I’m off to Norway in three days! Wheee!

I’ve now obtained a warm jacket (actually a snowboarding jacket — I’m so cool) and some very warm wool socks (again, snowboarding/skiing socks). Ostensibly, I will be walking — not a lot, but more than usual (i.e. more than none) — so the socks make a lot of sense. I actually need to get some new boots too — my current Timberland boots are 7 or 8 years old, but when a new pair cost something like £150 ($230), it’s hard to bite the bullet.

I have a scarf and hat (a deerstalker — still not sure about wearing it in public). The guys at the snowboarding shop said I should get a ‘buff’ — seriously, like a muff, but… buff. One of those neck warmer things. I don’t think it’ll be that cold or bitter in Norway though.

All that remains… is pants. I have none.

(Click for larger… though I can’t imagine why you’d want to…)

Both kinds of pant, British and American. I must buy some in the next couple of days (so that I have time to break them in). Do I go for the full, ‘long’ variety… or do I stick to boxer shorts? Do I wear denim and cotton (I don’t own jeans), or is there such thing as ‘warm’ trousers? I don’t want to wear plastic waterproof pants or trousers (for similar reasons). I have an old pair of wool trousers I think.

I mean, I have boxer shorts… not many, but some. A couple of pairs. And pants — trousers — I have… well, nominally two pairs, but I only really wear one.

This is the problem when I don’t go out much. It’s very easy to just whack on some underwear, slap on some trousers and a t-shirt, plonk myself down in front of my computers and while away 16 hours before reversing the process. Now that Norway is only a few days away and I’ll be spending three weeks in the presence of other human beings, I better get some more clothing for my lower half. (Incidentally, I recently bought an eight-pack of socks, they went through the wash once, and now only three out of sixteen socks remain — how lame is that?)

Anyway, other than that little dilemma, I’m all ready for Norway! I’ll be spending seven days in Bergen and eleven in Trondheim. There will be many fjords. And Nordic beauties — it’s about time a British emissary was sent to reclaim what was unlawfully stolen away by the Vikings! And… er… well, there isn’t a whole lot else to do in Norway. Their primary exports are fuels, machinery… and fish. They also love their woollen goods — so basically this is going to be like the Faroe Islands, but without the fuel or machinery. And without the dried sheep and whale.

I actually don’t know what we’re going to do, except walk and carouse. I’m staying with students in Trondheim, so I imagine that’ll be quite rowdy. But even then, I’m very curious to find out what people actually do in Norway. They’re not a standard ‘Western’ nation that deals mainly in services. There isn’t going to be a ‘downtown’ Trondheim. I guess it’s a more social lifestyle there? When 50% of the country’s income is from exporting fuel, life has to be pretty easy, surely?

The weather’s looking good, too. Bergen is a balmy 3C (37F) during the day, while Trondheim is a little bit nippier — freezing during the day, down to -5 (23F) or -6 at night. (Of course, if you figure wind chill into the equation it drops to about -15C, but who’s counting…)

As for the blog, I need to spend the next few days finishing preparations, and shifting obligations to other hapless victims/helpful friends. As before, I’ll put the blog into its ‘resting state’. It’s like cryogenic suspension, stasis, but not as cool. A new header will appear at the top of the blog to remind you where I am, and that for a month posts will be both sporadic^[1] and erratic. I’ll likely stick to early-morning updates, but it’ll depend on just how debauched and drunk I get. I needn’t remind you of what happened in Poland…

Oh, and if you want to buy some photos, I’ll try to get them onto Etsy in a timely fashion. I actually want to enable sales right here on this site, but that’ll have to wait until after Norway.

Bon voyage, or as they say in Norwegian: god reise — or, if the going gets really tough, luftputefartøyet mitt er fullt av ål!

* * *

1. Did you know that ’sporadic’ comes from the same Greek root as ’spores’? As in, scattered far and wide.

Thinking back, there were a couple of bullet point blog posts early last year, but I don’t think I’ve fallen back on that particular crutch since. But I’m doing it now: I’m invoking the Too Busy To Blog Properly clause of the Web Logger’s Constitution.

