FAROE ISLANDS


THE HORSE & THE HIDDEN PEOPLE In the shallows of Lake Sørvágsvatn stands a horse. A brisk


wind has sent ranks of tight little waves across the water and they slap at his flanks with monotonous persistence. Behind him, the hills are smothered by dark clouds, the weakest hint of sunlight struggling to break out beneath them. Perhaps in protest at the weather, the horse has reared up, forelegs raised, head pulled back. But all is not what it seems. Drawing closer, ambling


down the pebble beach towards the shore, I find not the flesh and bones of a disgruntled stallion, but a jumble of rocks and earth packed within a steel, horse-shaped frame. A sign chiselled into a moss-flecked boulder tells me that this is the Nix — a creature that emerges on to land in search of victims to enchant. Should he trick you into touching him, he’ll carry you off to the bottom of the lake, and there you shall stay forever. There is, however, a chance of salvation — if you’re quick


enough. “With the Nix, if you say his name before you’re in the water, he’ll disappear,” Elin Hentze tells me, as we stand braced against a particularly vigorous gust. “The spell is broken, he loses his force.” We’re on Vágar, one of 18 islands that make up the


Faroes, a self-governing region of Denmark that lies geographically closer to Iceland than the European continent — and in looks is closer to the fantasy lands of The Hobbit or Game of Thrones. It’s a place where dark, towering cliffs rise out of the frothing Atlantic; where meadows sweep up and up to end at shard-like pinnacles of rock; and where waterfalls tumble sideways, caught on the wind.


If ever folk tales were to take root then, it’s here, in this


mysterious archipelago at the far reaches of Europe. With Elin as my guide, I’m in the Faroes to unearth some of its stories, crisscrossing between islands in search of the giants, spirits and trolls that are said to dwell on them. Sørvágsvatn proves rich hunting ground. Leaving the


Nix to its damp stake-out, we skirt the lake, passing little plots of land divided by dry-stone walls. Behind them, the Faroes’ particularly straggly breed of sheep chew determinedly on the buttercups. Abandoning the car, we take a muddy path along the shoreline, hopping across shallow streams that bubble down from the surrounding slopes, and stopping to pick tiny blueberries that grow by the track. Elin — encased in waterproof hiking gear, long hair tucked beneath a bobble hat — tells me, “Huldufolk are said to live in this area, under the rocks and in the grass. They come out to dance; there are many stories about men who are too curious about them and are taken.” The Faroes share the idea of huldufolk (hidden folk;


nebulous creatures that are neither human nor elf) with Iceland. The tales likely came over with Norse settlers who arrived in both regions in the ninth century, and traded with wool, furs and fish over a millennium. The ocean that brought them here is soon revealed as the path climbs upwards, disappearing into dense fog, before we emerge at the top of the Trælanípan Cliff. The furious surf of the Atlantic thrashes against the rock 460ft below, grey- winged fulmars coming into land at barely perceptible ledges in the basalt. Behind us, Lake Sørvágsvatn seems separated from the ocean by the slimmest sliver of land, creating an optical


From left: The statue of the shapeshifting Nix on the shores of Lake Sørvágsvatn on Vágar; Múlafossur Waterfall, also on Vágar, with the tiny village of Gásadalur in the background Previous pages: The view over Funningsfjørður on Eysturoy island


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