Taraji P Henson talks Southern food, travel and Moscato
This article was produced by National Geographic Traveller (UK).
Anytime I see a watermelon with black seeds, it takes me straight back to my grandparents' backyard in the South. I'd bust it open as a kid. Its juice would run down my elbows and I'd have to run away from the bees. One [set of] grandparents had a livestock farm with chickens, cows and pigs, and the other had a produce garden. They lived off the fat of the land. This was in North Carolina and Maryland.
My grandmother makes a barbecue chicken that's specific to North and South Carolina. But it's not barbecue like mesquite or hickory, it's pickled, like vinegar. She cuts up a whole chicken and puts it in a roaster (a pan) with a little bit of the vinegar. It's almost like pulled pork. That's something we all know how to make; all the kids and all the grandkids, but we can't make it like Grandma! On the side, she'd cook collard greens with kale and turnip, mixed — she calls it salad. We'd have it with that or mashed potatoes or rice. She also raised us on Brunswick stew, which she makes in a black cauldron outside, standing over the open fire with a wooden stick. She just turned 100 and still makes it for us.
Everywhere I went in Rome, I was guaranteed to have an incredible meal and a great glass of wine. I couldn't get over the fact that I was eating bread, pasta and pizza and I wasn't gaining weight. Their food doesn't have all the preservatives, everything is fresh, so I wasn't feeling bloated. It felt like I was in the country with my grandmother again, because everywhere felt like somebody's grandmother was in the kitchen, cooking with so much love. And in Capri, I went to Da Paolino Lemon Trees — it's breathtaking. There was something about sitting under lemon trees and eating fresh crustaceans and langoustines straight from the ocean. I want to move to Italy.
The vegan options in Bali were… oh my god. The things they can do with jackfruit, they had me thinking I was eating steak. I was eating a lot of vegan food when I visited, and what I loved there is it's not like America, where they try to make a vegan steak and it's fake meat. They take actual fruit, vegetables or legumes and make it taste good. At Gdas Bali Health and Wellness Resort, I had 'tuna' sushi made out of papaya — they sliced it, soaked it in fish-like sauce, then served it over rice with seaweed. I didn't miss fish at all — it was amazing.
Moscato is so versatile — it's a fun drink. You can have it on its own or mix it. For those that aren't sold on wine yet, it's a great entry point because it's easy on the palette and not too sweet. When I got my hands on a bottle of Seven Daughters Moscato [a collaboration between Taraji and Terlato Wine Group], I wanted to make a nice Sunday afternoon cocktail, so I mixed it with a pineapple and coconut juice mix, shaved coconut in it and used pineapple as a garnish — it tasted like an unfrozen pina colada. You can drink it with pretty much everything. We've even been making 'Tarajiritas'!
