The Faroe Islands

As our cruise ship left the Norwegian coast, the captain announced that a severe hurricane was moving towards our route and that we needed to scurry at speed to keep ahead of it. This meant altogether missing our scheduled stop in the Shetland Islands, shortening our stay in the Faroes, and spending extra time sheltering in Rejkjavik, Iceland. You can imagine how disappointed our knitting group was, as our time in Lerwick in the Shetland Islands was to be a highlight of our trip, with visits scheduled to Jamieson and Smith and to museums with special interest for knitters. Of course I shared in everybody's disappointment, but I was secretly relieved that it was the Shetlands, and not the Faroe Islands that had been deleted from our trip. When I'd decided to go on this cruise I think it was the prospect of visiting the Faroe Islands, more than anywhere else, that enticed me. There's no significant reason this should be so, though some time ago I'd read 'Far Afield', a novel by Susanna Kaysen about a young anthropologist who spends a year in the Faroes undertaking his fieldwork. Apart from the fact that this subject matter had particular resonance in my family of anthropologists, I was fascinated by what seemed to be such an anachronistic society. The Faroes are a self-governing country, but they're part of the Danish realm; they're halfway between Iceland and Norway and closer to Scotland than to Denmark; they speak Faroese, a language with some relation to Icelandic, but otherwise quite distinct; until recently when there's been an expansion of infrastructure, communication between the islands that make up the Faroe archipelago was limited and the Faroes functioned as a loose confederation of settlements, rather than a country.

How can one not wonder about such a place?

Inevitably, my experience of the Faroes was brief and limited to Thorshavn, capital of the Faroes and, with a population of around 12,000, the largest town in the archipelago. However, Thorshavn was rewardingly charming and made for some delightful wandering in the limited time available. There's a small harbour that for centuries has been the main point of access to the town:



and next to the harbour there's the old settlement of Tinganes, where some of the still-inhabited turf-roofed houses are reputed to be up to 500 years old:



I was delighted to see that even some of the more modern houses on blocks of land rather than in the rambling old town had continued with the tradition of turf-roofed houses which must be efficient both for insulation and for protecting the roofs against the high winds that buffet the Islands for most of the year:



I'd become aware of the Island Wool Company, an on-line business that promotes and sells Faroese yarns, before I began my cruise and was hoping to be able to see some of the yarns in situ. We were fortunate to be able to visit the Navia shop where the Navia yarns that are one of the Faroese products are sold. (We were fortunate because we visited the Faroes on a Saturday afternoon, and almost all the Faroese shops close early on Saturdays. Navia's owner had kept the shop open for us - probably a wise move considering the amount of yarn purchased by our knitting group.) Navia is another inspiring story about keeping alive the wool and knitting traditions of a society. It began only in 1994 but has expanded to have distributors in many countries around the world. I bought some Navia Uno, a thickish laceweight yarn that's a combination of Faroese and Shetland wool and Australian lambswool:



I used some of this yarn for my class projects and loved knitting with it.

And at a different shop, in the moments before it closed for the day, I purchased two skeins of Sirri yarn - another of the yarns promoted by the Island Wool Company.



Sirri is 100% organic yarn from Faroese sheep that has not been chemically treated. Its producers describe it as having a 'rich' texture, which you can translate as hairy and sticky, with a high lanolin content. Yet again I bought laceweight (500 metres in a 100gr skein), imagining it knitted up loosely on large needles. We'll see.

It was only after our visit to cosy Thorshavn, when the ship was sailing away from the Faroes, that I had a glimpse of the rugged grandeur for which they are renowned. I need another visit to see more of the Faroe Islands.

Bergen, Norway

There's great pleasure to be gained from entering a city or town by sea.



This was a particular pleasure in Bergen, and very appropriate. Bergen seems very isolated - located in the south-east corner of Norway and separated from other towns and cities both by distance and difficult terrain.



But for the many centuries when sea-going was the major means of travel, Bergen was in constant contact with other maritime cities in Northern Europe. The old port of Bergen, Bryggen, is a reminder of these centuries of trade and international commerce.




