Of Sagas, Singers, and Sheep

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Sitting on a grassy hill above the village of Gøta, watching the festivities of the surprising international G! music festival unfolding on the beach below -- and listening to the haunting voice of my now favorite Faroese singer, Eivør -- I couldn't help thinking: this is what the Faroe Islands are all about. Here was an international music festival, drawing performers from Europe and North America, in a little village that was also one of the major sites of the Færeyinga Saga, the farm of the powerful Faroese chieftain, Trondur i Gøtu (and the hometown of Eivør). And the bay around which the the three part village is stretched, enclosed by the high treeless yet oh-so-green hills of the islands, was the sight of a grindadrap, or pilot whale killing, just a week before the festival (once an important means of survival in the harsh environment of the islands). This was the very Faroese balance of the modern, plugged-into-the-rest of the world view and the deeply felt sense of history and unique cultural identity. There is somehow no contradiction. The islands are both very ancient and very forward-looking. There are turf covered homes and sheep leaping from all directions no matter where you are traveling. Yet there are sub-sea tunnels with video toll registration (you pay at the nearest Shell Station!) and cell phone reception in even the most remote areas. You can fly by helicopter from one remote village to another -- just leaving a name to reserve a spot and paying right before take off (change made in a tin can). It all works here.

The crossing from Bergen, Norway to Torshavn, the minuscule capital of the Faroe Islands, took about twenty hours -- and thankfully mostly on calm, by north Atlantic standards, sea. (Though the roiling sea during the night did threaten to jettison me from my narrow bunk in the bowels of the Norrøna ferry, a bunk I had to share with my large roller duffle.) I marveled at the journey the first Viking settlers must have made. We had the relative comfort of a large enclosed ship, complete with many of the amenities of a cruise ship (lounge singer anyone?). The Norsemen would have been in much smaller, open vessels. There are no real landmarks between Norway and the Faroes, just the grey sea and the grey sky. It must have been a frightening venture.

But when we saw the rising stretches of green land that indicated the Faroese chain, we were excited. Coming from the east, you are able to see almost all eighteen islands. By 3:30 on July 18, we were docking in Torshavn, ready to begin our Faroese adventure.

We rented a car for four days, which allowed us considerable freedom to explore in our initial days. After spending one night in Torshavn, we situated ourselves for four nights in the lovely village of Gjogv (pronouced jek-v) on the northern shore of the island of Eysturoy. It was an ideal location, with car, from which to really experience much of the Faroes. From here, we were able to visit remote villages like Saksun, lost in timeless mist, and pretty turf covered churches (always facing out to sea, as beacons for the sailors and their risky endeavors). We traipsed across the northern islands of Bordoy, Vidoy, and Kunoy -- some possessing only a couple of inhabitated villages because the terrain is too wild and steep to sustain real agriculture. Yet almost all are connected by well paved roads and even tunnels (sometimes only one lane, but two way -- there are pull offs every few hundred meters, but it's a nerve-wracking venture). We were able to stop twice in Gøta to listen to our respective favorite Faroese singers -- Eivør for me and Teitur for Megan, one of the main reasons she came on this trip! -- albeit from outside the offical perimeters of the G! Festival. We hiked in the cloud wreathed hills north of the village of Eidi, trying to get an up close view of the rock stacks Risin and Kellingin, but were thwarted by dense fog. You could just make out their hulking blackness, or the waves crashing at their base. (These rock formations are considered to be a giant and his wife who tried to tow the Faroes to Island, but were turned to stone before they were able to complete their task!) We also just enjoyed being in Gjogv. Our guesthouse, Gjaargardur (pron. jawr-gar-ur), was extremely cozy, and its proprietor, Eirik, a gregarious host. We hiked on the cliffs above town, saying high to the sea birds and sheep. I even ventured into a Faroese church service -- with three-fourths of the town's population of 40. It was hard to leave and return to the "bustle" of Torshavn.

But then we moved quickly to the wild coastal landscapes of Vestmana, a truly lost world that illustrated the fragility of the islands' environment. Birds like puffins and guillemots are leaving their nests too early in the season -- something that would have been a disaster in earlier generations. It had not rained properly for nearly two months, something highly unusual for the Faroes with its very wet climate (that has changed of late!). We crossed over to Mykines, with its one lonely hamlet and its lonely light house on the westernmost point of the islands. But, again, no puffins much to my disappointment.

Now we are in the very south, on the island of Suduroy, having helicoptered here from Mykines (sorry mom and dad!) -- the birds'-eye views were spectacular. And we encased in dense fog, which thankfully only rolled in after we landed.

But tomorrow it will be on to Torshavn once again, where we will experience the most important time of year in the Faroe Islands, the Olasvsoka Festival. A full circle we will have made....

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