Day # - can't remember anymore, but alas to Iceland

A fitting end to my tour of the Faroes, yesterday afternoon I climbed with Pauli and his cousin Oliver the mountain of Skælingur at 767m. It was a another cloudless sky (I'm beginning to think all this talk of bad weather in the Faroes is a myth to keep the tourists away!)

A fantastic climb rewarded with stunning views and I think we counted at least 13 of the 18 Faroe Islands. I have uploaded a few photos here at the end of the set of shots on the Faroes.

The night before I got to experience modern Faroe culture at first hand. We went out clubbing with Pauli, an interesting experience as nothing really happens until 1am and then ends at 5am or so. There was no real 'disco' music at the club but live band playing good rock covers and originals, it seem every Faroese can sing and owns at least 1 guitar, as they all seem very musical. However dancing is a different matter altogether, if you stand on the edge of the dance floor minding your own business, a girl will come up and ask you to dance, you don't then get down and strut your funky stuff - you have to be able to waltz or whatever you call that dancing when you hold one hand and have one arm behind your partners back. You are then whisked around the floor in true ballroom dancing style to U2, Coldplay or whatever else is being played. I was caught out once, but not twice - I stayed well away from the floor after I trod on one too many toes. Everyone can dance in this style expertly, even after copious amounts of the local grog. I am told that everyone knows how, a tradition passed down from generation to generation...amazing!

So I have an hour before I board the Norrona again, for the last sea leg of this journey. I am bound for Seydisfjordur on the east coast of Iceland, I should be there at 9:00am tomorrow morning.

And so it is goodbye to the Faroes, I cannot believe what an amazing time I have had here, I am quite sad to be leaving. My thanks go to my wonderful host, who has looked after me so well and given me an insight to life on these islands that I believe most tourists fail to ever see - thanks Pauli.

Life on the road

Nearly 20 days into this journey now and life on the road has developed its own routine, there I was trying to escape one and have gone and developed a new one for myself. I awake at the same time, eat at the same time (my body demands it) and sleep at the same time. I am in the saddle for between 5 and 7 hours a day and on the road for between 7 and 9 depending on how long I stop for.

The first hour is always about pain, everyday a new ache attacks me, just as one muscle acclimatises another causes me grief. I have developed a system for dealing with this hour and it involves concentrating on the pain itself, not in a weird way - but really focusing on it, feeling it, studying it, trying to work out anatomically why it exists - I find that after 10 minutes or so some of the pain goes, as if it was only really there to test me, but mostly it is always there for the first hour. I also know that like clockwork - the pain will subside after the hour is up.

The second and third hours are strong ones, my legs are warm, blood is pumping and the knots and strains of the previous days and initial hours exertion is over, and now I feel strong and my speed increases. I can attack hills in this this phase without denting my reserves for later in the day. I usually enjoy the scenery during this time and stop to chat to locals and explore villages even for just a few minutes.

In the next phase of the day, the wheels have been turning for at least 3 hours and I have covered 30 miles or so. The motion of the bike, the noise of the wheels on tarmac, the chain through the cogs and the cadence of my legs and cranks puts me into a trance like state. It is difficult to describe - I zone out, time seems to stand still, like one of those movies where everyone else is frozen in time and I am the only one who can wander about freely. I have finally forgotten the past and no longer contemplating my future, only living in the actual second that is - I am enjoying that rare thing - the present. I am only thinking and feeling about what is happening to me right at that moment, body feels connected to mind and my surroundings. I have no concern for the dripping tap, expired MOT, the presentation for Monday morning.

This time is liberating, addictive and what gets me onto my bike nearly everyday. I long for this time and can only reach it once I have spent several hours in the saddle - a sort of right of passage if you like. When I have a rest day, my mind craves this "free time" but my body tells me I need a day off, so its alright.

In my final hour of the day I usually think about food, well sometimes I hallucinate about food, in fact, here I have been dreaming of stewed Puffin, wind dried mutton and potatoes as I usually only snack through the day as it is hard to cycle on a full stomach.

For those wondering if I am using my time to contemplate my future, I am but I don't want to force it - I'm sure the answer will present itself in one of the phases of my routine day.

Whilst I enjoy my own company immensely, I do miss sharing these incredible experiences with friends and family, the view from Mykines lighthouse back to Vagar was very special. I find myself thinking of you all individually when I see something I know you would personally appreciate.

Current photos are all here.

Grindadrap

For centuries the hunting of the Pilot whale has been an important food source and intricate part of Faroese culture.

The Pilot whale is not like other whale species and are very numerous, upwards of a million roam the seas and the Faroese might catch 600 or so a year. Once spotted out in open water the fishing boats herd and drive the pod towards the nearest shallow bay, by which time hundereds of locals have gathered to help with the cull. I have heard of policeman, nurses, dentists all downing tools to help bring the whales onto the beach and sever the main artery, bringing a quick a relatively painless death to the whale.

The meat, I believe is not sold for commercial gain but shared out amongst the poor, rich, fisherman, hospitals and schools.

