Surreal

To say that today had its surreal moments is putting it mildly!

Encouraged by the good forecast, we took two buses to get from Tórshavn to the village of Tjørnuvik (see extra), which is tucked into a narrow, secluded bay in the northwest corner of Streymoy Island. It would appear to be the surf capital of the Faroes (see extra)! We were walking up to the 500m col on the trail to Saksun, when we met a young German woman coming down. She told us that she'd been hoping to do just what we had planned, but had lacked the confidence to stray from the trails without a map. I had a detailed map from last year's race, so she came with us as we headed west from the col. After following high ground for a couple of kilometres, we came to the edge of a 600m cliff that plunged vertically into the Atlantic Ocean. The view to the north was of Mylingur (pictured) - more 600m sheer cliffs - and the view south was almost as good (see extra). 

For those of us who read maps for escapism, it's unsettling and exciting to see the 600m contour stop at the sea.

We made our way down together and, back in Tjørnuvik, had coffee with freshly-made waffles, rhubarb sauce and cream, prepared by an old guy in the village. A remarkable counterpoint to this was the presence of eight identical electric Audi Quattros that had arrived in the village in the hopes of a publicity photoshoot! (See extra)  The German gave us a lift so we could catch an earlier bus back to Tórshavn. There we arrived in glorious sunshine so, after showering, we took the 30-minute ferry to the island of Nolsoy. There I'd heard that "Maggie's" bar was an institution, and it didn't disappoint. 

Sitting on the terrace in warm sunshine, we washed down fish and chips with a couple of beers in the company of a young Dane who was living in Tórshavn, and then one of Nolsoy's hard drinkers. After the sun sank behind the hills, and the temperature on the terrace plummeted, we went downstairs. By then the landlord and three others were belting out very approximate Queen covers and country rock classics to a dozen rather drunk locals, and we had another beer with a good-natured but rather drunk guy of our age from Tórshavn. The time was ticking away for us to leave to catch the "last ferry home", but we realised that this was a situation where the ferry wouldn't depart until all the "regulars" were onboard. Eventually, our "friend" bought us a can of beer each to drink on the way (and two for him) and we left. Half way to the ferry, we came across a big young lad who'd stumbled and split his head open, so one of his mates and I helped him down to the ferry. After drinking with our friend on the ferry, and watching the sun set over the hills of Stremoy, we parted beside the ambulance that had been called for the bleeding drunk. 

Thankfully tomorrow is forecast to be dull...