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9 Rome restaurants locals swear by
This article was produced by National Geographic Traveller (UK). In Rome, where every other restaurant promises a 'true' carbonara or 'classic' pizza, the pursuit of authenticity can feel elusive. Travellers often stay within the confines of the historical centre and rely on the greatest hits served in well-worn trattorias offering English-language menus. But do as the locals do and seek out culinary quality in Rome's quieter corners and you'll really get a flavour of the city. From contemporary trattorias to wine kiosks, here are nine of the best places to eat in Rome — trusted spots that locals return to time after time. Best for: classic dishes with modern flairSince opening in 2017, Santo Palato has carved out a reputation as one of the capital's most exciting trattorias — a place where Roman classics are revered alongside inventive dishes. In March, it changed location from a small venue in San Giovanni to a larger space in Porta Metronia, unveiling a sharper, more design-forward look with bright orange surfaces, sleek pendant lighting and a glass-walled kitchen. But despite the contemporary look, the spirit of the place remains the same. Wood chairs and comfy tables lend it a cosy, old-school feel, while the menu leans heavily on the Roman canon. Start with one of the best iterations of trippa alla romana in town — Rome-style tripe braised in a rich tomato sauce with pecorino — and don't miss the decadent house carbonara. The daily specials are always worth a glance, too, with dishes such as chitarra pasta with a duck ragu and fried veal brain with a punchy mullet-liver mayo. Best for: small platesTucked down a quiet backstreet in Trastevere, this small enoteca (wine bar) offers a low-lit, intimate setting behind hefty double doors marked with large letters 'VI' and 'NO'— 'vino'. Inside, just 16 guests get to try plenty of it, sitting at bar-height tables or at the counter, while a carefully curated collection of vinyl plays out softly. The restaurant's loyal regulars pop in to greet the young chef Mirko Pelosi at the bar before settling in for dinner. Pelosi's experiences in Europe's top Michelin-starred and avant-garde restaurants have been translated into a menu of inventive small plates and a natural-leaning wine list. While the dishes have a clear grounding in Italian cuisine, they do stray beyond its confines. A Japanese-inspired raw tuna dish, for example, sees sashimi slices draped over a vignerola — a Roman spring veggie stew — while a lamb ragu is accompanied by thick Middle Eastern grilled pitas. And don't miss the smoked bottarga (cured fish roe), which is sliced and topped with pickled raw almonds. Best for: cool ambianceFor many, Rome conjures images of rustic trattorias rather than the minimalist venues tipped for Michelin stars. But the latter is exactly the offering at this spot next to the Pantheon. Expect moody corridors and spotlit chefs working behind red, semi-translucent curtains in what is one of the city's most exciting kitchens. Here, the menu combines a few mainstays — including the oxtail terrine or green spaghetti — with additional specials taking in the likes of eel and black garlic risotto and a glorious artichoke katsu sando. With a list of more than 90 wines, all available by the glass and mostly Italian, but with a handful of international picks, the restaurant is a real draw for discerning drinkers. For a more relaxed setting, head to Retrovino, the venue's wine bar, tucked out the back. Sit at the counter or linger streetside, glass in hand — with dishes from the main restaurant also available to order there, too. Best for: a casual drinkLocated next to a faded funfair, Fischio is a kiosk-style bar popular for its laid-back atmosphere. Part pavement hangout, part neighbourhood secret, it serves some of the best coffee in the city, thanks in part to its recent hire: the star barista from nearby LOVE, a bakery renowned city-wide for its coffee and pastries. Come late afternoon, the mood at Fischio shifts to a la dolce vita vibe. With a tight, well thought-through wine list and a front-row view of local life drifting past, it's an ideal spot for a glass of sparkling natural wine and a bit of people-watching as the Roman evening sets in. Best for: slices of pizzaThere's no shortage of tourists lining up for pizza by the slice in Rome — and luckily, the city has more than enough quality spots to go round. Skip the queues at the famous Forno Roscioli, and head instead to Circo Massimo to try Fratelli Trecca's thinner, crispier, but equally satisfying slices, with standouts including the rossa con l'erbetta (marinara with parsley sauce) or