This weekend I left my bedroom. Actually, I’m scheduled to leave my bedroom next weekend too, so you might get two blog posts like this. My most heart-felt, belaboured but ultimately spurious apologies in advance. After being cooped up for six months, it does feel awfully good to breathe fresh air — I wonder how much oxygen remains in the recycled air of my bedroom…

Anyway, I was in Southampton this weekend, observing the yearly pancake pilgrimage (it takes all of my effort to leave that uncapitalized). There’s actually a photo of me post-pancakes from the same pilgrimage last year, and the making of the ultimate pancake. I’ve actually changed what I consider to be the ultimate pancake this year… but read on, for my awesome bullet points!

• Southampton is about two hours away by train. On Sunday, when there are replacement bus services and you have to hop around from station to station like a backwards tourist, it’s nearer three and a half hours. This is one thing I hate about travel (cars specifically and trains to a lesser extent) — you take so long to get somewhere. When I went to the Faroe Islands, it took me longer to get to the airport, than from the airport to some fly speck islands in the middle of the Atlantic. I was away for weekend, but about a quarter of my waking hours were spent on a train. Lame.
• Last year we had biologists, this year we had philosophers. One of my friends in Southampton is a biologist, the other a philosopher — quite a disparate bunch of friends, I assure you! After a long afternoon last year spent with biologists — most of them doctors, or close to it — I wasn’t sure if this year was going to be better or worse. I’m at home with scientists and engineers, but most lab-dwelling ones tend to be even dorkier than me — if you think I spend little time in the presence of others, imagine what it’s like when you spend most of your time with microbes and tissue cultures… is it better to talk to yourself, or to a Petri dish?Anyway, the philosophers were OK. When you do a PhD in most subjects, it’s towards a specific target — to be a rocket scientist, a medical doctor, a master of a particular subject — but philosophers don’t seem to be like that. Do they want to be scholars of their favourite philosopher, or do they actually want to become a philosopher? Do you become a philosopher by reading a book? No. Do the books shape your thoughts into philosophical shapes? Maybe. Nothing wrong with scholars of course, but I can’t help but feel the world would be better with more actual philosophers. Maybe.
• Pancakes rule. The pancake master still reigns supreme. (That’s me, by the way: The Pancake Master). Philosophers eat less pancakes than biologists, you know? Last year it was three or four each! This year, only the friendly Greek Nietzschean guy could keep up with me! I created a new ultimate pancake: clotted cream, Canadian maple syrup and fresh strawberries. I used a little lemon juice to cut through the richness of the cream. It was very, very good. I had four of those.
• The New Forest is pretty. You probably saw this on Facebook already (check out my self-promotion! I’m so proud of myself), but the New Forest is, despite its name, a very old and well-maintained forest. It was originally ‘curated’ by William the Conqueror in 1079, a few years after his successful invasion of Britain — probably so he had somewhere to hunt. The quality of the soil is poor though, so there aren’t many trees — lots of scrub and shrub though. It’s basically a heath (and I rather like heaths!)

At this juncture, you’d expect me to break into photos… but I haven’t had a chance to go through them all yet. You get one now (which is also this week’s 52), and a bunch tomorrow.

Happy Monday!

I’m going to run out of Norway-related gasms before I actually get there, I can tell. My flights are now booked, though — I’ll be departing England on the 18th of March, and I’ll be in Norway until the 4th of April. I have just one month to prepare for a rather impromptu excursion. I don’t have the gear — the clothes, the snow boots! — nor do I have anything other than a bunch of couches to sleep on.

I’m staying with students, y’see. Institutionally-painted, box-room dwelling students. I graduated five years ago, but for some reason or another, most of my international jaunts since then have featured me staying at some kind of school or university. And I always end up getting horribly drunk — there’s something about being a student, at least in Europe, that implies drunken behaviour.

