Lies and consequences

Lies and consequences 7.07

I pass these steps every day, I have wondered about them since day one. They climb high into streets beyond streets and then perhaps onto the mountain itself but I no longer care. I am no longer interested to see what lies beyond. This is the first morning that she has left the house before me. I am still smarting from the salmon issue last night and the lack of food other than bread, cheese and potatoes unless guests have left food uneaten. We have not sat down and shared a meal and I have been here nearly two weeks. Pick at leftovers if there are any.

And now I feel churlish. Just half an hour later and she says she will stay away until maybe Tuesday or Wednesday, that I have five days, can watch the weather and decide when to work and when to rest. Today is Thursday. I feel as though the rug has been pulled from under me again. My plans to leave may yet still change. Last night, I found two youth hostels in places I would like to be and have emailed asking about booking and prices. But if I have this freedom that she now promises, perhaps I should stay. 

I like the freedom that writing on paper gave me yesterday. I am cooking the chicken and boiling the broccoli, writing in between. I don't care that my journal ought not be on the cooking surfaces. Small snippets of resentment such as this are built into my working days and I see these as survival crutches. I just need to get through today, she will go tomorrow.

I'm pleased that I have some experience with industrial cooking. it reminds me of when I was asked to build a retaining wall in Australia when they had no idea whether I could mix cement or build walls but just left me to get on with it. That was another abusive placement. I had a pickaxe to dig the building rocks and the sand, lumpy old cement and was entrusted to continue building a wall, started by other wwoofers, to stop their garden, and ultimately their house, falling in to the swimming pool. In the evenings I was fed with the children and then relegated to an outdoor, spider infested shack. 

Hosts are sometimes very naive or foolish, very generous or very mean. I haven't come across a snidey calculating one before but I put it down to chaotic lifestyle and bereavement rather than an intention to be mean. One of the traits of my life is always trying to see the best side of people, always trying to find reasons for their behaviour. I don't believe anybody behaves in an unsocial manner without good reason. I believe people inherently do their best with all the knowledge, skills and experience they have in their social toolset. I think that general view is unlikely to change now though I have my doubts about my immediate host.

The broccoli is cooked, i put the water for the pasta on to boil and continue to cook the chicken in batches, carefully separating each batch from the previous, so they cool quickly. It is the same dish I made for the Irish last week. Cooking for 8 guests yet we catered for 12 to ensure there was sufficient for them and plenty left for her recently bereaved father. This time we have bought extra chicken. I wonder what scraps the Swiss might leave if any.

Four Swiss linesman and referees, a Scottish overseer and an Icelandic inspector. In a familiar moment with the Scot, after discussing Edinburghs new trams yesterday, I dared broach the issue of corruption. He concurred that with such vast sums of money involved, corruption is inevitable. It is not possible he says, to take the financial systems and agreements of Europe, and expect them to operate in South America and other such countries. I am surprised that the cost of four days food and accommodation is born by UEFA for such small local games as these and for these guys, this is their job so salaries and flights are paid as well. One gave up a career as a lawyer to take this on. We discussed the generous time allowance. I was told that the money from television is too important and that should anything delay a flight it could be catastrophic for the game and that coming to the Faroes therefore demanded one more day than usual, because of the potential for fog delayed landings. I had not hitherto realised the amount of money that resides in football. I find it frightening but I like that this experience has brought me increased understanding.

A kilogram of pasta goes on to boil and just one batch of chicken left to fry. I take a small pot and in it, hide a portion of chicken so I can eat it later.

Getting the 2litres of cheese sauce right will be key today, it was a little dry and lacking in flavour last week, more bacon added and some herbs today as well as parmesan going on the top. I probably first learned about industrial cooking from polish Stan at the Thorpeness Hotel, a holiday job during my college days. I worked as kitchen porter, sous chef or chef depending on who had the day off and what was needed. I remember going in early one day, as chef, after a few days off, to find a bin that had been left full and smelly. I went to empty it but it was full of maggots between the dustbin and the sack liner. I went to the manager, a smart, young, Ogilvy, whose family own pretty much half of Thorpeness, and said I did not think it in my remit to empty maggoty bins. He emptied and disinfected it. Sometimes even the best establishments are not what they seem. German Ringo in Nyksund, Norway was also a good teacher as i cooked for those doing the rebuilding of an abandoned fishing village. I would like to return to say hello.

