Swedes came across the frozen sound and tried to take the castle. Interestingly, the horses were quartered on the first level below ground, with ventilation chutes, with the soldiers on the level below them, without ventilation.

Inevitably, with dwindling supplies, military plans ignored, and fatigue, there was a compromise/surrender/treaty and Danish territory was reduced with a ceding of  some of the coastal territory to Sweden. A ‘law’ still exists apparently, that allows a Dane to beat a Swede who comes over the frozen water, with a stick! T was reminded of the tension between the 2 nations over the building of THAT BRIDGE.

We were further advised that the shifts for the soldiers were of 24 hours and if one fell asleep the punishment was death by firing squad. There were less dire punishments for lateness, drunk on duty and the many other misdemeanors that soldiers commit.

King’s Kitchen, of course, was on the ground level, and very comfortable by comparison, unless you were the cook and had to sample all the King’s food to make sure it wasn’t poisoned.

The focus on Shakespeare was not what we expected. Instead of real segments from Hamlet, there were hammed up music-hall style-moments from scenes, with 21st century embellishments, in order to amuse and engage the paying customers.

One line was delivered correctly: ‘‘There are more things in heaven and earth, Horatio, than are dreamt of in your philosophy’ but out of context with what followed. We were a bit dissatisfied with this approach, so we undertook our own castle discovery: The King’s Kitchen with its curved ceilings, the Tower delivered fantastic views, the King’s Tapestries were magic, and therein were the trapeze artists again!

The tower, threatened 145 steps – we ascended, and there were.

But the views were worth it…

 

Alongside many huge aggressive anecdotes, the Chapel, and the schoolkids on their excursion were having a bit of fun.

While we waited for the duel scene, a bunch of visiting youngsters were having their own duels at the courtyard fountain.

It would be marvellous to attend a Shakespeare Festival (August) at Kronborg.

Being a Monday, we discovered that the Maritime Museum was closed, as was St Maria’s Church in Helsingor but the afternoon only had time left for wandering through the medieval streets, admiring the preservation of the ancient gems, ogling some of the art work and salivating at the produce,

 

    

………and finally stopping for a beer (they weren’t both hers). The plan was that these would help us doze on the hour long train trip back to Copenhagen – we hadn’t reckoned on the young family with two lively little girls to keep us awake with their games. It was just like being at home.

At 1730 the wine shops either side of the pub closed their doors and then set about covering and locking their front windows with security screens. The ferries going to and fro across the sound (only a 20 minute ride) continued to load and unload passengers and vehicles.

But we did discover that political commentary knows no boundaries.

This was one of a few – apparently someone doesn’t like Thomas – and can’t spell, which might be an indicator (yes, we know its probably a Danish word).

And so, perhaps the last word to Will: ‘We are such stuff as dreams are made on, and our little life is rounded with a sleep.’

Day 20. Sunday 2 June.

Amazing how a proper sleep is so restorative and the day looks fine without a wind. Breakfast recommendation from Fiona was followed up…2 bus rides, with D moving the map 90/180/360 degrees but finally getting us there. We passed a fairly large procession of marchers carrying the Faroese Flag – the Merkio. We don’t know whether it was a protest, a demonstration or just a show of pride.

Stepping inside Atelier Sept., we altered the average age immediately by at least a couple of decades, although we figured we at least qualified as hipsters. It seemed to be a known spot, all seats taken. We had a ‘green theme’ breakfast and commented on how we are ‘yesterday’s people’; couldn’t help but overhear surrounding conversations, conducted between consultations of smart phones, and judging the lifestyles of other customers. At the same age, what were we doing/thinking? T referred to what happened in the ‘olden ages’: D replied that was us!

 

A walk toward the ‘postcard’ area of Nyhavn showed that thousands of our friends were doing the same on a glorious summer day.

 

D noticed something odd at a trash & treasure market stall, while T found a knitter and observed the poncho design, confirming a measurement from wrist to elbow (an Icelandic ‘ell’, roughly 18 inches), so she can start her recycled-wool project.

Talking about trash and treasure, the rubbish on the streets is noticeable after the almost spotless Iceland and Faroe Islands, where litter was a rarity.

Bikes of all sorts everywhere, riders mostly without helmets, requiring lots of situational awareness because there were also no bells or warnings, nor slowing down. D did see one older rider (deliberately) brush a young man on a foot bridge, no doubt to send a message. Bikes with a box in front were popular for carrying kids: T did see one with the front of the box cut away so that Grandma could step in and out easily and have a front on view as she was wheeled about.