The old Harbour-front and the area behind are a UNESCO World Heritage site, and even though the densely built area now house cafes, craft shops and restaurants, you can still imagine a time when it was filled with the bustle of a busy trading port. The Hanseatic Museum is also situated in one of the old trade houses in the Bryggen area. The museum recreates interiors from the 18th and 19th centuries. The Hanseatic League, which promoted and safeguarded trade in Northern Europe had one of their foreign Offices at Bryggen in Bergen from the mid fourteenth to the mid eighteenth century. The Hanseatic merchants traded mainly with stockfish from Northern Norway and grain from the Baltic countries. Only German merchants were allowed to live at Bryggen during the period of the Hanseatic Office. These Hanseatic merchants were unmarried and had to live in celibacy as long as they lived in the area. The Hanseatic Museum shows what one of these trade houses might have been like in the last years of the German Office at Bryggen.




I'm always interested in this kind of small museum where you can glimpse the everyday lives of people who helped shape the way of life of those who now live in this community.

The cruise knitting group of which I was part visited the Oleana knitwear factory which is most attractively situated on a fjord just outside of Bergen. I was unaware of this knitwear brand before this visit, but subsequently on my travels I noticed people wearing the distinctive jumpers and cardigans in different cities around the world. Oleana was founded in 1992 with the aim of preserving Norway's proud textile tradition and employing people who work with textiles. I think it's as interesting for its business model as it is for products. Oleana has had only one designer, Solveig Hisdal, since its inception and her aesthetic has clearly been a central part of the company's success. But probably even more important has been the company's insistence on creating quality products. They invest in the most modern and most efficient machinery and in the best quality yarns that are sourced from many countries and spun to Oleana's specifications in Italy. All the manufacture of the fabrics and garments is then undertaken in Oleana's factory.




The company and its directors (who include the founders of the company and now a second generation from the families) choose staff carefully - we were told that one of the most important qualities they recruit for is a sense of humour - and then provide good pay, training and conditions. The production is meticulous with all garments being individually finished with great care and attention.



As an inevitable outcome of all this care for quality, the beautiful jumpers and cardigans are very expensive, but apparently last forever.

And what did I buy? Even though there were shops where yarns were easily available, and rack upon rack of jumpers and cardigans in recognisably Nordic designs, I bought very little. Clearly I hadn't yet assimilated the idea that yarn purchasing was a necessary part of travel! I bought only two skeins of local Peer Gynt worsted weight yarn which I needed for my class on 'Mittens of the North Atlantic'.

Wonderful, wonderful, Copenhagen

It's more than a month since my last post - the longest gap in posting since I began my blog more than six years ago. For some of that time I didn't have access to the internet, and so I had some excuse for not writing. And then, after such a gap, I began to question the need to maintain the blog. But I've been travelling, and regardless of whether others read the blog, I know how much I've valued past records of my travels - and my responses to my travels - that the blog records. So here I am again, belatedly, trying to capture some of the experiences of the last few weeks.

I've decided to try for a post a day over the next week or so. I've abandoned any attempt to write thematically or to be particularly reflective. Such organisation would inevitably delay writing even more. So, however randomly, these are some thoughts on my travels. I'll begin at the beginning, Copenhagen, and try for five things about Copenhagen.

1 Copenhagen is a very livable city. I like it for the reasons I also like Amsterdam. Though it has a population of almost two million, it seems smaller. The centre of the city is flat and so is ideal for walking or cycling, and it has efficient, easily negotiable, public transport to reach more distant suburbs. Copenhagen also has a livable scale, with few buildings more than six storeys high, and lots of pedestrian plazas and spaces for lingering and observing the world.



