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Faroe Islands
Faroe Islands
God magic
Around 300 rainy days a year: You should be windproof and weatherproof when you are planning a motorcycle tour to the Faroe Islands – but it is also the elements that make the islands so attractive.
Joachim Deleker
07/31/1998
The Nordic gods argue – they cannot agree who is allowed to determine the weather today. Thor, lord of thunder, clouds and wind, pushes fat, pitch-black clouds through the narrow Funningsfjørður. A high spray dances on the gray sea water, rain patters, no, whipped almost horizontally into the waves, driven by violent gusts. Less than a minute later, Odin, chief of all gods, tears open the curtain of clouds. Suddenly it becomes light, then two rainbows span the fjord. On the other bank, the small town of Funningur crouches in a green, treeless depression in front of the highest mountains on the Faroe Islands. But as soon as the sun has reached the colorful houses, it’s Thor’s turn again, rolling the next heavy downpour through the fjord. Within two hours, Andreas, Birgit and I count more than ten rainbows and just as many showers. Slowly but surely Thor is running out of breath, and he has to bow to Odin’s will. The sun ventures out more and more often. We take the opportunity and drive to Elduvik, one of the most beautiful villages in the archipelago. In a small bay, the settlement nestles in squeaky green meadows. The black and red wooden houses with their often grass-covered roofs are crowded together, leaving just enough space for pedestrians, and the neighbors have hung a few fish on the line to dry. In the north, the Funningsfjørður is lost in the vastness of the Atlantic. As idyllic as Elduvik appears, like many other places on the islands, it is slowly dying out. 50 years ago over 80 people lived here, today there are only 28, and especially the younger ones have long since moved to where there is more to earn and more variety – to the mainland. The next morning Thor recovered splendidly. Gusts of wind shake the tent, the aluminum poles bend threateningly. Heavy rain pelts the thin nylon wall. Put your damp clothes on, then let’s get away. In Skalafjørður there should be a good cafeteria where we want to catch up on breakfast. But the journey there is arduous. Water and wind from all sides, the visibility is zero, and the heavily loaded motorcycles are reluctant to maneuver against the strong gusts. We are joined by a dripping wet cyclist for our fourth cup of coffee. It tells of blue skies and sun in the next fjord, barely ten kilometers away. Back in the rain gear, out in the rain. Soon the road disappears in a long tunnel that pierces the mountain range to the neighboring fjord. And indeed, when we leave the tunnel, we are blinded by a glistening bright light. So this is where Odin lives. Quickly stow away the rain suits, take out the card and make new plans. Who knows when Thor will come to visit. We turn off to Saksun, drive through a treeless, hilly valley. After a few kilometers the road ends above Saksunarvatn. A small wooden church and two large courtyards are spread across the meadow. Hardly 25 people live in Saksun today. Tjørnuvik, which is two ridges further north, has a few more inhabitants. At the end of a narrow bay, the few houses crouch in front of the gloomy semicircle of the mountains. The Atlantic pushes gentle waves onto the black sand beach. The pinnacles Risin and Kellingin, the giant and his wife, protrude 75 meters from the sea. We switch over to the island of Eysturoy and curve into the mountains behind Eiði. Pure driving pleasure, we just let the Endorus roll – the curved road leads from one vantage point to the next. The evening sun bathes the impressive cliffs in warm light, then we find a wonderful place to camp at the top of the Eiðisskarð pass. From here over Funningsfjørður we can see the neighboring islands of Kalsoy and Kunoy in the best weather – a magnificent and multi-colored panorama: at midnight the sky turns pink, then orange and, after a while, purple. The summer night doesn’t get very dark in these latitudes. Thor has come up with something nice for breakfast. Drizzle flies through the cold air, at the same time the sun is shining. Gray clouds are in a hurry to cross the Faroe Islands. The lighting moods change in seconds. Here a spot of sunshine, there a heavy shower and strong rainbows in between. Wisps of mist flow over the sharp ridges of the mountains. Weather theater. The gusts of wind are increasing and I have serious drinking problems with my second cup of coffee. Heavy swell in the cup, waves lap over the edge and splash in my face. The salami flies off the bread, it is obviously not suitable for the Faroe Islands. Then suddenly there is silence. Absolute calm. “He’s not going to take a breath, surely?” As soon as Andreas has uttered the sentence, a gust of wind sweeps up from the mountains, shakes up the tent and rips three anchors together with the pegs from the ground. The Dominator also went down badly. We frantically try to master the situation and recapture everything. A minute later the spook is over. Continue to have breakfast. As a precaution, we replace the salami on the bread with jam. If it flies away, everything will be too late anyway, but things will stay calm. Instead, fog comes up. But not just any fog, the Faroese make fine distinctions. The Skaðða, for example, is common. It only covers the tops of the mountains. It’s comforting to know that this is no ordinary fog. But the Skaðða is tough. Only shortly before we reach the sea in Gjógv does the gray curtain lift. The Skaðða should only hide the mountain peaks. Maybe it was Mjørki after all, the ordinary