11 o clock and the rain streaks diagonally across the sky. I remember hearing my bedroom window slam close and can now see the wind is strong but I hear nothing of it inside. I cannot see mountains on either side of the fjord and can only just make out the water, cresting playfully.
I eat my pickled herrings and am pleased today's plan involves the tourist office and an art gallery. My planned hitch to Sandvik in the far north of Sudoroy may have to wait but I'll see what the afternoon and early evening holds.
Sitting in a very old harbour building at lunch time,mwhere tomorrow's pub quiz will be, I order coffee and ask about the building. The girl tells me Tvøroyri used to be the capital of the Faroes and this building was where fisherman sold goods but says it also had royal connections. The quiz, she says, starts at 11pm and the pub will close at 3.45am.
I sit out the rain waiting for the art gallery to open, unaware of the impending gale. With assistance from the tourist office I have booked accommodation until Friday 22nd, just seven days before I leave for the uk. Will I come back? I don't know. I showed an image of Sakiori weaving to the ladies in the tourist office, they seemed to like it but didn't ask questions, other than to echo my 'no rules' approach questioningly. Perhaps 'no rules' for them may be the Faroese equivalent to the German 'hitching', for a don't get an invite to the weaving shed!
I am blown down the street to the art gallery, thankful for my waterproof. I enjoy the art, a multi talented sculptor and painter working in pieces of cast, bronze, stone, relics and oils, but he won't leave me alone to just look. I suggest I can be left to wander but he wants to entertain.
I lose interest in the art being unable to just enjoy it and begin to ask him political questions instead, homelessness and unemployment. He talks of alcoholism and Blue Cross homes, of benefits for unemployed, of how Denmark supports the country. In turn he asks about immigrants in the UK and the EU. It turns out he is from Copenhagen and spends his autumn, winter and spring there.
I like his work but with nothing under £500 I won't be buying. He asks for 20 krone on leaving. The tourist office said there was no charge. Surprised by his demand, I walk away and then feel churlish as I leave, I think I would willingly have paid if I had known in advance and I've probably had 20 krone worth of politics but somehow don't feel that is the point.
I've let the rainy afternoon slip away with music, spider solitaire and nothingness. I wonder where my German friend is and wish we had made contact. I'm wearing two pairs of socks and double layers indoors. I may go to the pub this evening instead of tomorrow, I need milk, can get it on the way later. Ill check the forecast.
Yikes, we are on red alert today!
Gale warning - Issued: 1552 UTC on Friday 15 July 2016
Westerly severe gale force 9 expected soon
- Wind
- In south, southerly, veering westerly or southwesterly 5 to 7, increasing gale 8 at times. In north, cyclonic 5 to 7.
- Sea state
- In south, moderate, occasionally rough, becoming rough or very rough. in north, moderate or rough, occasionally very rough later.
- Weather
- In south, occasional rain. In north, rain at times.
- Visibility
- In south, moderate or poor, occasionally good. In north, moderate or good, occasionally poor.
I quickly don full waterproofs and head out to the harbour to see the wind and the waves. Currents are running fierce beneath a misleadingly calm surface, but whirlpools and eddies are visible. Stretches of clear water plying amongst steady but persistent waves, all tell me that danger lies beneath the surface. Boats are secured in the inner harbour and the force of the wind hits me. A town this size would only be built in a very sheltered spot but even so I am buffeted and stay well away from the water's edge.
On either side of the fjord, the mountains have sprouted waterfalls which now cascade crashing below. The streets are empty. I walk perhaps for half an hour, buy my milk and an orange and return home. I think I may have missed the worst of any gale. Or perhaps it will come in the night.
