Travel: The magical Faroe Islands

Welcome to the Faroe Islands, equidistant from Iceland, Shetland and Norway, where the population is 50,000 and life appears frozen in time.

In just over an hour – the same as it takes to drive between Scotland’s largest cities – it is possible to depart from Edinburgh Airport and arrive in Vágar, the most westerly of the Faroes. Here, traffic is folklore, sheep outnumber people and grass grows on the roofs of homes, an archaic method of insulation that has survived the centuries.

When I arrive late on a mid-August evening, the night is a dusky shadow rather than pitch black. For a visitor attempting to drive on the right hand side of the road for the first time, this comes as a welcome surprise. While there is a decent bus network, exploring by car is the best option to see the Faroes in their raw, unbridled form. The only way to reach the smaller islands is by ferry, while underground tunnels link the larger ones. Although these tunnels charge road users, the cost is balanced by the cheap price of diesel. After 600 kilometres on the road, refilling the tank of a chunky 4x4 cost me around £20.

In Tórshavn, one of world’s smallest capital cities, the population is a little north of 17,000. Visually, little has changed since the town was laid out in the 16th century. Black timber-clad houses still jostle for space by the harbour, transected by only the slimmest of cobbled pathways. But while their form has endured, their function has not: once used as private residences, these buildings are now popular restaurants serving visitors and locals alike, as well as shops selling traditional Faroese goods such as gloves, slippers and hats made from the wool of the islands’ sheep. The jumper that launched 1000 knock-offs, a black-and-white number worn by Sarah Lund in Danish sleuth series The Killing, was knitted here at high-end sweater store Guðrun & Guðrun.

Hotel Tórshavn, my base for the week, is a serviceable bolthole with exceptional views of the harbour and brightly coloured toy town houses. A tour of the city is essential, not just to get your initial bearings but for a deeper understanding of the unique identity the Faroes wear like a winter coat. This is a city where islanders hold their heritage close and where visitors are an exception, rather than a rule. At the city’s tourist information centre there is a sign explaining that the facility has moved elsewhere – written only in Faroese.

A tour also represents a chance to see how the Faroes have been influenced by their closest geographical neighbours. My guide explains that the roof of the former schoolhouse, now used as the town hall, is made from blue-grey Norwegian slate, while a number of ships in the harbour started life in Scotland. They berth next to traditional wooden Faroese longboats built and designed by local artists, overlooked by the modest timber structures used as government buildings on dry the harbour’s edge.

Exposed to the elements, it is difficult – though not impossible – to make things grow in the gardens of Faroese homes. The Faroese people conform in many ways, my guide tells me, except for the colour of their houses. Britons might use their gardens as a way to express individuality, but denied that opportunity the Faroese paint their properties in technicolour shades. In particular, homes in Sandavágur, Kvívík, and Klaksvík demonstrate pleasing aesthetics. These are places where even the diacritical marks of the town names feel like an acknowledgement of architectural diversity.

Yet there are also signs of progression. Föroya Bjór, one of only two breweries in the country, has plans to create the first-ever whisky distilled on the Faroes. I travel to Klaksvík to meet with head brewer Annika Waag, who spent time in Copenhagen and Canada before returning home to carry her great-grandfather’s firm into the next generation. Religion plays a large role in the lives of many islanders, and it is strictly forbidden to advertise alcohol. It is also prohibited to sell spirits and beer over a certain strength anywhere other than government-approved outlets. Even with these apparent hurdles, Föroya Bjór has thrived over the decades and now offers a comprehensive range of soft drinks and beers. I sample Slupp, an amber brew, and Green Islands stout, a dark complex beer. By booking in advance, there is also the opportunity to take a brewery tour and see where the new pot stills will live.

While north, I decide to catch the ferry from Klaksvík to the isle of Kalsoy. A thin land mass 30 kilometers long, its landscape is the stuff of hard-backed guidebooks complete with sharply rising mountains and gleaming Scandinavian-style churches (Husar, one of the first villages you pass after disembarking the ferry, has a particularly beautiful place of worship). Down a flight of steps at the Mikladalur shoreline, a modern statue of a selkie can be found; a contemporary nod to the Faroese legend which tells how a colony of the creatures living on the island tried to tempt men to their deaths.

The price of eating and drinking in the Faroes is aligned with North Scandinavia, and restaurants are few but atmospheric and imbued with personality. Chefs at Barbara, a fish house named after a local townswoman, send out plates of delicate cod ceviche on dainty china which guests can season to taste with salt from a hollowed out sea urchin shell. At next-door Aarstova you can eat an entire lamb’s shoulder with gravy and potatoes then stagger back to your hotel.

For an authentic taste of Faroese fare, I head to Raest, a new restaurant found at the very core of the black house huddle in Tórshavn city centre. Head chef Kari Kristiansen worked stages (the restaurant equivalent of internships) in New York before returning home to riff on recipes inspired by his grandmother. Raest translates to mean a unique kind of Faroese fermentation which maximises on the island air’s unusually high salt content. Meats and fish are hung up and left to dry in hjallur, or outside sheds, for three to four weeks before being boiled and used in cooking. In the quaint surrounds of Raest’s grandmotherly dining room, bold guests will be charmed by the Faroese bar snack of cold local potatoes, fermented whale (a strong gamey flavour) and small strips of blubber (to moisten the meat) eaten together like a miniature open sandwich. For others, an Asian-inspired fish broth, or blood sausage and curried onions, will be adventurous enough.

Over the past five years the Faroes have been hailed as the next big Scandi destination, which leaves me baffled as to why my flights are half-empty. To some, perhaps the islands appear too wild, too unfamiliar. To me, that is exactly their appeal.

Gabriella Bennett was a guest of the Visit Faroes tourist board. For more information go to visitfaroeislands.com.