Perhaps if I rented my house out properly I would have enough money to travel normally and not prostitute myself in the way I am doing now, yes, that is sometimes how it feels. But what is normal? This is my normal. It would be good to return to say hello to Nyksund but not as a tourist. It is my dislike of being a tourist that keeps me having a go at experiences such as this and seeing countries from another viewpoint.

I like writing as I am working but my sink of washing up is growing, I usually keep apace, my kitchen tidy and ordered, just as Stan demanded. Writing on work time. I like that, there, thats another little rebellion!

In large quantities like this, it takes a long time for water to come back to the boil after adding the pasta. I will set the timer for five minutes once it boils and will test it then. The broccoli needed just two minutes in the same way. I wonder if this idle chatter is of interest to read. Perhaps, for those who know me, but beyond that?

I have never known what to do with my travel journals, how to turn them into an interesting read. I now feel more urgency just to get them in some sort of electronic form so I can sift and sort, insert my lengthy emails and perhaps even add reflections from afar, as indeed I am doing now. I am sitting in the local cafe bar with a beer, my first visit here, editing this earlier writing and adding to it. Even the price of beer she lied about, telling me it would cost five or six pounds for a bottle, it is three pounds fifty.

I miss that the pasta has started to boil and set the timer. I turn the chicken and keep it moving. in fact if I were not writing this at the same time, I would be doing little more than just keeping these two pans on the go. Juggling two tasks with these quantities is manageable but carrying out a third task at the same time is tricky, that's when things go wrong. That's why I missed the pasta coming to the boil, because I was writing.

I told her this morning, I don't have your energy or fitness. In truth, I could have, but what I don't have right now is the will. I was trying to begin preparing her so my departure while she is away wouldn't come as such a surprise. However she said, don't worry its fine, and I am unused to her being so friendly. I wonder, even think it likely, that others in my place might say, I've done my five hours for today, see you later. Like I said before, its the imbalance and the uncertainty I don't like. It feels as though she is suddenly being very friendly and I don't understand why.

That was when she told me that I have five days to myself while she is away and I can have the car. I thought I had three days and had a plan to depart on the third day. I know instantly what I will do. I will go to Gødg on the first day. I can work all day long clearing and sorting on the second day, making the place at least, look clean, make my plans and then chill, do as I will, disappearing just before she arrives home. I can spend three nights on Sandoy, perhaps a week on the Nordlysid then head north to Esturoy and Livar.

I check the pasta after just three minutes, i catch it al dente, drain and cool it in batches.

I make coffee for myself, despite being told it is not possible, to make a quarter of a jug. It works perfectly, full jug = 4 big scoops + 14 minutes, try one scoop 4 minutes. Fine by me. I sit down with my coffee before tackling the washing up and then will tackle the sauce ready to put it all together. Layers of cheesy pasta with chicken and broccoli, topped with tomato and parmesan.

Propping the outside door open on a fine day is easy, I use a chair. Today it rains and the plastic crate I'm using is not strong enough to suffice. Slam, it has shut again. We saw wind turbines yesterday but i understand they are not as productive as they might be, having to stay switched off much of the time as it is too windy. They are much smaller than the turbines we have in the UK. Hydro electricity systems also provide some power but the bulk of energy production here is oil fired. This is a hard fact to take in with numerous waterfalls and tidal waters. I try to apply my knowledge of physics to keep the door open. I turn the plastic crate, hoping the forces will be stronger and the balance greater if the crate is on its side rather than on its end. I also push the door tighter against the wall, trying to stop the wind from getting behind it, the wind that shoots down the mountainside racing to reach the ocean. 

I am unsuccessful, it has slammed once more. I go out and take the filthy bucket, overflowing with stale brown water and fag ends, for this is her smoking spot, and prop it with that. I have been looking at this bucket since the day I arrived but have been reluctant to use it in this way as it feels a particularly rancid thing to do and not something that should be visible as one walks into the kitchen. I'll see what response it elicits.

