August 2, 1933 ~ At sea
Beautiful moon and flashes of heat, chain and spear lightning in the west for quite a few hours. Last night on board and not a sign of romance. We five girls, Axel Dahlgard, and Pop Seller sat in the Smoke room listening to the raspy phonograph. Elinor served the last of her liqueur and we couldn’t be gay even though we tried.
January 31, 2017 ~ Klaksvik, Faroe Islands
It was a cloudy flight from Iceland to the Faroe Islands. Nearly two hours of white out my window seat view. In the last five minutes, as we descended from the sky, the fog dissipated and the razor-edge cliffs appeared as if from nowhere. They rose up like giants from the ocean; green gems amongst the blue. A waterfall spilled over the edge of a moss-covered mountain like a scene from a fairy tale book. Majestic.
The rains poured down on our drive to Klaksvík, a town on one of the northernmost islands in the Faroes. It was dark despite the early evening hour. Not having high expectations for this small, relatively sleepy town where we were seeing more sheep than people, we stumbled into a local pub to check out the night life. We were two of three guests at the bustling Roykstovan bar that night and the one local was on his way out. We sat down at a well-worn wooden picnic bench inside the tavern and enjoyed a flight of beer made at the brewery across the street. You can’t get more local than that. The lights were dim, the bar was dead, and the music on the radio was eclectic. You’re So Vain melded into MMMBop, which somehow seemed fitting for this joint. The barmaid wasn’t terribly chatty, unusual for someone in her position. It turns out she had come from her granny’s funeral. She bent down behind the bar and came up with a tin of freshly baked cookies leftover from the reception. Those were probably the saddest cookies I’ve ever been offered, but I’m a sucker for chocolate chip and couldn’t say no. We chatted a bit and learned more about her grandma, toasting our last round and cookies to her.