Bordoy Sunrise


“I need to go to the loo!”

She spoke with an East London accent as she dragged me by the hand through the crowd of the festival. Was this it? After two weeks of tantalisingly close encounters would my first taste of female Faroese flesh take place in a portable toilet? Rather than choosing which variety of condom would I instead have to choose which of the 10 toilets would be our destination?

“You wait here!” I pouted; it was not to be. She still spoke with that curious, East London accent. But why had she made me follow her? If I can’t screw an inebriated girl at a festival – while sober myself! – what kind of man am I?

She staggers out of the toilet and sizes me up. Accompanied by the acrid smell of piss, alcohol and vomit she is suddenly a lot less attractive. She must’ve noticed the brief flicker of disgust on my face. “Shall we go to my tent?” Still the odd accent and this time followed by a giggle that she probably thought girlish but it fell flat, tumbling out of her still-wet lips, still sticky from her last drink.

“I think I ought to go… they’ll be waiting for me on the boat.”

“But I’ll show you a whale of a time!” A pun delivered in the light, airy and common accent of a Londoner — I had to laugh. Looking at her again, sizing her up, I thought she was more of a dolphin, but I let it lie: she wasn’t thin, even in the most complimentary of lighting or lack thereof. But neither was she American in stature.

“Okay. But before we continue… I have to ask… why the accent?”

“I studied in London for a few years! Stop asking silly questions. Come on then mate! Let’s take a stroll up the hill towards the tents!”

And so we walked up the hill, contraflow to the throng of drunk stoners making their way to the beach-side stage for the next noisy band.

She had slightly narrow eyes, a forehead that seemed to cover at least half her head. She was short — but then again almost every Faroe is — and she walked with a bit of a limp.

But it was a music festival. Who would know…?

When in the Faroes, do as the Faroese do… Veni, vidi…

Notes from the small islands
Notes from the small islands: drunken sex


I am a tall, hairy, British writer who blogs about technology, photography, travel, and whatever else catches my eye.