Washing up time.

Sarah tried to teach me how to tie shoelaces so you can wear them looking as though they are undone, but done up, as it were. At the time I didn't pay too much attention, now I wish I had. Having a sloppy look is easy enough for me to achieve without trying and sloppy shoes are not something I desire. But here, her lessons would have been useful. Permanently excluded teenagers are great. I have a vague memory and reverse the lacing in the top two sets of holes, tie a simple half knot and then tuck the ends in. Not as neat Sarah would have done but my shoes now slip on and off more easily and I hope they will stop being tiresome. I ought to stop writing but am reluctant to do so.

The morning continues, I complete the preparation for lunch and take it upstairs ready to serve. She sits in a new smoking spot, waiting for the guests who, having ordered a set time for their meal, are reliably either early or late, she suddenly announces, without foreplay, that she has lied to me. Half the morning I have been having the dilemma, should I stay or should I go. Now I must go. 

She says she lied to me, that guests are arriving on Monday, that I should rest now. I scowl and walk away. Next time I return, I tell her I don't like being lied to, it is not the English way. She apologises, says she forgot, she has two booking systems and forgot to check. I think this is more lies. I believe her original plan to return on Monday was precisely because she has guests and now she has changed her mind and decided to stay away leaving me with the work. 

Part of me is pleased she has admitted to lies. It crystallises my mind. I ask her how many guests, what are they expecting and how long will they stay. She says she does not know, she thinks maybe four rooms and maybe bed breakfast and evening meal, she will have to check. I tell her, indeed she must check. Now it is my turn to play games, maintaining superficial co operation. I have no intention of being here to offer a seven until eleven service.

I have found two hostels with places midweek at 300 a night for a dorm bed, that's £30. I will not tell her I am leaving until she is on Mykines. It doesn't feel the right thing to do to deal with it in this way but as she has admitted lies, the boundaries have changed. I'm unsure how to escape easily otherwise and all semblance of trust in her has now gone. If I tell her before she goes, I suspect she will tell me to move on immediately butbI am already owed two days free board and lodging. I need to take them before I go, I have earned them. I need to reduce my pack if I am to move around easily. I will throw away my old painting clothes that I brought when she lied about painting the building because there were no guests. 

I will feel a welcome relief the minute I leave here. It has served its purpose. I will look back and laugh and indeed I have a chuckle as I write that. I do get myself in some bizarre scrapes. I could see before I came that much of what was being said didn't add up and I had my doubts but by then I had already booked my flights. I can use the two hostels I've found, the offer of staying on the Nordlysid and then travel northwards seeking accommodation from there. 

I don't like behaving in this way but think that her lies have been enough. I will tally up my hours and just tell her once I have left, let her find someone to sort out the muddle or come home and deal with it herself. When I write her reference I will have to do it very carefully. I will be respectful and suggest that she has been struggling without her mother and has not yet got to grips with the notions of running a business alone. That is true. Undoubtably I will say that she needs paid staff, that the location is easy to get to as it's on the main drag from the airport, that I think she is a warm bubbly person but maybe has been struggling with the newness of the business while I've been here and that I did not feel able to meet her workload expectations so have left. I have read references like that in the past. In her turn she will write saying that I abandoned her, left her without warning.

I could just walk away now but have earned two nights, will take them and then go. I am waiting for confirmation of the hostel booking on Sudoroy. Being able to sit for a few days just enjoying tranquility and peace will be good after this experience. But it all mounts up to experience and stories to tell. This is the reality of life here not a sugared tourist glimpse and I am in a far stronger position to go and explore alone than I was before. The last few days have been too full for me to respond to the Nordlysid invitation. Right now my faith in fellow humans is at rock bottom and I need a few days to myself before I can contact him. 

I wonder what happens if one is stuck with nowhere to go. I think it can't be a bad thing, the nights are definitely getting dimmer but are still light, I have a sleeping bag and can be homeless, that might be interesting. If the worst comes to the worst, I can just change my flight back to the UK for £20. My options are wide open. 