fog. Who knows, on the way back to the pass Mjørki swallowed us – or maybe Skaðða? It has rained down. To make matters worse, we reach the ferry to Klaksvik in Leirvik just in time to admire their departure maneuvers. The next ship leaves in five hours. Until then, we’ll study the weather forecast in the two daily newspapers a hundred times. Tomorrow is actually supposed to get better. Hope. Finally the little ferry arrives that takes us to the neighboring island of Borðoy. Two tunnels pierce the mountains, and we land on the east side of the island at Hvannasund, a narrow inlet over which a dam leads to the neighboring island of Viðoy. Then the colorful houses of Norðdepil, behind them the rugged mountains and wooden fishing boats in the harbor basin – Faroese still life From Norðdepil a new road winds to the tiny village of Muli and on to the northernmost town of the Faroe Islands, to Viðareiði. Here the Faroese world ends in a spectacular way. No other place can compete with this location and view. The four islands Viðoy, Barðoy, Kunoy and Kalsoy stretch their northern capes almost equally far into the Atlantic. At over 800 meters, the rugged, almost vertical cliffs are among the highest in the world. The remains of winter snow melt in the rocky mountain cirques. Thousands of seabirds find perfect nesting conditions here, and a rain break after dinner is just the thing to pay a visit to the puffins. At the top of the vertical cliffs, the small seabirds have dug their breeding caves into the ground. As agile and fast as the colorful clowns are in the air, their landing is much more like a crash that has just been prevented. During the breeding season, the birds put on their best dress. Black and white plumage, a gray-red, triangular beak, funny makeup around the eyes and two huge, bright orange feet. A couple of puffins have brought a midnight snack from the sea. Small, silvery sand eels hang across their beaks, and in the morning the improvement in the weather cannot be overlooked. The rain no longer falls horizontally, but vertically. After all, the barometer has risen a little. But then everything goes very quickly. A blue hole grows up from the north and gets bigger all the time. We get nervous, pack up in a hurry and have a thousand spontaneous goals in mind. The clouds dissolve. We discover islands that we had not seen before. How quickly this landscape can change! The further south we go, the more undramatic and round the mountains become. What remains are the endless meadows that cover the islands like a carpet. The wide road runs along the banks of the Sundinifjord to the capital Tórshavn, which means nothing other than Thor’s harbor. The weather god with his bad manners can’t be far. So we’d better turn west again to the island of Vagar. A small ferry takes us across Vestmannasund and in Bøur we reach the westernmost end of all roads. Mighty waves roll across the Atlantic and burst on the steep coast to form clouds of spray as high as a house. Like the frayed, oversized dorsal fin of a shark, the 262-meter-high Tindholmur juts out of the surf. The outline of the bird island Mykines can be seen even further out. Back on the main island Streymoy, we are only an hour away from Tórshavn, one of the smallest capitals in the world with its 15,000 inhabitants. Down at the harbor, the city has retained its old charm. Between the colorful wooden houses, narrow streets meander through the picturesque old town to the port, where our ferry is already waiting. As a farewell, the gods arrange another small show. Thor chases rain-black clouds over the city. In between, however, Odin finds enough time to stretch one or the other rainbow. Magic of gods à la Faroe Islands.
Info
The Faroe Islands, often a stopover for travelers to Iceland, would have been overcrowded long ago if they weren’t in the middle of the Atlantic. But the unique landscape inspires despite the inconsistent weather.
Arrival: Every Saturday from the end of May to the end of August, the Norrona ferry of the Smyril Line departs from Hanstholm, Denmark and reaches Tórshavn, the capital of the Faroe Islands, 37 hours later. A single passage costs from 243 marks for one person and from 77 marks for a motorcycle. The return journey to Denmark takes place on Fridays. Information and bookings in the travel agency or directly with Smyril Line, phone 040/3233300, fax 040/32333060 Travel time: A motorcycle tour on the Faroe Islands is only possible in summer. However, the islands are often in the stranglehold of Atlantic depressions, and the weather can go from one extreme to the other in minutes. The daytime temperatures are on average 15 degrees, and between June and July it hardly gets dark at night.Overnight: On the Faroe Islands, tourism does not play a major role, and even the small selection of hotels, private accommodation, bed&Breakfast and youth hostels are enough to offer everyone a roof over their heads in the high season. Free camping is allowed – but private land and all agricultural meadows are absolutely taboo. Literature: Only one travel guide deals exclusively with the archipelago: the DuMont landscape guide “The Faroe Islands” for XXXX Mark offers detailed descriptions of the country and its people and many useful travel tips. In many Iceland guides a chapter is dedicated to the Faroe Islands, for example in the “Iceland Handbook with Faroe Islands” from Konrad Stein-Verlag for 34.80 marks. Maps: Topographic Atlas Føroyar, 1: 100000. Available in well-stocked bookstores or on site. Further information: Aldan Føroyar Tourist Information, Gongin, P.O. Box 118, FR-100 Tórshavn, time required: ten daily kilometers: 800
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