the cipolle e cipolle, a white base topped with two types of thinly sliced onions, roasted until just shy of caramelised. Come the lunch or dinner rush, the menu expands to include classic Italian charcuterie toppings or other pizza specials like beef tongue with salsa verde or the rustic coppa di testa (pig's head brawn) with chicory. At €2.50 (£2) a slice, it's an affordable, flavour-packed bite that pairs nicely with a pint of the Puglian beer, Raffo, that's served on tap or a glass of natural wine. Best for: outdoor seatingOnce a humble, working-class neighbourhood, Pigneto has become the go-to for weekend drinks among young Romans seeking a break from the hurly-burly of more established areas like Trastevere. At its heart is Necci, a laid-back bar-cafe that's ideal for an al fresco aperitivo. In its gravel-strewn garden with walls draped in jasmine, Necci serves a solid wine list, house cocktails and a menu that blends Italian staples like bucatini all'amatriciana (a simple pork and tomato pasta dish) with international comfort food like chicken schnitzel and forest berry cheesecakes. On sunny Sundays, it's a welcome refuge for a slow brunch — cappuccinos sipped beneath its mature trees are paired with cornetti pastries oozing with apricot jam or pear and chocolate chip almond cakes. Best for: local cheeseJust at the entrance to the Jewish Quarter, this shrine to cheese is home to just few small tables facing a long glass counter stacked high with produce. There are golden shards of Parmigiano Reggiano, wheels of Alpine tommes and lesser-known regional treats including blu dolce di capra — a blue goat's cheese with a sweet creaminess and a tangy bite. Browse from a shelved wall of wine, with plenty of low-intervention varieties and ask the staff to put an accompanying cheeseboard together for you. Simply tell them how much cheese you're after — 200g, 300g or more — and they'll build a board with different options to suit your tastes, and your chosen wine. If looking for a souvenir to take home, a wedge of their well-aged pecorino Romano is the perfect choice. Best for: food market haulJust a few blocks north of the Vatican, at the city's largest and most exciting food market you'll find locals doing their shopping, rather than tourists seeking a photo op. This deeply Roman neighbourhood bazaar has stalls that generally sell ingredients rather than snacks — everything from neatly packaged handmade ravioli and tubs of fresh ricotta to ropes of plaited garlic strung above parades of picky shoppers. One exception would be Il Pescatorio, an unassuming seafood stall by the Via Andrea Doria exit, where you can settle at a bar stool and pick from paper plates piled high with zingy octopus salads, swordfish parmigiana di melanzane and tuna sashimi. Look out for the maretozzos, Il Pescatorio's seafood spin on Rome's famous whipped cream-filled bun maritozzo. Best for: gelato and coffeeOtaleg has long been celebrated for its wildly inventive gelato — the kind that blends seasonal ingredients with a mad genius chef's precision. While most come for a scoop, Otaleg's secret is behind the coffee counter. At the Monteverde branch, award-winning barista Gianni Olimpo — crowned Italy's best in 2022 and 2023 — serves deeply aromatic brews made with meticulously sourced beans. Whether it's a pour-over, Chemex or a textbook espresso, every cup is crafted with care. Pair the perfectly foamed cappuccino with a decadent zabaione-filled cornetto for a morning ritual that rivals any in the city. This Relais & Châteaux hotel, a few steps away from Piazza del Popolo, is housed in a renovated 17th-century building that was once an educational facility for orphaned girls. Rooms are decorated in colourful velvets and contemporary Italian furniture, while the hotel's public spaces carry modern artworks by the likes of Andy Warhol and sculptor Arnaldo Pomodoro. But the food offerings are the showstopper. The breakfast spread includes generous charcuterie — soft morsels of mortadella and indulgently fatty prosciutto — alongside a pastry table piled with Italian staples such as cream-filled maritozzi. San Baylon, the hotel's fine dining restaurant, helmed by chef Christian Spalvieri and featured in the Michelin Guide, offers a refined take on Italian cuisine with a focus on produce — including olive oil pressed from Palazzo Ripetta's own groves in the volcanic Alban Hills southeast of Rome. There's also the chance to dine in the hotel's lush garden piazzetta and enjoy an aperitivo with a view over Rome's homes and domes at the rooftop bar, Etere. Double rooms from €550 (£463) B&B. To subscribe to National Geographic Traveller (UK) magazine click here. (Available in select countries only).