I presume Norway will be the same, just more expensive — a pint of beer (500ml) is $10 (£6). Much like the Faroe Islands, not much grows in Norway — some hardy grains, sheep, cattle, goats, pigs and potatoes. Oh, and fish of course — so basically, they import everything. A pizza costs $20, and they’re at the top of the Big Mac Index. I’m relying on the generosity of my hosts — surely, to them, a pizza is ‘just $20′, while to me it’s ‘TWENTY DOLLARS??!’.

Anyway… fjords. The main feature of any trip to Norway, other than the delicious fish, petroleum products and girls, is fjords. The definition is a little bit wishy-washy, depending on where in the Anglo-Norse world you happen to be, but generally it describes a narrow inlet from the sea. Technically, if you’re a geography nerd, fjords are U-shaped valleys formed by glaciers (mostly during the last ice age). As the glaciers drifted out into the sea, they carved valleys that have been eroded over thousands of years to form the fjords we see today. There are fjords all over the world, but Norway has much more than any other country — Scotland, Greenland, Canada and New Zealand have a few, but that’s about it. If you click the photo above, you can see the fjords that dot the west coast of Norway. If you think they look beautiful there… just wait and see what I bring back!

As for the actual photographing of them, I think I’m ready. I’ve cleaned my lenses, ordered a new camera and hired a Swedish gypsy to carry my bag and tripod — I’m ready. I don’t know which parts of Norway I’ll be seeing exactly — students aren’t so good at making plans for prospective visitors, at least not beyond ‘and now we drink!‘ — but I’ll see at least two of the big boys: Hardangerfjord and Trondheimsfjord. Trondheim is on its fjord, so it will be pretty hard to miss, while my host in Bergen has a house right on Hardangerfjord (which, believe it or not, derives its name from ‘hard anger’, probably referring to weather conditions). I don’t think we’ll make it to Sognefjord (the biggest one), because it’s right in between my two stops. Other than fjord-spotting, I’ve been threatened with long, healthy hikes in the mountains… and skiing. I haven’t worn skis since I was two years old. But how hard can it be…?

Anyhoo, I haven’t been sleeping very wellI didn’t manage to take any photos of my own this week (except the fun Valentine diptych with Abi), so I’m afraid you ‘only’ get a bunch of fjord photos that I found while scouring the Internet. Most of these fjord photos can be clicked for larger versions, which I really suggest you look at.

(Hardangerfjord, the one near Bergen)

(Sognefjord, which is a massive 200KM long — the second largest in the world, after Scoresby Sund in Greenland… which I have no intention of visiting… yet)

(The view from Trondheimsfjord)

(Maybe I should get a photo of me in the same place… would make a good new ‘explorer’ photo.)

(Beautiful Romsdalsfjord, but I don’t think I’ll get there on this trip… alas!)

If you’ve been stalking me on either Twitter or Facebook, the next piece of news probably won’t come as a surprise. Truth be told, I’m going a little crazy here in cold, grey, snowy, dismal England. I don’t ever recall having this much trouble getting through the winter — something has changed within me, something is not the same. It’s like… the rules of the game have changed and I’m no longer satisfied with sitting here in front of my computers.

So I’m going to NORWAY, baby. Middle of March through until some time in April. I will experience the FJORDS and… er… I don’t know — cute, blonde inbred Scandinavian Übermensch? (That’s a Google Images link by the way — I’m not going to go and pick favourites, sheesh.)

(Photo not mine — just showing you what a fjord can look like…)

But yes, despite the brief moments of testosteronic superiority, the real reason I’m going is the fjords. Often described as the most beautiful natural wonders of the world, the fjords of Norway line the entire coast of the Scandinavian Peninsula and make up 7% of Norway’s total area. For some reason, Norway has one of the lowest densities in the world with only 4.8 million people in the entire country. Considering they have one of the best standards of living, and a huge income from oil, I really have no idea why no one lives there. Maybe there’s a disease (like the Faroe Islands), or maybe it’s the ol’ ‘it’s too damn cold for 80% of the year’ thing.