Moving away from the crowds, we followed the canal path and spotted some possible vessels for you, Ian. It seemed that Puff either had a blockage somewhere or was having a scheduled pump-out.  Even the name was an omen, given one of our later destination today.

T thinks the other vessel needs too much gardening maintenance. And there was an unusual stretch where people sat relaxing in deck chairs…..viewing other people dining across the street. Sort of Brighton Beach without Brighton or the beach.

Found ourselves in Christiania (again with lots of friends). T was hoping for a herbal foot-fix but the economy seemed to be based in only cash; interesting how time changes an anti-capitalist movement into a new form of capitalism. Either one of the statues would fit perfectly into our place?

 

The skate park was deserted but food, beer and ‘medicinals’ seemed to be doing brisk trade. There are no photos of that area, as photogrpahy was banned. Who would have thought: rules?

We did step into an establishment with signage for organic cakes…but cash only!

A stroll by the canal in Christiania took us past a dwelling where the pooch was reviewing the paint work from an upstairs window. On speaking to the painter, he said that it was actually a half-shade too light for his liking, and in a season or so it will have lightened even more.

He seemed to be having a good day as it was beer o’clock, seemingly taken with some other substance he was smoking, the sun was bright and he was taking a break from the paintbrush…The canal and the treed walking paths, providing welcome shade, were a serious change from the Faroes and how about the romantic duck (Eurasian Coot) taking a rose to his partner? This is a true story.

There was some kind of memorial a good distance away, where flowers (old and new bouquets) had been left. T asked some walkers if they knew what it was about…’No’…and then we spotted the bird, following him to his nest, where ‘She Coot’ was sitting in state hidden in the reeds, surrounded by the flowers he had brought her. So romance is still alive.

Time for some ‘feet-up’, so bussed back to apartment, passing through a residential complex where the beach and water beckon the locals on a warm afternoon, but we’re a bit doubtful about how the canal tides work, and more particularly how clean the water is.

 

Lunch was another nice baguette with cheese, silverside, tomatoes and avocado (more hipster food) & then a bit of ‘feet up’ before heading out again, with map and new bus routes. D specially wanted to see The Little Mermaid, so we did just that.

She’s small and rather sweet but the best part was that by 7:30pm, we weren’t battling the crowds. It was a beautiful mild evening stroll, returning via the Kastellet (an old military fort with ramparts, still used as a military establishment). We could walk through and found a recent memorial that was simple & dignified. There are three spaces:

• One for larger ceremonies – with the inscription ”One time – One place – One human being” (En tid – Et sted – Et menneske).
• One for currently deployed personnel – with an eternal flame and the names of the conflicts and areas affected by catastrophe that Danish forces have deployed to.
• One for the memory of tthose who have died on service – with inscriptions of the names of the fallen.

Then back to our digs for a soup supper. A lovely day.

Day 19. Saturday 1 June.

First day of summer, so of course it was very wet and windy in Torshavn. An early departure for the 40 km drive to the airport planned for 6 AM) meant that after the first wake at 2.21, there followed starts at 3.30, 4.25 – and then surrender, lying awake until it was that time that we might as well get up anyway. Some might remember those days of ‘nothing else to do, might as well go to bed’ – this was in reverse. A cup of tea partially helped, and we were on the way by 0545. The good news was that we had the roads pretty much to ourselves, and then the rain stopped as we drove into the airport – which was deserted. There was that initial dread that we’ve somehow missed something important – like the date, or a cancelled flight. But the airport began to slowly fill as we finished off our breakfast sandwiches.

The flight itself took under two hours and we flew over THE Bridge*. We were in our apartment nine hours after we left Torshavn.

