A sheer veil made of snowflakes covering the top of the mountains in the course of this week, before it started raining again: Winter is heading for the Faroe Islands, with rapid strides. A time of year I have a thing for, maybe because I’m a child of the winter.
It is incontestable that those months can be harsh on the islands. But when the sun is out, that very special light brightens up skies and minds. Time to get some fresh air. Lined boots, woolen cap, camera. The wind has died down. There it is: The light of winter, illuminating everything. The waves of the ocean. The skin of the sheep strolling around the village. Even the paint of the houses.
In my opinion, there are no four seasons on the Faroe Islands. It’s more like short spring, short summer – and the rest of the year. Still, snowfall is not like in northern Norway. The Gulf Stream makes all the difference.
Exactly one year ago I went for a short swim at Tjørnuvík’s beach. Utterly fearless, I climbed over an obstacle course made out of rocks, placed my rain jacket on the sandy soil, camera on top, and started walking. Water temperature: Almost the same as during the summer. Approximately 9 degrees Celsius. That’s what I call winter fun on an archipelago located in the middle of the North Atlantic.