My friend in Bergen has a house on (by?) Hardangerfjord, which is one of the biggest. Have a look at Svein Ulvund’s photos of the fjord and nearby — insane, eh? March is when they’re meant to be at their finest, after most of the snow has been and gone. I hope I can do them justice — and I may need to buy a new camera before I go…

Anyway, I’ll be going to Bergen and Trondheim — here’s a map:

I actually had no idea they were so far north… Trondheim is further north than my trip to the Faroe Islands! At this time of year, there probably won’t be much sunlight — but by the time March rolls around, it should be at least 4C or 39F… so not that cold, really. Yet again I’ll miss the Arctic Circle by a few hundred miles, dammit!

We’ll try to drive around a bit, but I think only one of my hosts has a car — we’ll likely stay close to Bergen and Trondheim. Maybe they have skidoos that we can buzz around and churn snow with? Our plans are still in their formative stage, but I’ll be booking flights in the next few days… so there’s no going back.

If anyone’s been to Norway (Chele?), now’s the time to throw in any advice. And does anyone live in Norway? Maybe I can pay a fleeting visit!

* * *

Because it’s Tuesday, I have photos; mostly alternates for yesterday’s 52 Weeks. They’re not amazing, but perhaps they’re interesting — you decide!

(You might not be able to see it on your screen, but the leaf is reflecting a pink sunset — if you can’t see it, trust me! It’s pretty!)

(Again, there’s some lovely pinks and blues in this photo, but you might not be able to see them! I chased the birds around for ages, but they finally settled down in the tree for a photo. So kind of them.)

The last two are obviously a bit ‘experimental’ — my favourite bits are the golden ‘halos’ where the sunset hits the water at an odd angle. Very cool.

No, not crocs like the ones in my full-frontal photo… crocs, like… Crocodile Dundee! This post references yesterday’s post on The 2010 Tour.

The next few weeks will probably see a flurry of posts about Africa and Asia. You’ll have to forgive me if that kind of thing doesn’t interest you — but this blog’s about what interests me! I’m sure I’ll throw in a few delicious curve balls to keep you on your toes anyway.

Unlike the Faroe Islands, a grand tour to either Asia or Africa requires a lot of planning. The Faroes, by virtue of their Danish owners, are one of the most developed nations in the world. The Asian countries rank higher on the ‘Quality-of-life’ index, but that might simply be because most of Africa hasn’t been ranked yet. I have a nagging feeling that Asia is probably safer… if it wasn’t for the earthquakes and tsnuamis and suicide bombings…

Only Mozambique and Tanzania are on the ‘least developed countries’ list (and Malawi and Madagascar, if I visit those) — and even then they’re doing better than the central African countries, with regard to GDP per capita and disease and genocidal maniacs. Malawi and Tanzania are both meant to be very safe. Madagascar has some really funky rules/customs incidentally, called ‘fady’ — in some towns you’re not allowed to wear specific colours, or eat certain foods. They’re handed down from the ancestors, or something like that.

Language-wise, most of east Africa speaks English. It’s not the ‘common’ language — more the stuff reserved to those that have been to college, or work in a modern sector. Short of learning Swahili, there isn’t really a better option though. I imagine most touristy folk speak English too. Over in Asia, the islands (Malaysia, Indonesia, Philippines, and I think Singapore) speak very good English. Not so great in Korea, Thailand, Cambodia — but if you wave some cash around, you can probably get most things simply by pointing. Including women (incidentally, you can get jailed for a looong time if you sleep with the wrong girls in most of Asia — not such a problem in Africa, but they’ve got HIV instead.)

Now, because I’m a photographer, I should probably highlight one ‘beautiful vista’ each time I make a post like this — first, so that you can whet your appetite; second, so that I can plan how best to photograph the landscapes of Africa… or Asia!

Because it’s easy, I’m going to start with Tanzania and their world-famous, omg-it’s-the-prettiest-place-in-the-world, Ngorongoro Crater — aka The Cradle of Civilization (hominid remains from 3 million years ago have been found there). With a name like that, it better deliver, right? Well… it does:

(Click for larger)

Within the crater there are zebra, gazelles, wildebeest (never understood why it’s spelt ‘beest’…) — even some rhinos and hippopotamuses!

