Saturday 8 October 2016--I'm headed up to the northern isles today. My
original plan was to spend two nights in Klaksvík, but I've decided to stay in
Tórshavn, and just make a daytrip north. My rationale is that I'm comfortable in
Hotel Streym, Tórshavn has the best dining and drinking options, and you can
drive almost anywhere in Føroyar (outside of Suðuroy and a few other small
islands) in an hour or so. In all honesty, I'm just too lazy to search for a room in
Klaksvík, and move. As the friendly gent at the front desk is putting me in the
book, I tell him that my room was rocking the other night after the crossing from
Suðuroy, but was much steadier last night. "Yes, I fixed that," he deadpans.
On my way out of town, I stop at Rúsdrekkasøla Landsins, the state liquor store.
There are exactly six outlets in all of Føroyar, and this one in a
commercial area on the edge of town is the flagship store. Surprisingly, there is
none downtown--if you want to be a drunk here, you have to have a car, I guess.
I'm looking for a bottle of whisky to replace the half-liter of Nikka I bought at
Keflavík. I'm pleasantly surprised by the selection, which is not enormous, but a
lot better than expected. I'm not surprised by the prices, which are typically
Scandinavian. A bottle of Aberfeldy, at around $75, is the most reasonable
thing I see, although that's about twice what I'd pay for it at home.
North through the tunnel I go, then over the bridge that crosses the narrowest
point of Sundini. The road winds across Eysturoy, Føroyar's second-largest
island, passing through Norðskálatunnilin (1976) and Leirvíkartunnilin (1985)
on the way to Leirvík. This is where, in 2001, I boarded the ferry for Klaksvík. It
was a magical half-hour trip, crossing a patch of water nestled in among the
headlands of Kalsoy, Kunoy, and Borðoy, with no sign of civilization save the
vessel itself. I knew then that I'd never do it again, because Norðoyatunnilin, the
Northern Isles Tunnel, was already under construction. And through that
tunnel I breeze today, arriving in Klaksvík in a few minutes.
Klaksvík forms a narrow U around its fjord, with the southern tip of Kunoy
guarding its harbor like a cork in a test tube. It's the second-largest town in
Føroyar--the overwhelming majority of Borðoy's 5,000 residents live here. I
have something of a soft spot for these second-fiddle towns, like Akureyri in
Iceland, and as I pass through, I feel a pang of regret about not staying here.
The road north passes up along the east side of the fjord. Just outside town,
there is a fork, with one branch continuing along the shore toward the causeway
to Kunoy. I'll come back to this; right now, I make the sharp turn into
árnafjarðartunnilin. This mile-long tunnel is the second-oldest in Føroyar,
completed in 1965. At the end, there is a short elbow of road leading to
Hvannasundstunnilin, the third oldest tunnel (1967). Consistent with their age,
these two tunnels are very narrow and unlit, and seem to me to be good
candidates for replacement. There is a road junction at the exposed elbow,
leading down to the village of árnafjørður (pop ~50). I'm fairly sure I went down
there in 2001, but today I continue on through the second tunnel, emerging on
the east coast of Borðoy. It's another mile and a half down to the short
causeway between the villages of Norðdepil and Hvannasund, on the islands of
Borðoy and Viðoy, respectively. A traffic light at one end appears to be utterly
pointless. I imagine it was installed during construction on the causeway.
Across the causeway, the old road north to Viðareiði is cut into the steep
western slope of the island. This road is subject to frequent landslips and can
sometimes be closed for days, so a new tunnel, Viðareiðistunnilin, was opened
this year. The tunnel and road are a virtual highway, seeming overkill to service a
village of about 350. Viðareiði is said to be the northernmost settlement in
Føroyar--as near I can figure, it extends just a few yards farther north than the
hamlet of Trøllanes (pop 27) on Kalsoy. The sun is shining here, the northern
tips of Viðoy, Borðoy, Kunoy, and Kalsoy like four fingers reaching out from
under the blanket of cloud that covers most of Føroyar. Viðareiði is backed by a
high, steep mountain, and I know from looking at maps that there is much more to
the headland beyond than it appears from the village. The jagged promontory
culminates in Enniberg, the northernmost point of the archipelago, at 754
meters (2,474 ft) reputedly the highest sea cliff in Europe. I take such claims
with a grain of salt--one source claims Enniberg is "the highest vertical cliff in the
world," which is nonsense. The Troll Wall in Norway, for example, is 1,100
meters (3,600 ft), and Hornelen in the same country also claims to be the
highest sea cliff in Europe at 860 meters (2,820 ft), although it is not so straight
a drop as Enniberg. Such claims depend, I suppose, on how you define things.
I return to the causeway via the old road on the west side. Signs say it is closed,
but apparently they haven't quite gotten around to it yet. Guess that's the last
time I'll do that. Along the way, there is a view to the tiny settlement of Múli, at
the end of a rough road at the northern end of Borðoy. I've seen it listed as
abandoned, but Wikipedia credits it with a population of four. [My journals
confirm that I drove out there in 2001, and walked a little way farther north,
although I don't really remember. In his second Faroes novel, The Killing Bay,
Chris Ould makes it the site of a fictional 1970s hippie commune.]
Over the causeway and through the two tunnels crossing Borðoy I go, then
across the causeway to the island of Kunoy. Kunoyartunnilin (1988) leads
nearly two miles to the west side, and the road turns north to the village of
Kunoy. There are lovely views across to Kalsoy, a long slender island with a
single road running its length, through five tunnels built between 1979 and 1985.
The island is known colloquially as The Flute. (Actually, the literal translation is
The Recorder, but that's confusing in English). It occurs to me that these five
tunnels (along with the one to Gásadalur, which I'll visit in a couple of days) are
now the only completed ones in Føroyar that I haven't traversed. I'd hoped to do
so, when I was planning to spend two nights in Klaksvík...it'll have to wait for
another time. Just now, I'm hoping to find the vantage point from which I took
one of my favorite photos in 2001, looking over Kunoy toward the village of
Mikladalur, metropolis of Kalsoy (pop ~40). I'm not sure that I will recognize the
exact spot, but I know it immediately when I'm on it. It's almost spooky looking at
that familiar scene on the camera's screen.
I backtrack to Klaksvík, park the car, and go for a walk around, stopping in at a
café for a cup of coffee and cake. A bookstore across the street has a sign
advertising Postkort (postcards), but when I investigate, I find the opening hours
on Saturday are 12:00-2:00. Shopping is perhaps not a big activity in a town
like this. Decide to ascend Klakkur, the easily accessible peak at the northern
end of the ridge west of town. I did this in 2001, too, in much sunnier weather.
Just now, the clouds are swirling around the peaks of the isles, but I manage to
get a few decent views, making the hike up worthwhile.
Bomb back to Tórshavn, arriving at sunset, and rest a bit in my room, before
going out in search of dinner. After some fruitless dithering, I end up in Hvonn
again. My steak is not very good, small in size and large in price. I probably
should have stayed in Klaksvík after all...the few restaurants there are likely just
as lousy as the ones here, but at least they're different lousy restaurants. [I
should note that Tórshavn features a number of highly-regarded top-end
restaurants, which are beyond my budget and resolutely middlebrow tastes.]
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