National Geographic
3 hours ago
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Where to eat in Rome like a local
This article was produced by National Geographic Traveller (UK). In Rome, where every other restaurant promises a 'true' carbonara or 'classic' pizza, the pursuit of authenticity can feel elusive. Travellers often stay within the confines of the historical centre and rely on the greatest hits served in well-worn trattorias offering English-language menus. But do as the locals do and seek out culinary quality in Rome's quieter corners and you'll really get a flavour of the city. From contemporary trattorias to wine kiosks, here are nine of the best places to eat in Rome — trusted spots that locals return to time after time. Duck ragù clings to strands of chitarra pasta in this deeply flavourful primo at Santo Palato. Photograph by Berkok Yüksel Santo Palato's tiramisu comes unapologetically tall, with generous layers of rich cream. Photograph by Berkok Yüksel Santo Palato Best for: classic dishes with modern flair Since opening in 2017, Santo Palato has carved out a reputation as one of the capital's most exciting trattorias — a place where Roman classics are revered alongside inventive dishes. In March, it changed location from a small venue in San Giovanni to a larger space in Porta Metronia, unveiling a sharper, more design-forward look with bright orange surfaces, sleek pendant lighting and a glass-walled kitchen. But despite the contemporary look, the spirit of the place remains the same. Wood chairs and comfy tables lend it a cosy, old-school feel, while the menu leans heavily on the Roman canon. Start with one of the best iterations of trippa alla romana in town — Rome-style tripe braised in a rich tomato sauce with pecorino — and don't miss the decadent house carbonara. The daily specials are always worth a glance, too, with dishes such as chitarra pasta with a duck ragu and fried veal brain with a punchy mullet-liver mayo. A standout plate at L'Antidoto: white asparagus with black mulberries, olives and a fermented asparagus sauce. Photograph by Simone Proietti Marcellini At L'Antidoto, chef Mirko Pelosi runs the kitchen solo, crafting inventive small plates with precision and flair. Photograph by Simone Proietti Marcellini Enoteca L'Antidoto Best for: small plates Tucked down a quiet backstreet in Trastevere, this small enoteca (wine bar) offers a low-lit, intimate setting behind hefty double doors marked with large letters 'VI' and 'NO'— 'vino'. Inside, just 16 guests get to try plenty of it, sitting at bar-height tables or at the counter, while a carefully curated collection of vinyl plays out softly. The restaurant's loyal regulars pop in to greet the young chef Mirko Pelosi at the bar before settling in for dinner. Pelosi's experiences in Europe's top Michelin-starred and avant-garde restaurants have been translated into a menu of inventive small plates and a natural-leaning wine list. While the dishes have a clear grounding in Italian cuisine, they do stray beyond its confines. A Japanese-inspired raw tuna dish, for example, sees sashimi slices draped over a vignerola — a Roman spring veggie stew — while a lamb ragu is accompanied by thick Middle Eastern grilled pitas. And don't miss the smoked bottarga (cured fish roe), which is sliced and topped with pickled raw almonds. At Retrobottega, signature plates like wild garlic spaghetti sit alongside seasonal indulgences like the artichoke katsu sando. Photographs by Berkok Yüksel Retrobottega Best for: cool ambiance For many, Rome conjures images of rustic trattorias rather than the minimalist venues tipped for Michelin stars. But the latter is exactly the offering at this spot next to the Pantheon. Expect moody corridors and spotlit chefs working behind red, semi-translucent curtains in what is one of the city's most exciting kitchens. Here, the menu combines a few mainstays — including the oxtail terrine or green spaghetti — with additional specials taking in the likes of eel and black garlic risotto and a glorious artichoke katsu sando. With a list of more than 90 wines, all available by the glass and mostly Italian, but with a handful of international picks, the restaurant is a real draw for discerning drinkers. For a more relaxed setting, head to Retrovino, the venue's wine bar, tucked out the back. Sit at the counter or linger streetside, glass in hand — with dishes from the main restaurant also available to order there, too. At