It was an intially easy transition to train from Copenhagen airport to Central Station albeit with a few challenges: a full train, high steps from platform to train, and very crowded standing room only. T did spot what appeared to be an empty carriage section, and was about to claim a seat, then saw the sign ‘First Class,’ momentarily thought what the heck, but then reconsidered because no one else was pushing the envelope (are they really so serious here?)  On arrival, there was a deluge of people from several trains all trying to get up the same narrow stairs and escalator. From there, getting any usable information about bus, metro or train routes from Central Station was mission impossible. The first help desk officer just handed D a map and said that was all he needed: it wasn’t. The next, a lady at the Information Kiosk, advised us that we’d need bus route 250S or 34 but she couldn’t otherwise help us. Perhaps we are being reminded of that old Army adage – the six Ps – that ‘prior preparation prevents piss poor performance’? Anyway, we just missed a 250S so waited for the 34, to be told by the grumpy driver that this was the wrong route and all we needed to do was read the bus stop information, which of course meant nothing to us. Bystanders couldn’t help, so we approached the next 250S bus, and found a helpful driver, who promised to tell us where to get off. As we got off he gently told us that you should exit from the back. Obviously, rules are rules. A long walk to the apartment, and a wait until it was ready. The young man checking us in was able to tell us that there was in fact a bus stop just as few minutes away. We needed to check the validity of that advice, because his credibility was suspect: when we explained where we’d just been, he told us that the Faroese are actually Danish – from what we’d observed, this was far from the reality. But he was right about the bus stop.

The apartment is very hip and edgy/industrial…all black, minimalist, a single open space with concrete floor, exposed concrete columns and ceiling and of course an open shower area where water goes everywhere and D commented that the TV can’t actually be watched in its position, with strong light pouring in and the two sofas at right angles to the screen. Spacious, new and well appointed – we’re not sure if it’s an old commercial building/factory/store converted to apartments or whether it’s a new building made to look like an old one done up. We suspect the latter!

 

There are apparently permanent residents – these apartments sell for around one million Australian dollars. There is a very good supermarket on the corner of the apartment building, much like an IGA. And it sells beer and wine! And a nice touch – a temperature controlled waiting room for man’s (or woman’s) best friend – but this sad doggy missed out, probably being toughened up like Faroese babies. D didn’t like the way T was looking at him.

D is continuing his research into beers, with some assistance from his helpmate. The tea pot is a challenge – but one that T will accept and overcome, with some assistance from her helpmate. The outcome for both endeavours will likely be similar.

 

*See Bron/Broen at https://www.imdb.com/title/tt1733785/

Day 18. Friday 31 May.

No sun, no rain! Cloudy and very cold but dry, so an outdoor picnic lunch happened at one of the ‘sleeper’ villages – but was not fisk and kips.

 

With the changes to the economic base, so many old settlements have become ‘sleepers’…people closing up their houses, often inherited, and moving to the larger centre of Torshavn, or if they stay in the village, they become commuters. Familiar story? Several particularly spectacular villages have the tourist buses roll in, and a coffee house (also selling beer) and WC are the important public facilities; can’t have one without the other!

 

We took the Buttercup routes; so-named for them being more picturesque than the normal roads (if that’s possible) and wound up and down the mountains and around and around the coastline.

Bucolic is a word that comes to mind, with green, green and more green, sheep, sheep, more sheep, geese, geese…D wonders if the Buttercup routes are some sort of subtle Faroese joke on tourists, as they definitely need the driver to maintain total concentration all the time. They are mostly single lane, sometimes in poor condition for stretches, and require the constant use of passing laybys.

Fortunately, observation of the protocols was excellent, although it was interesting that, unlike in Australia, acknowledging the driver who gave way with a wave was not universal – sometimes not even a sideways glance, let alone slowing down!

D was adamant there’d be no single lane tunnels today (or ever again) and all was well, but just to make sure we’d had our ‘tunnel fix’, we took a (retrospectively) mis-chosen turn and, but with a smart about turn, had the bonus of a tunnel view in alternate directions. The mapmakers get it wrong again!

Only one village we visited was without a church – most of which were of s similar simple design –  a small town on the east side of Esturoy Island. D did note that one of the houses had some nude statues in a window, but we’re not sure if there’s any sort of causative link (and sorry, we didn’t stop to take a photo). At Saksun (pop.14), where the church occupied a splendid spot between a lake and the sea, fishing was allowed at both, but not on a Sunday between 1100 and 1400 (church service time) perhaps to ensure attendance. D reckons that fisherpersons are religious – the whole activity is an expression of blind faith! We wondered how many folk would be disturbed if fishing was allowed.

 

AT Congo on the NSW South Coast (one of our favourite spots) Kerry, the manager of the camping ground in the Eurobodalla National Park, is a fanatic bird protector – particularly of the endangered Oyster Catchers. Here the Pied version is abundant – this guy/gal was very protective of an area in the cemetery – we assume his/her nest.