I love the all night day. I have fond memories, of wandering home around two or three in the morning, marvelling at the misty gloom surrounding me and of an all night journey when I made a snap decision to come home for my birthday. I left Norway, north of the arctic circle on June 14th 2002, hitched the length of the country all day and night, arriving at Torp airport around ten in the morning. I made it home in time for a celebratory birthday drink in the pub, still with my backpack on. 

My Norwegian lifts that night ranged from an accountant in an open topped sports car with heated seats and opera on the go, a mundane East German camper van, stopping for a pee every few miles, a taxi who followed me down the road fitting in jobs dropping me off then returning to take me on the next leg, an ordinary father and daughter excitedly showing me the musk ox, (or plains bison such as was apparently common in pleistocene times) and natural born killer scary teenagers at around five in the morning, passing and offering a lift at a price, which I declined, turning around, passing me then returning and stopping to offer me a lift again, this time without a price. It wasn't the first lift of my life to have caused me concern, I learned to jump out at traffic lights and other survival strategies as a teenager but even I doubted my sanity to accept that one.

I have the beginnings of a plan. Both hostels have room on Monday. I think I may head north to end of the road Selatrad, on Esturoy, a village with around sixty occupants and no shops or cafes. I could drive up on the Sunday and take my backpack along with food supplies, when I visit Gjøgv. I can return the car here that night to then hitch a seventy kilometre journey on Monday, making numerous road and several island connections. That feels exciting and easy to hitch without my backpack and less of an issue if it pours. I must remember to keep waterproof leggings with me though. My plan hinges on the other hostel being able to take me from Thursday over the weekend. I await their reply. 

A joint bus and ferry ticket, valid for three days can be bought for thirty pounds and would cover my journey from Selatrad to Tvøroyri on Sudoroy. Miraculously I have just learned how to use the bus and ferry timetables and my geographical knowledge is sufficient to help me work out where I need to change and connect. I have emailed asking for individual ticket prices so I can consider the value of the multi day ticket. My journey is about to begin. I am now going walking looking for my hat.

Oh dear, I have just bought my second beer and looked at the label, it is 5.8%. I feel very comfortable sitting here drinking beer using their free wifi. Every establishment I've been in has free wifi. I confess that the English songs give a familiar sound adding to my comfort. At the guesthouse we thankfully have no television but there is no radio or music either. I am happy with silence but am enjoying chart music. 

My only slight discomfort is that I am the only female here, nine men all ordering or eating fast food, four more just walked in, this reminds me of Finland, where I stopped drinking as it didn't feel safe to do so, though in fairness, I think I am the only person drinking beer but then it is only 6.30 pm and I am being ignored.

The Faroese people remind me a little of the Tamils of Sri Lanka. Lovely, self contained people, generally uninterested in what others are doing. When I say uninterested I don't mean that in a negative or personal sense, I mean more in an unhassly, totally accepting way of having strangers in their midst yet continuing as tho nothing is happening, which indeed of course it isn't. 

I have found places where people are inordinately interested in any stranger who passes by, are avaricious for information, seek out news and contact with the outside world. Here, I get the impression of a steady, supportive, self contained community. Not afraid of strangers but neither over welcoming. People generally don't ask more than where I am from, if they do speak to me, don't need to know what I'm doing here or even whether I like it.  Tourists I meet ask those things.

I didn't find my hat, I have retraced all my steps since I last wore it except for going back out beyond Bour, that will need to wait until I have the car but I'm sure I have worn it since then. Casualties of travel.

I put my washing in the machine before I came out, I just may have to pass by the bar and find a stray bottle on my way to collect it and there are still stray bottles lying around. Funny that, I generally seem to manage cleaning so well, except for when it comes to stray bottles of beer being in the wrong place. I'm tidying them up slowly, I'll get there, putting the empties in the crates one by one, a few each day.

It's not possible to buy alcohol in the shops, I'm unsure how far away I would have to go to buy it but understand my options are limited to here and back 'home'. Right now this feels like a better place to be. 

Faeroes

Wind

Variable 4, becoming northwesterly 4 or 5.

Sea state

Slight or moderate.

Weather

Showers.

Visibility

Good.