Letters from the Faroe Islands
August 28, 2025, 7:30am Local Time
Sørvágur
I awake aching—a deep-boned tiredness of a kind I haven't felt in some time. But I am also satisfied beyond compare. If there is anything about this trip which lingers in the psyche, it is the reminder that physical activity, the outdoors and sun, are benefits to the body. By the time I get home, it will be the end of summer. I will be kicking to the finish of patio season at work, and onto the fall and winter event season. For too long, I have allowed me energies to be consumed by work and its various, constant demands. Here, I may not be writing as much as I would like, but I am living more than I have in quite some time.
I ache because I went fishing yesterday. It was charter fishing, to be sure, but it was in a sea unfamiliar and ethereal. To be on the sea is the truest way to experience these islands. There is something about them which always draws one to the fact that these are islands, to their isolation, to the breath of the beyond and the tenuous nature of their existence. There is no shame in their size, and always a sense of pride for their having existed here in spite of all that surrounds them, or perhaps because of it. And although they are small geographically, they tower above their people.
I took the opportunity while fetching our car this morning to take a solo sojourn around Tórshavn. Watching that seaside city awake, with sun nonetheless, was a magical experience. I climbed to an old star fort topped with a lighthouse and stared out over the bay. A ferry glided into port. Cars zoomed behind me. Before me? Clouds and "god rays" of sunshine piercing them and blessing the sea. I walked into a different cafe and had a bun toasted with butter, cheese, and jam. That cheese we have been served twice now is divine—softer than parmesan but with that same nutty, crystalline nature. It goes well with the jam and the bread. Also worth noting is that *this* country knows how to make a french fry. But, ahead of myself.
After my walk, I woke Austin and checked out of our hotel. From there, Vestmanna, with a detour to a waterfall. A cliffside, fjordside waterfall with a small parking area and a stone bench. Austin made a well-observed jab at the differences from American roadstops and Faroese ones, from a "scenic attraction" standpoint. And yet there were cars driving by, still. As though there was no sheer trickle of water beside the road directly entering the sea. One of our servers in Tórshavn acknowledged a similar sentiment. Maybe it is the extreme adaptability of mankind which drives us on to explore, discover. Ethan is the prime example of such acclimation, although Austin can be, too. Maybe I give myself too little credit in these comparisons. Yes, here I am, while our server wishes she could see the southwest United States. How very Dune. Can you really imagine it, I wanted to ask—a world with no water, no smell of the sea, no fog or gulls? I have seen it, a world where the horizon stretches on without mountains over land, and land, and land. People carve a living from sand and stone there as they do sea and stone here. Isolation and extremity—your heritages alike. Gazing, wishing, venturing.
Maybe there's a poem there.
Vestmanna is quaint in every sense of the word. It is a picturesque city to wander around, and we did our share of wandering as we got there far earlier than need be. The church and graveyard are uniquely beautiful. The drive there, which we will repeat many times on this trip, is simple outstanding. There, at least, we saw cars pulling off to marvel. On our way back, we literally drove through clouds—the same clouds I watched come in from the sea on my fishing trip.
Austin did not come fishing, and I fortunately was not charged for his absence. On the boat (another poem idea?) I was "The American." There were "The Greeks", "The Swiss", and "The Brits" (whom I call "The Brit-Poles", to myself). I have exchanged emails with the latter to swap photos we took of each other. Behold, my first true international correspondence. I spoke more with The Greeks and The Brit-Poles mostly because The Big, Surly Swiss were more focused on the fishing (they had brought their own equipment and were trying for halibut). The rest of us caught mainly cod and haddock, although one of The Greeks caught a flounder and I started the trip by catching a ling. I had never even heard of this fish before. My haddocks, which I filleted on the trip back to port, became dinner. I made a spicy fish stew ladled over pasta—the ingredients purchased from a local supermarket with a fantastic mascot and staff more than happy to watch Austin and I flail in confusion. Live, learn, do better next time.
There is a plan landing at Vágar now. The whole cabin trembles with its arrival. How peaceful this place must have been before air travel. The cottages we are staying in while in Sørvágur are new. Are they the first wave of an overtourism tide coming from Iceland and mainland Europe? I am happy we came when we did. So much of this place feels as though it were not designed for us, and I enjoy that feeling. The landscape is unaccommodating in an inviting and comforting way. There are whale hunts in the capital, I met bird-catchers while fishing, many roads are one-way with turnoffs for buses and cars alike. The Faroe Islands feel like they are and will be for some time, and in their being, I am myself reassured. Inspired, even.
Today, it is back to Vestmanna for a distillery tour. I am anxiously checking my phone for the release of THE SJÓGÆTI FISK & KIPS BILANIR to complete today's planning. From there, a bit of a lazy day. Overcast again, although we have seen how much the air changes from place to place. Once I know where those vans will be, I will know whether or not we need breakfast. Then, downtown Sørvágur and onto the unknown. Or to liquor. Priorities.
JXMC