Reflections at the end of our Faroes visit: an impressive, proud, tiny, resilient, nationalistic society, surviving with flexibility in a fragile economic space. Nice people, who drive too fast (in the opinion of elderly tourists).

Day 17. Thursday 30 May.

Church bells rang and rang. ’Maybe it’s a funeral’ said T. ‘No idea, but there’s lots of people over there at the church,’ said D.

The day looked bright enough, so the thought was to take a short ferry ride across to Nolsoy, have lunch in the café and then get the late afternoon return. If rain set in, it would be a long afternoon in a picturesque village, sipping coffee or perhaps something else. So, having sorted out routes and parking beforehand, down to the wharf to find out. And discovered a neat way to turn an outboard motor into an inboard motor.

Everything seemed quiet…including the ferry terminal. A few staff were at desks, but there were no passengers/tourists about. T approached a guy at a computer, behind a desk, behind glass…the ferry we wanted would leave at 1300, as ‘today is a Sunday timetable’…?     ‘Why?’     ‘It’s a public holiday’   ‘Why ?????’…get translation from another staff member… ‘It’s, how do you say it… Ascension Day’…hence the church bells, hence the quietness in town.

So, perhaps a revised plan, since most establishments were closed – even the Tourist Office, supermarkets and many cafes were, so perhaps the café on Nolsoy would also be closed: too great a risk.

A coffee to decide on plan B. Found a café and had an interesting chat with a couple from Austria who were finding the Faroes culturally so different from their own. When pressed for more detail, the explanation seemed to be based on a Protestant vs Catholic cultural difference. They were finding that the Protestant churches were so unfamiliar, so ‘simple’, no saints, no ornamentation, no ‘Mary focus’, none of the ornate artwork of the Catholic tradition. T has appreciated the minimalist approach, the pared- back references to Jesus, the lack of saints…, a recognition of the environment.

 

So, somewhat inadvertently once again, our day took in some more churches; after coffee, a visit to the Torshavn Cathedral and then at day’s end, to St Olav’s and the 16^thcentury remains of the Norse Cathedral in the tiny village of Kirkjubour. D was not allowed to pull on the rope to ring church bell. More later.

In between church visits there was a terrific display of the natural and cultural history of the Faroes at the National Museum and the adjacent Outdoor Museum which had preserved a farm & its outbuildings (dated from the 1700’s). (Dad joke warning) D particularly liked the Peat House – was that Pete standing outside?

The bull pen was another significant site.

The afternoon wind was so severe that even the chicken seemed so frozen in the rock lee that it couldn’t muster the effort to move out of our way.

The car said the temperature reached a high of 7 degrees – with a very strong wind chill factor, we reckon it was hitting minus.

A late afternoon drive took us to Kirkjubour and alas, 2 tour buses had just arrived, with passengers rushing to the WC just as Gudrun had said back in Iceland! So we headed in the opposite direction, walking into a fierce headwind and came across a small shelter (farm outbuilding) where 2 young women in lycra streaked with mud, and running back- packs, had sought refuge. We invaded their space as they munched on muesli bars and learnt that they were sisters from Sweden, were on a ship travelling back to Sweden from Iceland and had 5 hrs land time in Torshavn. One sister was studying Mechanical Engineering and had completed an exchange – the other had come to bring her home. They wanted to visit the village of Kirkjubour in that time and were keen on running, so had run ‘over the mountain trail’. After 10 mins chatting with us, they were off…back onto the trail, albeit with one false turn.

St Olav’s was suitably minimalist (T loved the painting behind the altar) and the cathedral ruins were impressive (T couldn’t help but think of the eerie symbolism…the demise of the Catholics..)

 

  