The crater is a caldera, (102 square miles), created by a giant volcano that exploded and then collapsed in on itself. A pretty frackin’ big volcano. The fact that the crater is so ‘closed in’ apparently causes problems for some of the animals there — the lion colonies there are inbred! It’s just like the deep south…

There are tons more photos over on the Wiki page, and I’m sure on Flickr too — go have a look, if you can’t wait for my TOUR. I almost want to go purely because it’s called Ngorongoro — get this, the name comes from the sound of the drums used by a group of Masai warriors called ilkorongoro. They conquered the crater back in 1800, apparently.

* * *

Anyway, with all the research (and some really pissy-grey weather that needs to stop already), I haven’t had a chance to take any pretty pictures this week. Unless you think a knife-wielding psycho is pretty (what were the chances?) — in which case you’re in luck!

(Black and white version over on Flickr. I like my eyelashes in the B&W one…)

(Stick a knife in me, I’m dun…)

(I’m holding a knife up! But you can’t see it, so this just looks like a stressed profile shot. Don’t think I’ve shown you my profile before, so… ta’da!)

Now to plan some kind of African safari slash/fan-fiction for TMI Thursday…

The snow has melted! The sun is… almost shining! The ambient temperature is WAY above 3 centigrade (37F) now and heading towards a balmy 5 or 6. Soon the delightful showers of Spring will be upon us — and before I know it, April will turn to May. May, if you’re new to this blog or my life, is the month when everything happens — we have something like 10 immediate-family birthdays in May, and this year we also have a wedding! May is also the best month to be in England (potential tourists, take heed!) The weather’s fresh (with a hint of the warmth to come) and the late-Spring flowers begin to bloom. The bulbs of March and April fade away to be replaced by the delicious lime-green leaves of May and all in all it’s just lovely.

But once May has passed, when all the important bits are out of the way and the best of British has been devoured, it’s time to fly. (I tried to work in ‘gonna fly now’ from Rocky, but failed — it just made me sound like a gangster-homie.)

It’s time to discuss where I’ll be travelling in 2010.  A few months ago I got lucky and scored a very well-paid writing job, so by the time May rolls around I should have enough money to go just about anywhere and do just about anything. It’s quite an exciting prospect! I can actually go on tour. When faced with a shanty, shared on-its-last-legs taxi, I can opt for the personal driver and tour guide. I can pay for the company and pleasure of not one, but nine concubines. Basically, this year, I have options.

First, though, I have to actually choose where to go. It’s time to get out of the Western world; out of Europe, out of America — but into … where exactly?

I have the plans for two primary tours bouncing around in my head at the moment: East Africa and East Asia.

BRING OUT THE MAPS!

East Africa Tour (Provisional, January 2010)

Countries visited: South Africa, Mozambique, Tanzania, Kenya

Via (uncertain): Zimbabwe (safer than I thought), Madagascar (bit out of the way, but safe), Malawi (safe, just not sure about)

Synopsis: East Africa is the safest part of the continent, which is obviously a huge bonus. Most of the countries on the list are also ex-British colonies, which means you’re generally safe and/or revered as a white tourist. The only real risk is being mugged, but being 6′5″ and scary lookin’, that’s not normally a problem. Other risks are Muslim extremism (but this is more of a problem further north, towards the Red Sea) and malaria. Really, I was quite shocked to discover just how safe my East Africa Tour could be.

Sightseeing-wise, Tanzania and Kenya have some of the best nature reserves in the world. Madagascar must surely have some unique vistas/plants/animals too. I have friends in South Africa and some connections in Tanzania. The only bit I’m not really sure about is Zimbabwe — but apparently it’s on the ’safe to travel’ list again, so… we’ll see!

I don’t know which direction I would go in — north to south or vice versa. Need to check flights and connections.