I have not experienced one first hand, but would like to - so can only go by the description from the locals I have met. The process of killing the whales turns the water in the bay red, however everything is cleaned up quickly and the government limit the number of "Grinds" per year to avoid wastage.

Right or wrong - not for me to comment but an important part of the Faroese culture.

If you are interested in finding out more you should visit: http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Whaling_in_the_Faroe_Islands a fairly non biased description of the whole process.

Days 14 to 18 - all over the Faroes

200 miles on the bike

I read somewhere that an old Faroese legend says, that when the foreman in charge of making the earth, finished, he cleaned out his finger nails and what fell into the North Atlantic became known as the Faroes. Nothing could be farther from the truth, this country is wonderfully unique and mysterious. A weather beaten collection of 18 islands, none larger than the Isle of White, and most much smaller. Populated with handsome, intelligent, immensely generous and smiling people. Everyone I have met has been friendly, helpful, enthusiastic to show off their country and interested in me as a traveller to their home.

The weather and the elements hold the key to life on these islands. During the first 3 days, I had unbroken sunshine and got sunburn (unheard of here, as you only get 10 days of perfect clear weather a year.) However today I have had all the weather, sleet, fog, mist, rain and sunshine...oh yes and very strong winds (a cyclist’s Nemesis) all before midday. In fact a local told me that if Vivaldi had lived here he could have written the “4 Seasons” before breakfast! I can look up to a mountain road in the sunshine and curse the looming steepness, then 10 minutes later I am on it and in the mist.

Some people still live in turf roofed houses, but with wireless broadband connections, they water the grass on the their roof and I have heard in some places they mow them and even put their sheep on there to graze – someone might have been pulling my leg though!

The islands are mainly steep cliffs, poking out of the sea, rising in some places to over 2400 feet, there is very little flat land so the tiny villages cling to the side of the mountains. Roads hug steep cliffs and where they cannot cross a mountain, they go through a tunnel, where they can’t tunnel under the sea there is a little ferry.

There are birds everywhere, and I am here during the nesting season of the local Oyster Catcher (Tjaldur) an aggressive bird that has swooped and attacked me on occasion when I have stopped to rest too near to its nest. I have had to get my bike pump out on occasion to defend myself.

You are never more than a few kilometers from the sea, if you are outside you can always hear water, whether a bubbling brook, cascading waterfall or the crash of the surf against the rocks – it is everywhere constantly trying to erode these islands into the sea – but it will not succeed, they are made of the hardest basalt and will be here long after many other countries have given up.

The cycling is very hard, steep hills but quiet roads. An average day will see me tackle several 600 meter climbs and about 40 to 50 miles of distance, but I always seem to find time to stop and chat to a local and explore the tiny villages.

A highlight so far has been the boat trip out to Mykines (pronounced Michenes) it is known as the Bird Island, on account of the huge Gannet, Puffin and Kittiwake colonies that reside there. Only 9 people live on this island and all seem to be at the harbour when we landed in heavy seas, to greet us. This island can sometimes be cut off for a week if bad weather sets in.

So the next time you are looking at your world globe and wondering what that smudge or stain is in the middle of the North Atlantic halfway between Iceland and Scotland - it is the amazing Faroe Islands and you should visit them at your next opportunity.

Day 13 – Torshavn, Faroe Islands, North Atlantic

After another 14 hours on a ferry boat through the North Atlantic, I have arrived on this small set of Islands that seem to float in the middle of the ocean. The view from my cabin window is of hundreds of multicoloured wooden buildings perched on a hillside, green grass, jagged mountains and a little harbour.

I am the first “vehicle” off the boat and having already got my bearings, head up to my hostel on the hill (I seem to have memorised the city map from having read the Lonely Planet guide to this country through 3 editions and never having visited!)

It is 6:30am and the city is quiet, I’m checked in by 7:00am and already explored most of the city by 9:00am – quite small really, it is about a 2 square miles in size. I wander through narrow streets, punctuated with traditional turf roofed houses, the air is incredibly crisp and clean, each lung full clears the sleepy fog from my mind that has accumulated with all the recent travel.

Over a coffee in the harbour I plan my itinerary for the next week making sure I visit all the places I first read about 12 years ago. My biggest worry are the tunnels, there are lots of them here and some are single lane, unlit and unventilated – some are 5kms long, I can’t hold my breath that long so will need to seek advice from some locals.

Pauli turns up and tells me everything I need to know, the ways around the tunnels, the steep hills and where the best weather is. He has also arranged a fishing trip that evening with a friend of his and a local fisherman, and would I be interested in coming along. Amazing, I have been here 2 hours and already have been invited out fishing – I think the Faroese are the some of the worlds best fisherman, 97% of exports are fish! Meeting locals is the only real way to experience a country and its culture.

I take another walk through the old historic part of town, the Tinganes peninsula, where the town was originally established. The roads, houses and wharfs give away the history of this city. There are old guns, now rusted, sitting aloft the fort – some may have even been manned by the British during the war to ward off invasion.