The last highlight at Kirkjubour was coming across a local resident who was cutting up and preparing whale meat from ‘a hunt’ that had happened yesterday. We had seen the hunt while on our road trip yesterday morning; T had commented on power boats chasing fins (we presumed dolphins) somewhere around Kollafiordur. We had not stopped to join what we thought was a tourist attraction, as all viewing points were full. It turns out that this had been a ‘hunt’, which happens randomly, perhaps several times a year, obviously depending on the Pilot Whales coming near to land. Someone sees a pod of whales and phones a network of fishermen + also the police chief to get permission for a hunt. Yesterday we saw maybe a dozen boats, herding the whales toward a beach. From today’s account, we didn’t grasp whether 150 were in the pod, or whether 150 had been killed, but the process is that their sonar is confused by the boats, they are herded onto a beach (apparently they can only kill them if they’re beached) and are then speared through a hole at the back of the brain causing instant death – a justification that ignored any panic and suffering that might have occurred in the herding and the beaching. Then, according to a formula possibly based on the number who are involved in the hunt, or the number of whales or the number of residents in the village nearest the beaching, the whales are equally divided up. We learnt that if we’d been on the beach and involved in the killing part, (we would have needed to sign our names on the hunt register), then we would have been eligible for a share of the meat. Thus, the ‘whale butcher’ was preparing his share although he hadn’t taken part, some of which would be salted, some frozen and some air-dried and would be good for his family to eat for a couple of years. He was happy to talk, bloodied hands, bloodied jumper (T admired the traditional knitting pattern) and mentioned that he’d spent some time working on a dairy farm in SW Western Australia 30 years ago…It had been a good experience. T’s dinner menu tonight is still undecided!

 

Some great views bfore we departed, as the sun was setting (no, it wasn’t!)

 

 

Day 16. Wednesday 29 May.

Today’s plan tackled the north-eastern islands, Vidoy, Bordoy, and Kunoy, accessing them via Eysturoy – the one we’ll ‘do’ tomorrow. They are linked by either tunnels or bridges, and there are tunnels through mountains. The double lane tunnels were fine but the single lane ones were a different story, as we found out later in the trip…in one direction, the driver must give way, and pull-over bays are spaced at roughly 150-200 metres (they weren’t as closely spaced as D would have liked!) At one stage on our return journey, with an oncoming school bus we had to back up to the previous bay, D having misjudged the distance of the oncoming bus, with a couple of anxious drivers waiting in the bay behind who were not amused at our misjudgement, and an intent bus driver in front staring us down as he kept coming. There was no grace. And of course the automatic alarm in our car would signal ‘too close to the rock wall beep, beep beep!’. And it was very dark! ‘The light at the end of the tunnel’ is a very apt and comforting expression. But there was no aggro, horns or gestures – that we were aware of, anyway.

The day was icy cold mostly (3-6 degrees without the wind chill factor), plenty of rain/sleat and wind, so we scuttled between showers and waited for the worst to pass. It usually did after we’d given up waiting.

 

At Klaksvik we recognized the coffee shop when we saw the prams lined up outside.

Peering in (the prams) we decided that the mums were not having free time. However, it turned out that most were! We sat by the café window, admiring the view of the church and T commented on the bouncing movement within the prams…D said, ‘It’s the wind’…nope, at different intervals, a mum would exit the café and lift a baby out! ‘Toughening them up’ said D.  That seemed to be a theme: we later saw a group of half a dozen very young kids shepherded by two adults, walking along in sheeting rain, all rugged up in their wet weather gear. And later Do noticed what appeared to be a child care centre with a bunch of kids happily playing outside in the sleet and rain, and as we write this we can see local kids on the soccer field kicking a ball about, oblivious to the weather.

There was some modern building and some modern sculpture in Klaksvik – and some more traditional activity.

 

The young woman who served us was a ‘foreigner’ – we apparently stand out as different – she was Danish. Her mother was Faroese, so she’d come over to lean the language and to understand her origins. She remarked that the language wasn’t difficult – it was the culture that was most challenging. She didn’t say why.

We don’t go out of our way to track down and visit churches ands/or cathedrals – they are just there! The impressive church at Klaksvik had a room downstairs with a collection of Biblical scenes from Jesus’ life, all carved in wood, jigsaw-style, by a local artist..

Each scene contained a couple of elements that were not of the main wood, for example, metal or driftwood, a key, a ram horn…We had a lovely conversation with a local church attendant about the ‘dying church culture’. She reported that although around 150 people attend on Sundays, the age group is 40+ and it’s difficult to attract the young. Like all the churches we’ve seen, crosses do not appear to be emphasized, and seem to be mostly absent inside.

The road took us to Muli (a hamlet of 5 houses – we’re not sure if they’re occupied, are holiday houses (why?!!) or just abandoned) which is described as the last settlement on the Faroes to have been connected with electricity and a road.

 

The status of ‘road’ is arguable – a sometimes bitumen, sometimes gravel, pot-holed, narrow, steep, windy goat track might be more accurate.