As with other old cities, some of the more intimate loveliness of the city is revealed in the courtyards tucked away behind the grand facades that line the street:




2 Copenhagen values its history, but somehow wears it lightly. Grand monuments are scattered through the city, which has grown around them in such a way that they're integrated within daily life. King Christian IV, whose reign over Denmark and Norway began in the late sixteenth century and lasted till the mid seventeenth century, was responsible for several grand constructions, including the Rundetarn, an observatory you happen upon in one of the main shopping streets of Copenhagen,



and the Rosenborg Castle, whose surrounding gardens are now a place for public enjoyment:




Then there's the Amalienborg Palace, a complex of four beautiful classicist buildings from the 1700s that surround a hexagonal central space that's open to pedestrians and cyclists, but also occasional cars that meander bemusedly through the unmarked cobbled area:



The palace was originally the winter palace for the royal family and still serves as such for the reigning monarch, Margrethe II. But it's also the home of Crown Prince Frederick and 'our Mary' and their children. Their front door literally opens into the public space and locals tell of seeing Mary escorting the children to school and the family cycling in the city.

3 Denmark's sea-going history is reflected in the geography and architecture of Copenhagen. Denmark's Viking history from about 800 to 1000AD is acknowledged in popular history and culture, and its sovereignty over Greenland and the Faroe Islands are modern remnants of its marine adventures. There are expansive old canals that reach into the city and surround grand buildings



and the Harbour is being rejuvenated with walkways along the docks, restaurants, theatres, and gardens on the western side:



and the elegant Henning Larsen designed Opera House on the east:



4 Copenhagen has some great museums. There's a limit to what I can see and remember from my jet-lagged state, but I loved the rather chaotic collection of the Design Museum where I was lucky enough to catch a special exhibition of Hans Wegner's iconic mid twentieth century furniture, including many of his oh-so-beautiful chairs:



I made a special effort to visit the Louisiana Museum of Modern Art which is located about 35km north of Copenhagen on the shores of the Oresund Sound. It's one of those museums whose wonder is the combination of a beautiful setting with a building that's absolutely suited to its site and purpose. The country house that was the original museum has expanded over time with additions that integrate the gardens and external sculptures with the expansive view of the sea and the exhibitions.




Then there's the National Gallery of Denmark which has many wonderful artworks, but which I particularly wanted to visit because of its works by Danish artist Vilhelm Hammershoj, who painted at the turn of the nineteenth and twentieth centuries.



There's a whole room of these luminous paintings, sometime inhabited by quiet figures, but often simply the play of light in deserted domestic interiors. I love these paintings.

5 Copenhagen is a knitter's delight. I visited two yarn stores, both of which could supply any discerning knitter for years of knitting. I braved the metro to go to Sanne Bjerregaard's store, Rasmilla's Strik & Design. I'd been aware of Rasmilla patterns, and have even knitted one of her children's designs, Fiona's Top, and admire her style. The store was no disappointment. It was charming - stuffed with artfully arranged yarn, sample knitted garments and blankets, books and all kinds of knitting accessories. There was even chandelier!



Rasmilla's was my introduction to what was to become the recurring theme of my yarn shop visits - 'sticky' yarns. This is yarn from Hjelholt's Uldspinderi in wonderful muted colours:



I also visited Sommerflugen in the centre of Copenhagen's shopping area. This store has an unbelievable stock of both local and imported yarns, and supplies embroiderers and tapestry workers as well as knitters. I visited this store with other knitters from my cruise group. We were like a swarm of grasshoppers making our way through the store (though I was super restrained). We were very fortunate that designer Bente Geil had organised a trunk show of garments she'd designed and knitted from her own range of yarn - Geilsk, and that she was there to discuss designing and knitting.



Bente most generously gave each member of the group two 50g skeins of her Geilsk Tynd uld (ironically, wool from New Zealand, though processed to Danish yarn preferences) and I bought a third skein to have enough yarn for a shawl from coordinating colours.

