Thursday 6 October 2016--I'm first in line for the 11:00 ferry to Tórshavn. I
wanted to be in the queue at about 10:30, so left the guesthouse at 10:15. It
took barely five minutes to get here. It's often thus--I show up early to be sure of
making my connection, while the locals who are familiar with the way things work
tend to pull in at the last minute. I have plenty of time to admire the view of
Tvøroyri across the fjord, from both the terminal and the rail of Smyril, before
we slip out to sea. It's another beautiful sunny day, if anything even clearer than
yesterday, and it seems a shame to spend two hours of it on the ferry. But I
won't complain about the views of northern Suðuroy, Lítla Dímun, and Stóra
Dímun passing by to port. The islands' misty caps are the only clouds in sight.
Land in Tórshavn at 1:00 and drive out to Kirkjubøur, on the west side of
Streymoy's southernmost peninsula. Despite having a population of less than a
hundred, the village is historically one of Føroyar's most important. From early in
the 12th century until the Reformation, it was the seat of the Catholic diocese
of Føroyar. Bishop Erlendur commissioned the construction of a cathedral
here, and work commenced in about 1300, but the edifice was never completed.*
The empty shell is perhaps the most immediately arresting sight to the arriving
tourist, but two nearby buildings are ultimately more impressive to me. One is St
Olaf's Church, built in 1111 (and surely refurbished more than once since
then). The other is Kirkjubøargarður, reputedly the oldest continuously
occupied wooden house in the world. The oldest parts of it date to the 11th
century, other sections as recent as 18th century. This was the episcopal
residence beginning in about 1100. Some of the building is given over to a
farmhouse museum, unfortunately not open this late in the season; but the
Patursson family has maintained residence here since 1550.
St Olaf's Church is currently threatened by shoreline erosion. In fact, there
once was a peninsula extending from the church out to what is now the islet of
Kirkjubøhólmur, forming, I gather, a reasonably well-sheltered harbor. A storm
washed much of this, and the many houses on it, away in the 16th century. The
local authorities are considering ways to safeguard the church. I don't know why
they don't simply build out the shoreline a bit with some of the rock taken out of
the ongoing tunnel projects.
I drive the road up the coast, passing through the village of Velbastaður.
There was a vé here in the old days--an open-air pagan shrine. It's likely that
it's the reason a church was sited at Kirkjubøur, as the early Christians attempted
to co-opt pagan practice. The road ends a few miles along at Syðradalur.
There are views north to another road-end farm at Norðradalur, and Vágar beyond.
Just below the main road back by Velbastaður, I pass the Okkara brewery. It
occurs to me to pop in, but I see no sign that visitors are welcome. A remote
island country that has just seen its second brewery opening is not likely to have
developed a beer-touring culture. I return to Tórshavn and check in at Hotel
Streym. There is no one manning the desk at 4:00 in the afternoon, but my key
is waiting for me on the counter. I go upstairs and take a short nap. The room
seems to be rocking gently; my inner ears apparently still think they're on the
ferry. When I drove bus tours to Nova Scotia, we'd take the overnight ferry
from Portland, Maine to Yarmouth, arriving early in the morning. We'd spend the
day touring on our way to Halifax, check into our hotel there, and go out for
dinner. I'd drop the folks at the hotel, park the bus and go out to the Old
Triangle for a pint or two. I'd eventually get back to the hotel and go to
bed...and the room would rock, ever so gently, all night long.
Get up and go out for a walk, thinking about dinner. I check out SMS,
Tórshavn's mall, a ten-minute walk from the center of town. It's not huge by
American standards, but it's definitely the local shopping mecca. The food
court has only three options, one of which is Burger King, the only fast food
outlet in Føroyar. I feel a perverse urge to eat there...fortunately, I guess, there's
a queue. I can tolerate crappy fast food, but not waiting in line for it.
Instead, I head back toward the harbor, where evening fog is creeping in. I settle
on Hvonn, the brasserie at Hotel Tórshavn, for dinner. They have an eclectic
multi-ethnic menu; I choose fajitas. They're okay. (Coincidentally, one of the
dining choices at SMS is an outlet of Hvonn.) After, I take a stroll around
Tinganes, the rocky point that is the oldest part of town. The local Ting, or
parliament, first met here in 825, but the oldest buildings now surviving date
from the 16th and 17th centuries. There are houses that are obviously more modern,
but in keeping with the general style, built up on the old undercellars. Most
of the buildings are taken up with government offices.
Time for a pint or two. First, a bar called Tórshøll (Thor's Hall). Lonely Planet
says “Drinking in this smoky local dive is a daring social experiment.” Most other
references I've seen stop just short of warning tourists away. It's a geezer's dive,
no longer smoky these days, and I'm hoping to pick up on a bit of local character.
Unfortunately, the one character who wants to talk to me, a fisherman named
Sveinur, seems to have some sort of agenda that isn't quite comprehensible to
me. I'm not sure whether he's just trying to assert Faroese pride, or is overtly
anti-American, but he is in any case a bit more aggressive than I'm comfortable
with. I nod politely, finish my beer, and go on my way. I had a similar experience
once in the Dubliner in Reykjavík, and was rescued by two local women named
Charlotta Maria and Erla, who took me home for coffee in the wee hours. That
was an interesting evening (but not, I'm sorry to say, that interesting).
My Taiwanese friend isn't in the Irish Pub tonight, but the lovely blonde Rannvá
isn't too busy to chat a little. After one pint, I head to Café Natúr for a
nightcap. It's very quiet at 10:30. On Friday and Saturday, closing is at
4:00am, and nothing much goes on until midnight. The rest of the week, closing
is at midnight, and nothing much goes on at all.
Next
*
Recent evidence suggests that the cathedral was in fact finished, and likely remained in use
until the Reformation, in the mid-16th century. It makes sense that the ornate pew ends now in
the museum had been commissioned for the cathedral, rather than for the spare parish church,
where they ended up.
|