Fischio, the crowd often spills beyond the tables — locals linger around the kiosk with a glass in hand as evening sets in. Fischio Best for: a casual drink Located next to a faded funfair, Fischio is a kiosk-style bar popular for its laid-back atmosphere. Part pavement hangout, part neighbourhood secret, it serves some of the best coffee in the city, thanks in part to its recent hire: the star barista from nearby LOVE, a bakery renowned city-wide for its coffee and pastries. Come late afternoon, the mood at Fischio shifts to a la dolce vita vibe. With a tight, well thought-through wine list and a front-row view of local life drifting past, it's an ideal spot for a glass of sparkling natural wine and a bit of people-watching as the Roman evening sets in. Fratelli Trecca Best for: slices of pizza There's no shortage of tourists lining up for pizza by the slice in Rome — and luckily, the city has more than enough quality spots to go round. Skip the queues at the famous Forno Roscioli, and head instead to Circo Massimo to try Fratelli Trecca's thinner, crispier, but equally satisfying slices, with standouts including the rossa con l'erbetta (marinara with parsley sauce) or the cipolle e cipolle, a white base topped with two types of thinly sliced onions, roasted until just shy of caramelised. Come the lunch or dinner rush, the menu expands to include classic Italian charcuterie toppings or other pizza specials like beef tongue with salsa verde or the rustic coppa di testa (pig's head brawn) with chicory. At €2.50 (£2) a slice, it's an affordable, flavour-packed bite that pairs nicely with a pint of the Puglian beer, Raffo, that's served on tap or a glass of natural wine. Necci dal 1924 Best for: outdoor seating Once a humble, working-class neighbourhood, Pigneto has become the go-to for weekend drinks among young Romans seeking a break from the hurly-burly of more established areas like Trastevere. At its heart is Necci, a laid-back bar-cafe that's ideal for an al fresco aperitivo. In its gravel-strewn garden with walls draped in jasmine, Necci serves a solid wine list, house cocktails and a menu that blends Italian staples like bucatini all'amatriciana (a simple pork and tomato pasta dish) with international comfort food like chicken schnitzel and forest berry cheesecakes. On sunny Sundays, it's a welcome refuge for a slow brunch — cappuccinos sipped beneath its mature trees are paired with cornetti pastries oozing with apricot jam or pear and chocolate chip almond cakes. At Beppe e i suoi formaggi, cheeseboards are built to order from a counter stacked with raw-milk wheels and Alpine specialities. Photograph by Andrea Di Lorenzo Beppe e i suoi formaggi Best for: local cheese Just at the entrance to the Jewish Quarter, this shrine to cheese is home to just few small tables facing a long glass counter stacked high with produce. There are golden shards of Parmigiano Reggiano, wheels of Alpine tommes and lesser-known regional treats including blu dolce di capra — a blue goat's cheese with a sweet creaminess and a tangy bite. Browse from a shelved wall of wine, with plenty of low-intervention varieties and ask the staff to put an accompanying cheeseboard together for you. Simply tell them how much cheese you're after — 200g, 300g or more — and they'll build a board with different options to suit your tastes, and your chosen wine. If looking for a souvenir to take home, a wedge of their well-aged pecorino Romano is the perfect choice. Mercato Trionfale Best for: food market haul Just a few blocks north of the Vatican, at the city's largest and most exciting food market you'll find locals doing their shopping, rather than tourists seeking a photo op. This deeply Roman neighbourhood bazaar has stalls that generally sell ingredients rather than snacks — everything from neatly packaged handmade ravioli and tubs of fresh ricotta to ropes of plaited garlic strung above parades of picky shoppers. One exception would be Il Pescatorio, an unassuming seafood stall by the Via Andrea Doria exit, where you can settle at a bar stool and pick from paper plates piled high with zingy octopus salads, swordfish parmigiana di melanzane and tuna sashimi. Look out for the maretozzos, Il Pescatorio's seafood spin on Rome's famous whipped cream-filled bun maritozzo. Since 2012, Marco Radicioni's Otaleg has redefined Roman gelato with unexpected, chef-driven flavours. Otaleg Best for: gelato and coffee Otaleg has long been celebrated for its