klaksvík's burning

Having spent the better part of last week dodging sparks and stray Roman Candle plumes on my afternoon walks, I was ready for Klaksvík's New Year's celebration to commence. And it commenced with style. The closest thing I have previously experienced to the Faroese New Year's Eve festivities was Orangemen's Day in Belfast, NI. Men from Protestant community organizations parade through the city streets on July 12th holding aloft orange colored banners, commemorating the 1690 Battle of the Boyne. It is a time of increased tensions between Catholics and Protestants, replete with 100-ft. bonfires, effigy burnings of the Pope and shows of paramilitary strength. Although the militant elements were missing the other night, to this Wyoming woman used to tame December 31sts, there was a general feeling of lawlessness. Figures dashed furtively through the streets in the flicker of firelight, teenagers walked through town slouching to conceal bottles of beer, tins filled with burning cloth and kerosene lined the streets, and the normally pristine town was covered in litter. Bonfires lit up the hills, and burning Christmas trees were the glowing centerpieces of many lawns. At midnight everyone shot off their remaining rockets, and Klakvík's harbor lit up. My favorite fireworks were the emergency ship flares. They expire at the end of the year, so instead of throwing them away, seamen set them on their graceful arc into the sky to fall like slow red stars to the earth. The evening isn't all flames in the dark. Many Brethren churchgoers (and us) gathered in the church for a nice meal, choir performance and quiz bowl early in the night. After the fireworks are over, neighbors visit each others homes to warm up with bowls of soup or glógg, a mulled wine treat with slivered almonds and dried fruit. Ben assured me that the display was rather tame relative to the pyrotechnics in Manila every New Year, but I was impressed. -a