Faroes fog beguiles me. Soothes, transforms, dances, displays a bipolar emotional state that hypnotizes and draws me into its trance. I find my pen has unknown depths of poetry. Through the fog, I hear whispered traces of the Faroese soul. And what I hear fascinates me endlessly.
My introduction to the fog of the Faroe Islands came on a ferry to the southernmost island of this North Atlantic island archipelago. Throughout the day, the fog rolled in and out, obscuring half of Tvøroyri’s fjord in white and barely tangible ghostly form, while the other side blinded me in the intense sun.
It is here that I also received my first encounter with the Faroese hospitality. For all their reticent reserve, the people are endlessly giving of themselves. I found myself in the car of a local woman, Elin, as she drove me to her hometown Fámjin and introduced me to half her village as the local fishermen plucked feathers from seabirds and treated me to coffee and rolls in her home. It all happened so fast, book-ended by wispy fog, that I still wonder if it was all a dream.
Thankfully, I have photos to prove it happened. To view my photo slide show, click on the link below.