And the last settlement that we saw today, opposite Muli,  was at the top of Vidoy Island, where the North Atlantic pounds the cliffs, and a little white church stands bravely. Fields and stonewalls rise up the slope…The wind and rain were fierce at this end of the world. We can only assume, by their absence here that it too tough even for the hardy sheep.

The return journey brought us back to a fairly sunny Torshavn, interspersed with a shower to remind us of where we were; we ventured out of the car, stretched the legs for a stroll around the harbor, taking snaps of the early merchant settlement and the fort, which had been the HQ of the British forces during WW II. Not sure if this was a sinecure or a hardship!

 

 

 

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.

Day 14. Monday 27 May. Faroe Islands

Although we were leaving at a reasonable hour to catch a 1 PM flight – well, D thinks 8.30 is reasonable, T has some lingering doubts – we both still awoke at odd hours, our disorientation made worse by the light all night. As it turned out we rose earlier than planned – the alarms didn’t even get to go off! We had a drive, according to Google Maps, of one and a half hours, but as the trip in had taken two and a half, D was not taking any chances, hence the seemingly excessive travel time allowance. And as you’de expect, because we’d allowed plenty of time, everything went smoothly, so much so that we had time to detour into the dock area of Reykjavik for a coffee and a small snack. Just as well, as it turned out, because we had nothing more to eat until a small snack after 6 PM.

Handing over the car, checking in, and clearing security were a breeze. Well, not quite. We entered a lift with a Chinese couple and another young Asian man, pressed the Floor 2 button – nothing. The young man pressed the door button – they opened, then closed. There were four door buttons to choose from – they were all to open the doors, none to  close. We all had a turn – pressed Floor 1, then Floor 2, then Floor 1 again – nothing. Eventually D pressed several of them one after the other in no particular order and the lift rose. ‘It was a special code’ said D. The older Chinese couple chuckled, the young man was deadpan – he may not have heard about Dad jokes.

We’re not sure we even had any immigration check, although that might have been incorporated into the airline check in. The closest we got was a requirement to announce our nationality, but not prove it (perhaps the accents were enough?) as we passed through a gate after security – the attendant clicked us off on her screen with a nod.

The one-hour flight was smooth and although the air was bitter there was no rain on arrival, although we had anticipated it – and it is forecast for the next two days. Picked up duty free (D’s calculation of the wine component required  is different to T’s – we’ll see) and car – an upgrade to a Nissan Qashqai (is that a Scrabble word?) but unfortunately a manual – D has enough to worry about without remembering to change gears, and headed the 45 km or so into Torshavn. On the way discovered that the vehicle had GPS – oh what joy to be told where to go, rather than struggling with maps that were so clearly wrong. The route that the stern lady in the GPS took us on didn’t seem to gel with Google Maps, so D was starting to have doubts but T reassured him that the road signs all pointed to Torshavn. Another feature of this car is that when it veers too far to the right, it beeps a warning. T figured that out, and said nothing until, after the second beeping warning, D felt that he needed to explain what it was, just having worked it out (but there was no need to explain). But the stern lady came good, delivering us to the front door of our apartment, to be met by the owner’s girlfriend Olivia – the owner is a ship’s captain, away on a four-week job in Norway. Olivia lives in a village an hour away but assures us we can call her at night if we need to, as she is accustomed to patients doing just that. We’ll try not to bother her.

T was gobsmacked by the scenery: we’ve come to a collection of minute, sheer rock islands in the north Atlantic, with a road snaking its way at the base, sub-sea tunnels connecting the islands, turf-roofed cottages straight out of a fairy tale, sheep grazing precariously,…and they’ve been inhabited since medieval days?

 

The reception and the facility were/are outstanding and Olivia, a psychiatric nurse, was ultra-helpful. D did wonder whether she was assessing us, but we seemed to have passed.

There were ‘start up’ supplies left for us, along with fresh bread, a thermos of coffee and one of hot water for tea, fresh fruit, and an invitation to use whatever we needed. D started to look for the wine cellar (just joking – and he couldn’t find it).

Initial supplies are in, and after Iceland the prices are a relief.

T claimed the kitchen and has prepared a surprise in the oven (Rose not Eve).

PS. For anyone with a life, see https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Killing_Eve

The induction stovetop, by the way, took all of D’s skills to get turned on. He’s had a great day as a code breaker for lifts and stoves.

And now, as dinner smells fill the cosy apartment, snowflakes are falling and it will be light all night, but that’s alright.