On the second stage of his no-fly ride to Iceland, our writer cycles the wild and dramatic Faroes – but still finds time for fishing and folk tales
We stand on deck as the ferry slices through banks of North Atlantic mist, then suddenly a vast berg of rock looms forward, and another, like Odin’s lost war fleet, anchored somewhere off Valhalla. Arrival by sea in the Faroes is a memorable experience. A few houses huddle by the water, weatherboard walls smartly painted in burgundy or blue, many with a turf roof. The narrow roads look exposed, edging along shorelines or snaking up into the clouds. Cycling here is clearly going to involve real physical effort.
“The sport is in its early stages here,” says Berit at the Rent A Bike shop after we have walked the short distance up from Tórshavn port. “Drivers aren’t used to seeing bikes and sometimes they don’t know what to do. But they mean well. You’ll find the tunnels a challenge.”