So, my yarn acquiaitions after my first stop:
4 x 100g (400m) skeins Hjellholt's 1 Tradet
3 x 50g (288m) balls Geilsk Tynd uld

Travel and cruising and knitting

I'm off travelling again. After years of being condescendingly dismissive of cruises as a travel experience, I've now given in and have signed up for a cruise. I only have knitting to blame for the situation I find myself in. My desire to improve my colourwork knitting led me to browse websites of classes by modern colourwork guru Mary Jane Mucklestone. I discovered she was giving classes on a ship travelling across the north Atlantic. Then I discovered the destinations - from Copenhagen to Bergen in Norway, the Shetland Isles, the Faroe Islands (the Faroes! - my current fantasy travel destination), Iceland, Greenland, Newfoundland and Nova Scotia in Canada, and finally, New York. Lots of my travel and knitting obsessions in one trip.

So, after the usual nightmare of flying from Sydney to anywhere in Europe I'm now in Copenhagen for a couple of days before my cruise. 'My cruise'. I never thought I'd need to write that.



Despite the fact that it's late summer in Copenhagen the weather is uncannily similar to what I left in Sydney's winter - squalls of rain, wind, sunny patches and a maximum temperature of around 17 celsius. Nevertheless, Copenhagen is wonderful. Very civilised.

A trip is also an excuse for knitting. Again, despite the fact that it's summer, it will be cold in most of the places I'm visiting and I persuded myself I really needed some fingerless mitts. I used some Noro Silk Garden from my yarn collection and after a couple of day's very simple knitting I had my mitts:



I think one of the joys of knitting with Noro is the unexpectedness of the colour combinations and sequences. I have a kind of informal personal knitting rule for Noro which is to simply accept whatever colour comes my way as I'm knitting with it. In this case I not only have a pair of nicely slouchy mitts, but they're totally unmatched. They have the added benefit of matching - to the extent that this is ever possible with Noro - a Zumthor hat I knitted a couple of winters ago.



[Thanks to Margarita for the fun photos].

I also decided I needed a kind of between seasons scarf for the wide range of temperatures and climates I'll have on this trip. (You can never have too many scarves). Again, this was a very simple knit with bands of stocking stitch and reverse stocking stitch alternating diagonally across the scarf. Most appropriately, the pattern is 'Groovy'.



I've knitted the scarf from 100% linen. After finishing it I washed the scarf quite vigorously to make the linen softer. I decided not to block the scarf but rather to dry it in a way that preserved its grooves. I'm very happy with the outcome. I'll report back on its usefulness.

Besotted

Very occasionally, you love absolutely everything about a knitting project. I was besotted while I was knitting this scarf - or shawl - and I now wear it everywhere. I don't want to be separated from it. It's one of those knitting projects that gives great results from a relatively simple and easily memorised pattern. The lace edging makes everybody think it's much more challenging to knit than it really is.



It's another of Kate Davies' designs, a Hap for Harriet, and I've knitted it in Cascade Yarns' laceweight silk/wool blend that's rather oddly called Forest Hills. Because it's knitted from a single 100gram skein of laceweight yarn it's wonderfully light and soft and ideal for mild Sydney winters. Along the way I've had to develop a theory that yellow is the new neutral so that I can wear the scarf with just about anything. Of course, when most of your clothes are grey or black this theory can hold up rather well.



I've enjoyed making this scarf so much that I'm tempted to cast on for another, even though I have no need whatsoever for yet another scarf. Still, that's never stopped me in the past.

I've had a small hiccup with yet another of Kate Davies' wonderful patterns - a hat she's named Fugue. The yarn for this was acquired from the ever-enabling MissFee a couple of (several?) years ago. I finally decided to knit this up as part of my goal of becoming more proficient at colourwork.



The hat's knitted on relatively small needles from a thickish sportweight Corriedale yarn and consequently is dense enough to probably be waterproof, or at least damp and shower-proof. A very Scottish hat. But my problem is that the hat's slightly too big, and because it's relatively heavy it falls around my eyes. I just don't have enough hair to anchor hats securely.



I guess I have various options for my too-big hat. I could pull it out and re-knit it to an appropriate size, but I think this might take my colourwork practice just a bit too far. I could give it to someone with a bigger head or more hair, but I like it and want to keep it. So, I'm going to try sewing some grosgrain ribbon to the inside of the band - like many old-fashioned berets had - to try to make it fit me. Wish me luck!

