How could I even think about drinking in such a small town? Or think that I might stand a chance. In fairness it was the book telling me that this is second in size to Tvøroyri that made me think it a possibility. I love to stay at places where the book says don't even bother to stop here, pass right on through but for now I will withhold my judgement about Vagur.
Straight off the ferry, I ask for the town, the driver assumes I will be staying at the hotel but I say no, private house and show him the address I have. Women on the bus make comment and he agrees to let me know when we arrive. This will be the first place where I am actually booked for bed AND breakfast!!!!
Dense fog accompanies us. At one point the top of mountains become clear but i know not whether we are immediately passing land or water. I arrive at my lodgings with the bus dropping me off outside the door which is fantastic except it means I now don't know for leaving, where the actual bus stop is! The lady is looking out of the front window and I wave to her. She greets me at the door and we ascertain that we have no language commonality. She proffers me an old envelope on which is written, I do not speak English, what time would you like breakfast? Now I would have quite liked to have some flexibility and I have been ready to say I would like cold water, hard boiled eggs, cheese, cucumber and rye bread if possible please at no fixed time between 8 and 9 but I show her 08.30 on my mobile and will take what I get.
I establish where I will shower and eat breakfast and where I might eat this evening by a guttural mimicking of nibbling my fingers and uttering the name of the hotel in an, I hope, quizzical manner. She makes a phone call and I think I am speaking with the hotel but it turns out to be a bored sounding daughter, like ohmygod why have I got to do this, but who gives me the information I need.
I wander down the main road, find the harbour and discover a concrete church. More interestingly though, an old sailing ship, that I think cleaner and better kept, but probably many years younger than Nordlysid. I wonder what she is doing here and I wish I could speak with my host. Many buildings appear empty and very neglected. Attempts to make the place interesting with large 1920's images somehow just seem to accentuate the sad state of it today.
Feeling hopeful about the 'brightly painted' hotel, i make my way to a grey building and walk in. A family are busy eating but the place is otherwise empty. I walk to what purports, perhaps, to be the bar and read an ancient, dogbeared and dirty menu. Half way through trying to comprehend this ancient parchment, i hear, TIna, shrieked and there is a man I recognise, but who for now, cannot place, sitting with two women and two children. Slowly my brain chugs and I work out this is Marits son. I am introduced to his wife, children and mother in law. We make polite exchanges. I don't know if I should sit down to join them or how many tables away it will be polite to sit. Neither seem right, so I do the one that best suits my comfort, I sit two tables away, leaving them to their family chatter.
I mostly manage to interpret the menu, I can have pizza, chicken and chips, fish and chips or kebabs, with cake and ice cream should I be desperate for dessert. I find no beer listed and no sign of any service so turn to them for advice. They point out that beer is on the top shelf, not on the menu and that the girl serving is on her own this evening so I must wander into the kitchen and call her. I do so. Premptorily she tells me she will be out to serve me as soon as she is able.
Why am I writing these minutiae? Its even boring me! no reason I think other than stumbling upon Marit's family and that, in my naivety I was hoping to find life a bar, in a working town, which I have not. I fear my evening will be spent alone in my room, no further forward with any knowledge of my surroundings. I will endeavour to walk on and at least find the Ruth Smith gallery this evening. Right now though, I am inclined to catch the return ferry tomorrow morning!
Just as I leave, asking for and being refused 'it is not allowed', a takeaway bottle of beer, a french speaking couple walk in. Maybe I ate too early. Now 8.30, perhaps I can eat later tomorrow evening. How might it be tho to live somewhere so very very quiet. I could buy myself a low alcohol beer from the supermarket to have back at my B and B but have no opener.
What a horrid place this turns out to be. Rough, guaze like sheet that is like sandpaper to my body, noisy main road again, disappointing hotel. Can i find positives? Ive been invited in to see beautiful smelling, pure wool, a rare commodity over here. This town is the home of the spinning mill, one of two reasons i was keen to visit. Walking along, looking in windows, i am surprised, when a shop door is opened and i am invited in. i suggest i will not be buying but the invitation stands, you were on Smyril line, he says, i saw you and i concur.
I ask him about the spinning milll and he tells me it closed some seven years ago. with pride he explains how he now sends his wool to bradford for scouring, on to lithuiania for spinning and back to the faroes for sale. He has no idea that this might not instil the sense of awe and respect in me that he envisages it might. No wonder the town is dying.
How soon can i leave?
Faeroes
Wind
Cyclonic becoming southerly or southwesterly 4 or 5, occasionally 6 at first.Sea State
Moderate.Weather
Rain or thundery showers, fog banks.Visibility
Moderate or very poor.