wildly inventive gelato — the kind that blends seasonal ingredients with a mad genius chef's precision. While most come for a scoop, Otaleg's secret is behind the coffee counter. At the Monteverde branch, award-winning barista Gianni Olimpo — crowned Italy's best in 2022 and 2023 — serves deeply aromatic brews made with meticulously sourced beans. Whether it's a pour-over, Chemex or a textbook espresso, every cup is crafted with care. Pair the perfectly foamed cappuccino with a decadent zabaione-filled cornetto for a morning ritual that rivals any in the city. The courtyard at Palazzo Ripetta offers a tranquil setting for aperitivi and all-day dining beneath the Roman sky. Photograph by Palazzo Ripetta Where to stay: Palazzo Ripetta This Relais & Châteaux hotel, a few steps away from Piazza del Popolo, is housed in a renovated 17th-century building that was once an educational facility for orphaned girls. Rooms are decorated in colourful velvets and contemporary Italian furniture, while the hotel's public spaces carry modern artworks by the likes of Andy Warhol and sculptor Arnaldo Pomodoro. But the food offerings are the showstopper. The breakfast spread includes generous charcuterie — soft morsels of mortadella and indulgently fatty prosciutto — alongside a pastry table piled with Italian staples such as cream-filled maritozzi. San Baylon, the hotel's fine dining restaurant, helmed by chef Christian Spalvieri and featured in the Michelin Guide, offers a refined take on Italian cuisine with a focus on produce — including olive oil pressed from Palazzo Ripetta's own groves in the volcanic Alban Hills southeast of Rome. There's also the chance to dine in the hotel's lush garden piazzetta and enjoy an aperitivo with a view over Rome's homes and domes at the rooftop bar, Etere. Double rooms from €550 (£463) B&B. To subscribe to National Geographic Traveller (UK) magazine click here. (Available in select countries only).
National Geographic
10 hours ago
- National Geographic
Exploring myths, legends and island life at the edge of the Atlantic
This article was produced by National Geographic Traveller (UK). 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.' The Nix 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. Photograph by Jonathan Stokes 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. A dish of salt cod is served at Fiskastykkið restaurant on Vágar, one of 18 islands that make up the Faroes. Photograph by Jonathan Stokes The Faroe Islands are 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. Photograph by Jonathan Stokes Behind us, Lake Sørvágsvatn seems separated from the ocean by the slimmest sliver of land, creating an optical illusion that it floats above it. Absorbed by the spectacle in every direction, we watch as clouds churn and froth across the sky, creating shifting patterns of sunlight on the water, and the wind threatens to throw us to the waves. 'Long ago, so many people were lost at sea and in nature in the Faroes,' Elin says. 'Perhaps that's why they needed to believe in myths — you feel that there's a force bigger than you here and you need some explanation for it.' Proving the adage that truth is often stranger than fiction, however, she tells of the Viking-owned slaves who were thrown to their deaths at Trælanípan when they were too old or sick to be useful, and of a woman who hiked here with her husband more recently, and was never seen again. The seal woman & the spy Humans are thought to have lived on the Faroe Islands for well over two millennia. It's only in recent years that they've begun to tame them. Where tiny settlements of turf-roofed houses were once only accessible by boat or by a long, treacherous yomp over wild landscapes, tunnels now burrow under the sea and carve through mountains to connect them. One — the 6.8-mile Eysturoy Tunnel — even has a roundabout in it, 620ft beneath the waves. The following morning, I zip between islands through these underwater passageways on the drive north. Before leaving Vágar, I stop at Trøllkonufingur, a column of basalt as tall as the Eiffel Tower. Legend has it that Iceland sent a troll witch to steal the Faroes — but, before she had a chance to get to work, she was turned to stone by the rising sun and sank beneath the sea, with just a single finger remaining above the water, pointing upwards. Ignoring her directions, I head downwards, taking tunnels for as long as I can before they run out — four island-hops later — at the town of Klaksvík on Borðoy. Here, the ferry takes over. A light drizzle falls as the vessel creaks out of the harbour and steers north east through the mist to Kalsoy. Passengers greet one another as old friends, sitting at formica-topped tables to chat over cups of coffee. 