The Faroe Islanders hope their games in the Republic's World Cup group will encourage tourism. Rosita Boland sees what's on offer.
Mention the Faroe Islands and most people reply: "Where are they?" The Faroes, an archipelago of 18 tiny north Atlantic islands, of which 17 are inhabited, lie roughly halfway between the Shetland Islands and Iceland. Geographically, they are closer to us than most European countries, yet they remain little-visited and mysterious places, hidden in fog for many days of the year. Politically, they are a self-governing part of the Danish kingdom, with their own language, parliament and currency. Gaining independence is a constant topic of conversation.
The Faroes have their own airline, Atlantic Airways, which flies from Stansted twice a week during the summer. Even then, however, you can't be certain of landing at Vágar, the Faroes' only airport. Our flight circled in darkness and fog for an hour. Then the pilot's voice came over the tannoy. "If we can see the runway we'll land. Otherwise we're going to Bergen for the night," he announced briskly. There followed 10 minutes of uncertainty before we touched down, avoiding the trip to Norway.
Most international airports in no way represent their countries: they are noisy, anonymous, busy places with urban landscapes right outside the doors. But the minute you walk outside Vágar's tiny airport you are already in the Faroese landscape. You can smell the sea, hear the seabirds, sense the wild isolation of this place of fjords, lakes and mountains. And, apart from the birds, it is silent.
The sea defines everything in the Faroes. Nowhere on the 18 islands is more than three miles from the sea, so the Atlantic is constantly in sight and mind. Its economy is 97 per cent dependent on fishing. The other 3 per cent comes from tourism. There is one sea tunnel, which connects Vágar, the airport island, with Streymoy. Otherwise, the islands are connected by ferry, so almost every journey involves a sea crossing.
Even the Lutheran churches are defined by the element against which so many generations of Faroese fishermen have battled, sometimes with tragic loss of life. The area where the congregation sits is known as the ship - in the Faroes you sail through life - and every astoundingly lovely and individual church contains a representation of a boat. In Klaksvík an eight-man boat hangs from the rafters; Gota's old church is built from wood salvaged from a shipwreck; at Kirkjubour there is a painting of a boat behind the altar by the Faroes' most famous artist, Samal Joensen-Mikines.
Until a few months ago Gásadalur, on Vágar's cliffs, was the last village in the Faroes without a road: unreachable by boat, it was accessible only by hiking over the 2,000-foot mountain or by taking a helicopter. The postman hiked there three times a week. A tunnel under a mountain now links the tiny settlement to Bour. Gásadalur's dozen houses cluster together in a valley overlooking Mykines, the Faroes' most famous island, an amazing cliff-faced shelf of land where the hardiest of the Faroese live.
Tórshavn is the smallest and most modest capital imaginable - and one that is refreshingly unmaterialistic. The population of the Faroes is only 48,000, and 19,000 of them live in Tórshavn. Posters all over town advertise a concert this month by Boney M, a band many thought officially forgotten. Tórshavn has simple hotels, which encourage you to drink the pure tap water in your bathroom, and shops with very limited goods.
All over the Faroes are houses still built in the traditional way: a stone basement, tarred wooden boards and a grassy roof. There are no trees on the wind-beaten islands, so islanders used to gather driftwood to build with. The cost of living is high, and houses are expensive, so most single people live at home, in converted basements. With such a small population everyone knows and looks after everyone else.
Fishing, hiking, birdwatching - particularly at Vestmanna or on Mykines - and sightseeing are the chief tourist attractions. The football-mad Faroese hope their continuing presence in international football will help draw attention to their islands: they play a World Cup qualifier at Lansdowne Road on October 13th. More than 6,000 Faroese, male and female, play club football at home, and they follow their national team obsessively.
Cut off in bad weather in the era before flying, the Faroes have traditionally had to be self-sufficient in food. To this day all vegetables apart from potatoes are imported. As the islands' grassy terrain supports only sheep, fishing, fowling and whaling have been constant ways of getting food. Puffin and guillemot, which are abundant, are still eaten here. The two roast puffins I had were terrific: like duck but smoother.
The Faroese also catch pilot whales, which are not an endangered species, for their own use. Jóannes Patursson, a 17th-generation farmer at Kirkjubour, was in the first boat out last month when the cry of grindabod went up. This means a shoal of whales has been spotted, and every boat in the area takes to the water.
That hunt yielded 90 whales, all of which were killed within seven minutes. Two months ago 250 whales were killed. Once the whales have been sliced and weighed, under police supervision, the meat and blubber is divided gratis within the community, as is the way in Faroese tradition.
"There are on average one million pilot whales in north Atlantic waters," says Patursson, who is fully aware of the anti-whaling movement. "The most we ever take in a year is 2,000. It has always been part of our culture, and no money is ever involved."
The only time money changes hands is when a restaurant buys whale meat. Every whale killed is eaten: the Faroese hunt not for sport but for food.
Whale steak was on the menu at Merlot, a restaurant in Tórshavn. Whale, being a mammal, is, of course, meat. There is nothing fishy about the taste. My braised whale steak, which was almost black, tasted like a combination of beef and venison. And it was delicious, a fact that may startle many people.
In the Faroes it rains for an average 280 days a year, and the fog can sweep in at any time: one full day out of the three I spent on the islands was lost to it. So the Faroes are sometimes not easy to see, even when you arrive, and much of what you can do there is dependent on the weather. Yet it is still beguiling, rewarding every clear hour you spend there: a place of stories, haunting dimensions and huge horizons. One mysterious name from the lovely litany of the shipping forecast now revealed.
Getting there
Atlantic Airways (www.atlantic.fo) flies year-round from Copenhagen and Aberdeen and twice a week from Stansted in the summer. Maersk Air (www.maersk-air.com) also has a route via Copenhagen. You can also get there by ferry on tours that take in the Shetlands, Faroes and Iceland, with flights back (www.smyril- line.com).
The best time to go is between June and August, but the weather is always unpredictable. Watch out for special deals straight from Dublin for the Republic's return match in the World Cup qualifiers on June 8th 2005. Expect to pay about €150 for a double hotel room in Tórshavn. A bed in a hostel in Tórshavn is €21. Be prepared to pay €9 for a beer. www.visit-faroeislands.com