The Faroes have been through the hands of the Irish Monks, the Norsemen, the Norwegians and the Danish. Since 1948 they have been a self governing region of the Kingdom of Denmark, they have their own Parliament and flag but are not part of the EU, everyone here speaks Faroese, Danish and very good English.

I return to the harbour for 9:00pm and board the “Scottir”, a traditional Faroese fishing boat, owned by Johan, a Scotsman who came here in 1959, hence the name of his vessel. I am wearing every piece of clothing I have, as I guess it will be cold out on the water and we are leaving late. Pauli is aboard along with 2 other friends.

Within 30 minutes we are out of the harbour and fishing between Torshavn and Nolsoy island. A line is thrown overboard with about 100 hooks on it and no bait. The line is rigged up to 2 arms that are suspended out either side of the boat and the line is then reconnected so it forms a complete loop, half the line in the water out the back of the boat and the other half across the back of the boat, under the piece of line on the boat there are 2 buckets. After 5 minutes of “jigging” the line, Johan starts to pull the line in by hand and on the end of each hook is a Coal fish, about 10 inches long. This is too easy, the waters are rich with fish here. I ask what will he do with the fish, they are for bait he replied, later in the week he will use each one to try and catch large Hallibut. Within an hour we have caught hundreds of these fish. We see many different sea birds, puffin, oyster catchers, cormorants and a pod or two of Porpoises.

As the weather is still stunning and the sun has only just dropped behind the mountains (it is past 11:00pm by now) we take a sail around Nolsoy Island and view the bird colonies perched on the steep cliffs. Coming back into harbour the sea mist is thick and thankfully this old vessel has the latest in satellite navigation. I am tucked up in bed a 12:30am and it is still light enough to read. What an incredible 1st day on the Faroes. Wonderfully kind and generous people, if this is only the start of the trip then I might be in for a real treat.

Day 12 - Shetland to the Faroe Islands

I have waited 12 years for this journey, this is the second time I have booked and paid for the ferry from Shetland to the Faroe Islands, I never made the trip in July 1994 for several reasons – but that is a different story. I am now finally on board the Norrona and bar us sinking I should wake up on the Arctic archipelago.

Standing in line to load my bike, I meet Pauli, a local Faroese and studying in Aberdeen. A pleasant chap who seems unsure of which accent he should use to speak to me in his perfect English. It starts off in a soft East coast Scots, then switches to harsh Cork Irish (he explains that his flat mate at Uni is Irish) and then to a Danish-Faroese accent. He is also on a bike and he kindly agrees to meet me onboard for coffee and will show me the best places to visit on the islands.
As the bow doors of the Norrona opens like the jaws of giant whale, trucks and trailers come off and a few of us passengers are allowed on, in the belly of this ship there is a helicopter trussed up on flatbed, bound for Iceland I am sure.

I’m in the lounge onboard the ship and the famous Richard Clayderman song is being played (I think it is “Ballade Pour Adeline”) on a Celtic guitar by a moustached man in a mustard corduroy jacket. The bar is filled with the Scots and their kilts, they have been following me I’m sure of it, all the way from Aberdeen. I’m waiting for the crescendo piece of the song, the piano chorus that defined elevator music for the future, you know the piece that everyone taps their fingers to, and suddenly all the Scots launch into a vocal version of the chorus, instantly the air in the room becomes laced with alcohol and those previously sober are now drunk through no fault of their own.

I leave the lounge and bump into the German helmet – I am being stalked! He has now, not had any sleep for 36 hours and is impressively inebriated. His stagger has nothing to do with the fact that we aboard a ship, about to enter the North Atlantic.

As the Norwegian Celtic guitarist, starts up with his version of “Blue Suede Shoes”, the Scots start to dance and beckon me to join them, is there not some tartan ribbon I can pin to my drab man made-fibre wardrobe that can show my support for the Scottish but allow me to wander freely as ghost aboard the Mary Celeste, unmolested by these merry, good natured drunkards?

Speaking of man-made fibres, I am amongst great company here, everyone in this lounge is sporting Rohan trousers and a Fjall Raven fleece (Scandinavian version of The North Face), there are lots of beards, bird books and Brasher Boots as well as foreign versions of Wanderlust, Trail Walking and the Rambling Times.

I’m sharing my cabin with a pair of Lichenologists (I wonder what the collective noun is for that?) they are from the UK and on their way to Iceland for the Global Symposium of Lichens, they are both wearing matching outfits of various hues of green, brown, taupe and yellow – against the grey walls of the cabin they look rather like the cryptograms themselves. In the bathroom there are matching soap dishes and toothbrush cases.....hmmmm, I better go and find the bar.

I bump into Pauli, and invite him to dinner, I think it wise to get the low down on the islands and their culture from a local, I wonder if he has ever seen a Grindadrap (the Faroese whale hunt) that I read about as child and have been morbidly fascinated with ever since. We become friends and agree to meet up again during the week.