Such vibrant colour

I'm visiting a friend who lives on the north coast of New South Wales. From tomorrow we'll spend three days at the Byron Bay Writers Festival, which seems to have become one of my yearly pilgrimages. But today we travelled to Murwillumbah to visit the Tweed Regional Gallery which, earlier this year, installed a replica of the studio of renowned Australian artist, Margaret Olley.



Australian painter Margaret Olley's life has been well-documented - she and her studio home have been photographed, painted, and filmed. There are biographies and beautiful catalogues of her many exhibitions. She was a gregarious host and attended many public events and, as she became wealthy, was a generous benefactor to the NSW Art Gallery, as well as a number of regional galleries (including the Tweed Regional Gallery). It seems very appropriate that as her life was so public, so the workspaces of her home and studio are now on public display.



The recreations are lovely. There's such vibrant colour, so many wonderful shapes, and such appealing vignettes in the midst of clutter. I wonder why we find artists' studios so appealing? I imagine one reason is that it gives us an insight into the process of an artists' work: not just the end product, but the way the work grows and is constructed. Olley's studio, like that of Giorgio Morandi I saw years ago in Italy, is particularly interesting because it contains many of the objects - the jugs and bowls and fabrics and rugs - that occur and recur in her still lifes and domestic interiors.

The Tweed Regional Gallery goes from strength to strength. Among other works it currently has an exhibition of works on paper by prominent Australian artists that I found very engaging. And there's always the landscape, attention-arresting as you approach the Gallery and see the river and paddocks with mountains to the west, but just as wonderful when glimpsed through the narrow windows that punctuate the gallery's walls.

Colour-work

One of my knitting goals for 2014 was to become more proficient at colour-work. On second thoughts, 'goals' is a rather grand term for the vague hopes I had. So a few months ago I knitted the Kate Davies pattern Peerie Flooers using seven colours of Rowan Fine Tweed yarn that I had acquired some time ago from a very yarn-enabling friend.



I'm very happy with the outcome, and except for a few places, visible on the inside, where I carried the yarn a fraction too far without weaving it in, I think it is well-made. The tension is even and the pattern displays itself neatly.



But knitting this hat has made me doubt that I will ever become a really proficient colour-work knitter. It's another version of the well-worn discussion of knitting styles. Traditional colour-work is usually done two-handed - using one colour in each hand. I'm not only very right-handed, but I also have a rather clumsy and inefficient knitting style that involves completely relinquishing my hold on the right-hand needle while I throw the stitch I'm working on. With colour-work the inefficiency of this process is emphasised because I also need to put down and take up a different colour.



So, what should I do... try with greater determination to master two-handed knitting? I'm very aware of the advice about the desirability of learning new skills as one ages - both intellectually and physically. But I've tried (OK, maybe not hard enough) and the frustration of not being able to knit well with both hands takes away the pleasure of knitting, which is the main reason for doing it. Another option would be simply to avoid colour-work and declare it not for me, but I love the finished projects and I love the association of colour-work with long-established knitting traditions. Alternatively, I could continue to potter along as I have been. After all, the outcome is fine, and if it takes me longer to finish a project than it takes other people, does it matter? I'm not knitting for my living and I don't have queues of people anxiously waiting on finished projects.



Knowing my laziness, I suspect I'll fall back on my tried and true, though inefficient, pottering along. In fact, I've almost finished another Kate Davies hat design, Fugue, in two shades of greyish-blue using my clumsy technique. So far, I'm very happy with this outcome, too.



However, there's possibly a problem with this pottering along solution. It's fine for small projects such as hats, but it may not work so well with larger projects that would end up taking so much time. Later this year I'll be taking some classes with a very well-known exponent of colour-work so I'll see what happens then. Maybe my embarrassment at knitting so clumsily in the presence of other knitters will be sufficient to push me to become more proficient with my left hand... but maybe not.