East Asia Tour (Provisional, January 2010)

Countries visited: Taiwan, Thailand, Cambodia, Malaysia, Singapore, Indonesia

Via (time/money permitting): South Korea, Japan, Philippines, New Zealand

Synopsis: Now this one’s a little more tricky and much more time-consuming! Africa’s just a few hours by plane, but Singapore is 12 hours away — as is the ‘hop’ from Japan to New Zealand! South-east Asia requires a lot of island-hopping — I don’t think the domestic/small-hop flights will be expensive, but getting to and from airports is always a pain. I could always limit my trip to just south-east Asia, dropping Korea and Japan entirely… but still, how do I get to New Zealand and back again? (I could fly to Los Angeles…)

Safety-wise, Asia’s on par with east Africa, but there’s more risk of terrorism. Tap water is undrinkable, there’s some malaria, some tuberculosis — less HIV than Africa though, hooray! It’s tempting to do a ’super safe’ tour to Japan, Singapore and New Zealand, but again… it would be an awfully long trip at great expense. I think I’d rather do a grand tour of just China.

If I did the entire circle — perhaps flying into Japan, and then going anti-clockwise? — I’d be looking at 3 months at least I think. I’m told you can lose yourself for weeks in New Zealand. As a photographer, I’m sure that’d be an understatement.

Gods, the more I think about it, Asia needs to be cut up into smaller slices. North Asia (Japan, Korea, China?), South Asia, and then New Zealand and the ‘wonders’ of Tasmania.

Analysis, Pros/Cons

I’m leaning towards the East Africa Tour simply because it’s easier to execute. It’s linear, with the only required flight being the one to Madagascar — for the same reason it would probably be cheaper too. Actual cost of living/day-to-day expenses are probably very similar — most of my money would go on tour guides, safaris and other excursions.

Africa’s also closer to home, which makes the whole thing a little easier to swallow. One thing I need to look into is relative English literacy — I assume it would be better in ex-colonial Africa.

Asia has culture though — those Far East cultures! The seat of ancient-and-then-modern religion! I bet Asia has better views too, with all that sea… and jungle! I’d have to include the Congo in my African tour if I wanted jungle, and it’s not very safe there at the moment.

This is the bit where I throw the floor wide open for suggestions — I don’t expect much advice/info re: Africa, but you might have something to say about Asia!

This entry was almost a deep-and-meaningful — I woke up with a start this morning with a deep, poignant phrase repeating itself over and over in my head — but after some reflection, I think I’ll wait for Monday. I need a little more time to turn it over; to taste it. Now if only I could remember the dream that obviously shook me enough to wake me up! Maybe this is what they call a ‘Eureka!’ moment…

So I’m not quite through with the photos from the G! Festival in the Faroes. Yesterday I started with a handful of great photos and today I’ll finish up with some more!

(The beautiful dawn photo is at the end.)

This is Frændur, some kind of ‘Faroese legend’ as far as music goes. They’re from the 80s and totally Faroese — don’t feel bad for never having heard of them!

Hogni again! Looks better full-size, but I think you can appreciate the feeling. I love the illuminated heads of the audience.

I think you’d have a hard time looking more iconic, more anthemic, more festival than this photo. I guess a candle is the new cigarette lighter. The armband was a beautiful bonus!

Better than my original Atlantic Dawn? I’m not sure. It’s beautiful for the rich fruitiness of the red and the highlighted clouds in the bottom left. Of course, my soft spot for pink might be skewing my opinion of it a little… but it is rather beautiful.

It’s hot and sticky in the UK again. I’m tired through lack of sleep and I refuse to pump myself full of caffeine just so I’m capable of coherent thought and thus bubble forth the beautiful, flowing prose that you expect from me. Instead, I went through photos from the G! Festival, a music festival that takes place on a beach in the Faroe Islands. You’ve seen a few but I have a lot (hundreds). There’ll probably be some more tomorrow. I’ve tried to prepare a nice selection of photos so there should be something for everyone!

[Image removed, as it became Dancing Light]

Hogni, a Faroese musician. Look at his smile. Maybe my favourite photo ever! (You need to see it BIG, it’s awesome) Definitely a case of right-place-right-time. And my 100mm prime lens which seems to have truly beautiful optic characteristics.

