Dreaming ofof aa Danish Man

I wrap a puffer coat around my body, exit my airbnb and watch the sun rise over the ocean. It’s my third day at Saksun and I’m here for another week but dread catching the ferry back to mainland Scotland. This place is so dreamy. Free roaming cattle graze the fields, terrifying cliff drops make you feel like you’re in a postcard, and late afternoon rainbows arch over in the sky.

This is the story of how I met Anker.

It’s a little different to Glasgow. It’s fresh air you breathe in out here, not cigarette smoke and car fumes. You can walk freely without bumping into anyone you know – my ex.

I came here to get over him because living in a small, Glaswegian town doesn’t offer any escapism (unless I’m under my duvet all day with my headphones on full blast drowning out the world).

I don’t want to escape it anymore, though, now I know the world looks like this. Air travel terrifies the shit out of me so a beach holiday to the Canaries was out of bounds. It’s partly the reason I chose the Faroe Islands – it’s not UK soil therefore I’m abroad.

Fog closes in, fading the yellow sunlight. I peer over the vertical drop and see white waves crash faintly against the rocks. In the distance falling from another cliff edge is a waterfall that cascades straight down into the ocean, the water whiter than the sky on a clear day.

I return back into my tiny cottage, boil coffee on the stove and sip it whilst I get ready for the day. Torshavn is on today’s itinerary. It’s the capital of the Faroe Islands and coffee shops there are apparently unbeatable, so I layer up and catch a forty minute bus to the town, spending the day gazing out of the window as we drive past rolling hills and fields of livestock.

A quiet escape is just what I needed to get over my ex. That’s what I realised the moment I stepped off the ferry. The air here, yes, is colder than it is in mainland Scotland, but it feels different. It’s richer. Feels lighter and fresher, like I’m taking my first breath for the very first time again.

Cold from the fresh temperatures, I head straight for a coffee shop after exploring the rainbow buildings out by the dock. Freshly grounded coffee fills my senses, the whirring sound of the coffee machine like music to my ears.

“A flat white, please,” I say to the barista behind the counter who could pass for some kind of viking God. One second of looking into his eyes is enough. They’re like ice, piercing straight through into my soul. The curious look inside of them suggests he knows how to read minds, and he scribbles my order down on a notepad.

“Twenty five krones, please,” he says, his accent thick and enough to melt me.

He’s the kind of guy you picture when reading a Viking romance novel. The strong warrior, thick brown hair pulled back into a man bun. The kind of man that fights clans by day and makes love by night. Only a select few men manage to pull off the man bun.

Safe to say he’s one of the lucky ones.

Looking into his eyes to thank him for his service makes me forget all about Tyrone, my one month old ex.

Those are the kind of eyes you want to be looking into during sex.