Reykjavík Grapevine - 28.08.2009, Síða 39

Reykjavík Grapevine - 28.08.2009, Síða 39
night—only they have no bloody sense of rhythm. There are times when I want to stick up my hands and give up and beg Siggi to pull in at the nearest oil rig; of course, between Iceland and the Faeroes, there’s nothing at all, just rolling ocean, killer whales, skuas and kittiwakes swirl- ing on updrafts. And when it rains and the waves rattle over my back as I stare out at sea transfixed, all I can think of is my warm bed at home, far away. The first leg of the trip starts gently, not much wind, so we chug leisurely from Ísafjörður crossing the bays of Fljótavík and Hornvík, get daringly close to a number of bird cliffs, including Straumnes, and Hælavíkurbjarg where I snap some killer shots of kittiwakes, arctic terns, tons of guano, and a the oc- casional bobbing puffin. Of course many of us know of the puffin problems in the Westman Islands, but later, when I visit the tiny island of Nólsoy in the Faeroes, I learn from a Danish taxidermist that puffins all over the North Atlantic are facing serious issues—apparently there are not enough sand eels to go around. My first real test of courage is the overnight sail to Húsavík; this cost me three or four bruises and a fluttering heart. I kiss the dock when we arrive, but after a few glasses of wine I am ready to tackle the big crossing. Watching hump- backs and minke gleefully blowing their saltwater jets across Skjálfandi bay helps steady my nerves too. Now we are finally crossing the great expanse of ocean. In my mind, I liken it to traversing the Sahara. Three and a half days of 30 knot winds, sometime five me- tre squalls—well, at the time, I believe it’s nearly the end of me; in actual fact, it’s just the beginning. When we finally reach the tiny fishing village of Fug- lafjørður on Eysturoy’s east coast in the Faeroes, I crack open my best bottle of whiskey and celebrate—the whole bottle. If ever there was an initiation on becom- ing a man, this is it, only for me it’s twen- ty years too late. Still, better late than never. Finally, I can get on with what I’ve come for, to explore the Faeroes. A FAEROE SHIMMY AND SHIBOODLE For the next five days, all is smooth sail- ing, and on the second day, when we leave Fuglafjørður to Klaksvik in the Northern Islands, the sun comes out and all the grassy-mossy cliffs in the Faeroes shimmer. Even the sheep look virtually spiritual. The Faeroe people are beyond hospitable and talkative; and just like Ice- landers, they’re a well-travelled and curi- ous bunch. Most speak excellent English. Often in these small villages when I look for a pub I’ll ask a local, and they’ll say, “What do you need that for? Just knock on the nearest door, they’ll give you a coffee, a cognac and some chocolate bis- cuits.” This proves to be entirely true, for in Tórshavn, while meandering the winding lanes in-between quaint, grass- roofed houses, I stumble across a local poet who invites me back home for a couple of beers, a poetry reading, and a gift of two of his collections. Towards the end, he tells me he’s looking for a man- ager, so maybe he has an ulterior motive. In Tórshavn there is no shortage of great restaurants, bars, pubs and coffee shops. There’s plenty to see here, and you can easily spend days checking out muse- ums and wandering the cobbled alley- ways, or squelch over the moorlands of Stremoy to the famous Kirkjubøur where a medieval cathedral looms in the middle of the village. Everywhere we see teams training for the Tórshavn Festival races in their typical six-man rowing boats called seksmannafar. From Tórshavn, we move on to Gota to experience the G!Festival, where many Faeroe bands such as Teitur, Orka and Lena Andersen are headlining (Eivør Pálsdóttir is conspicuously missing this year). The festival is a like a mini Glastonbury, with tents and seagulls whirring overhead for scraps, red sun- sets, and mind-blowing music. We’ll be doing a full report on the festival and a Faeroese take on Icelandic music in an upcoming edition of Grapevine. The day after the festival, I’m invited back to Sigvør Laska, Eivør Pálsdóttir’s manager’s place, for brunch. Sigvør produces the dreaded Faeroe speciality, wind-dried mutton (skerpikjøt), which looks much like Spanish Serrano ham but tastes more like old shoe soles (not surprising the literal translation is ‘belt’s meat’); it kind of rounds off my experi- ence here. As I walk down the hill from Sigvør’s house, through the waterlogged grass and past dozens of hearty Faeroe sheep, I remember I’m sailing back to Iceland tomorrow and about to see my new friend the North Atlantic again. Not quite to wax lyrical, but there’s ab- solutely nothing like it. It’s cold, it’s un- comfortable; at times you might imagine a killer whale could reach over the side of Aurora and tug you in at any minute. But join Siggi and Rúnar in any of their adventures on the high seas and I guar- antee you, you’ll come back an entirely new person. In the words of Herman Melville in Moby Dick: ‘Methinks that what they call my shadow here on earth is my true substance. Methinks that in looking at things spiritual, we are too much like oysters observing the sun through the water, and thinking that thick water the thinnest of air.’ 27 The Reykjavík Grapevine Issue 13 — 2009 www.airiceland.is ÍS L E N S K A S IA .I S F L U 4 65 67 0 6. 20 09 Contact Air Iceland or travel agent for reservation. Nature’s Hot Spot Vestmannaeyjar 8 hour Day Tour Lake Mývatn Mývatn 12 hour Day Tour In the Footsteps of the Fishermen Eskifjörður 10 hour Day Tour Highlights of the North Mývatn 12 hour Day Tour Beyond the Arctic Circle Grímsey 2 or 5 hour Evening Tour A Different World Greenland – Kulusuk – Ammassalik 2 night Hotel Package Remarkable Greenland Greenland – Kulusuk 8 hour Day Tour Birds and Blue Waters Ísafjörður 12 hour Day Tour MARC VINCENZ MARC VINCENZ

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