Teitur, perhaps the most famous Faroese musician, with an adoring audience. And a rather pretty sunset in the background!

If only you could see the kid on the right’s facial expression. I think we can guess though. G! Festival is for all the family!

The Faroes consist of 18 islands, some small, some large, and only one uninhabited. The population spread is also far from equal: about two thirds of the population live in or near the capital. For 1200 years the only way to get around would’ve been by boat. We’re not talking large distances – the archipelago is only 100 miles across – but by land, because of the mountainous topology, most villages would be, by today’s standards, totally isolated. Settlements in the Faroes are invariably placed in bays and inlets with mountains reaching up behind them. These plains are also very small – there’s almost no naturally-flat land in the Faroes! – and as a result there’s only one big town: Torshavn (Thor’s Harbour – cool name, eh?)

Anyway, along came the automobile and roads between towns on the same island begun to be carved out of the vertical-cliffed basalt mountains; ferries were used to go between islands – and more recently, to replace the ferries, tunnels! Lots and lots of tunnels.

I’m not some master civil engineer. I don’t know a whole lot about tunnel making (except for the Eurotunnel because it was in the media for a decade…) What I do know is that cutting your way through dense, metamorphic rock isn’t easy. In fact, it’s more a case of blowing things up with explosives. In a controlled fashion of course.

And that’s where this story takes place: in a Faroese under-sea tunnel. Not a nice, new, two-way well-lit tunnel – no. This takes place in one of the original, single-lane, pray-you-don’t-meet-someone-coming-the-other-way tunnels. They’re not lit. These tunnels are pitch-black except for your car’s lights. Years and years of carbon emissions mean the walls are lined with thick, light-absorbent soot. The only saving grace are the reflectors that illuminate the scars left by the dynamite: deeply-pocked, dirty-black holes.

Except for getting from A to B in the quickest way possible, there’s only one other thing that these tunnels are good for: racing. On the Faroe Islands, a country with no apparent social structure and limited space to build big houses, there’s only one real way to show off your wealth: fast cars. Fancy cars. Cars with spoilers and sexy skirts.

And in the case of my host in the Faroe Islands: nitrous oxide injection. I won’t bore you with the details, but put simply: it makes a car go quick – spine-fusing and eyebrow-ripping fast.

(This was meant to be someone sitting in a car with g-force/wind making their cheeks wobble…
But this was all I could find on Google.)

I’ve completely lost my train of thought. Damn Asian baby. Ah yes… So they race along these tunnels. A bit like a low-tech version of The Fast and the Furious without the flashy lights or the  hot girls in skintight plasticky clothing. You start at one end and finish at the other — the highest max speed at the end of the night wins! Wins what? The multi-tiered, golden and invisible cup of Pride of course! I suppose when you’ve been at sea for nine months bragging rights are about as exciting as things get: “Pass me the knife, Bjorn.” “REMEMBER THAT TIME I BEAT YOU IN THE TUNNEL?!” “Yeah… now pass the damn knife.”

I should tell you now that I’m a bit of a speed freak. So of course, last week, I found myself sitting in a super-charged hod and staring into the murky abyss.

“What if there’s a car coming but its lights are broken?

“Well… let’s hope that doesn’t happen Seb.”

“What if we hit a rock and collide with the wall, smearing our faces into a millimeter-thick laminate?”

“There’s always a chance of that… but it’s been a long time since it last happened.”

And with a cheesy, over-confident grin from the driver — a grin that betrayed his true nervousness — and with the drop of the clutch and the bang of the exhaust we accelerated into the tunnel.

A few seconds later, fully blanketed in black, there’s a rumble loud enough to be heard over the frantically-whirring engine. It’s my turn to grin nervously. It’s my turn to look towards the car’s flimsy roof and perform in the fraction of a second some thoroughly pointless calculations.

Out of the corner of his mouth he whispers tersely.

“Seb.” A second desperate and creaking roar from the dark surround. “Brake… or accelerate?”

(Seagulls!!)

“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…