Faroe Islands (Part 1)

I was born in a place called the Faroe Islands, located in the North Atlantic. My dad was born in Denmark, the mother country of the Faroes. He grew up in the Faroes, though, where all his family is from.
Since I was a baby, I've only been back to the Faroes a few times.

The first time going back to the Faroes after we moved to the U.S. in 93' was in 95'. My little brother had just been born, and my dad's family hadn't seen him yet. We went again a year later for my dad's brother's wedding. Since it's been so long, those two visits have melded together in my mind. I have many memories of those trips. We flew through Boston and London one year, and Baltimore and Iceland the next. I remember being in awe of how big the planes were. Everything seems so big when you're a kid. Though, to be fair, I've only flown on domestic flights since 01', so those flights were much bigger in comparison.
The only airport in the Faroes is on a smaller island than the two main ones, and I remember having to take the ferry from the island to one of the main islands where my grandparents lived.
While there, we hiked up the mountains surrounding the village where my grandparents lived. Back when pirates would raid the Faroes, the villagers from this island would hike up to the mountains and roll rocks down on the pirates, Swiss Family Robinson style! I remember rolling a big rock down and wonder if it hit any of the houses below.
My grandpa used to own lots of sheep, which he had on a mountain quite a ways from his house. I remember going out to shear the sheep, and losing my brand new jacket that I'd just gotten while back in the U.S. for the trip.

One evening in my grandparents' basement we were making paper boats, when a siren went off. Every year there are certain times when whales will make their way into the fjord by the village. (For those who don't know, a fjord is like the water version of a peninsula - water surrounded on three sides by land.) The men went out with their boats, and before long there were dozens of gutted whales on the beach.

Every year the Faroes has a large summer festival, called Ólavsøka. We were able to make it one of those years. I remember walking the streets of the capital, where the festival is held, picking up empty bottles. We would later sell those bottles to the local store in my grandparents' village, Fuglafjørður, where we would make only a few krónur (the Faroese currency) for all our efforts. But at the festival, we unknowingly went into the front yard of a house and found a full 6 pack of unopened beer. We remember thinking that we could actually make decent money for once. But my dad's older brother had an affinity for alcohol, and he forced us to give it to him. We were both pretty bummed.

On the way back from the Faroes the second time, we had a connecting flight in Iceland. Our flight was overbooked, so the airline offered to pay a certain amount per person that would be willing to miss the flight, as well as put them up in a nice hotel. Since we had some extra time, we decided to take them up on it and enjoy Iceland. My dad had some relatives that lived there, so they showed us around. We went to a rotating restaurant called Perlan. I also remember getting tons of candy at a store, though it's kind of sad that I'd remember something like that.
The best part of our stay was definitely going to the Blue Lagoon, a geothermal spa just south of Reykjavík. I remember taking forever to go from the locker to the spa (which is really more the size of a large pond). It was so cold outside, but once I got the courage to face the cold, I was welcomed by the 100 F water.

Part 2