'The ferry was always the meeting place for everyone — you miss that when it's gone,' Elin tells me with a shrug when I ask if locals feel more connected now it's so easy to travel between islands. 'In the old days, when people came to a place, they stayed for a week. Now there are roads and tunnels, they just pass through.' In the island of Kalsoy, this hard-to-reach patch of land formed the backdrop of the final moments of the James Bond film, No Time To Die. Photograph by Jonathan Stokes Linked to its neighbours by a moderately infrequent ferry service, the pencil-shaped island of Kalsoy retains that out-of-time feel. A single road runs north to south, and sheep and geese are the most conspicuous users of it. We take it to its furthest point, swooping down the mountains in a series of hairpin bends to end at Trøllanes. 'It means Troll Peninsula,' Elin says as we stroll past the village's stone houses, home to just 13 residents. 'It's said it was visited every 12th night by trolls who lived in the surrounding mountains, and the villagers would run away as they drank and partied.' Their torment ended one night when an old woman who was too weak to run called out for Christ in fear — the trolls left and never came back. Sat in the bowl of a valley, with mountains looming on all sides and giant boulders littered across the slopes, Trøllanes is fertile ground for a tall tale — I'm almost convinced an unseen menace waits and watches above the village, ready to rush in under cover of nightfall. 'It can be so impressive and overwhelming here, particularly in winter,' Elin says. 'It makes it easy to believe in dark stories.' We leave the vanquished trolls of Trøllanes to climb up and over a ridge north of the village, following a faint trail as it weaves through the hills and around patches of bog. After an hour, the land abruptly runs out and, it seems, we find ourselves at the very edge of the world — with nothing but wheeling sea birds and the dark, rolling ocean between us and the North Pole. Just visible to the east are two sea stacks: the remnants, it's said, of a witch and a giant who, like the troll witch, came to steal the islands and were turned to stone in the dawn light. The narrowest thread of a path tacks along the cliff edge in their direction, ending at a red-and-white stone lighthouse. It's a balancing act to follow it, with the wind primed to whip me off into oblivion at the slightest misstep. I wouldn't be the first to meet an unpleasant end here. A little beyond the lighthouse, up a slope that eventually spears skywards and requires some puff to tackle, lies a modest basalt headstone. 'In memory of James Bond,' it reads. '1962-2021.' Actor Daniel Craig might never have set foot on Kalsoy — filming his scenes on green screen instead — but this hard-to-reach patch of land formed the backdrop to the spy's final moments, courtesy of a missile strike, in No Time To Die. This very modern fable is the reason many visitors make their way to Kalsoy these days, but the island has a long association with another tale with a violent ending: the Kópakonan. Having paid my respects to 007, I meet her down on the shore in Mikladagur, a village south along the coast from Trøllanes. She stands 9ft tall with her back to the sea, has a distinctly blue pallor and is half-naked — with what look like skin and flippers draped over the rock beneath her. 'This is one of the best-known tales in the Faroe Islands,' Elin explains as we admire the bronze statue. She tells me that, once a year long ago, seals would come out of the water and shed their skins on the beach, taking human form for a night of revelry. During one of these gatherings, a villager stole a seal woman's skin and she was forced to stay with him and bear his children. She was eventually able to reclaim her skin and flee back to the sea, falling in love with a bull seal and raising pups. In a jealous rage, the man killed her family; consumed with grief, she set a curse on him and his progeny for all eternity. 'Still today, if a man from the village drowns or falls from the cliffs,' Elin says, 'it's blamed on the curse.' There are versions of the seal woman's story across the North Atlantic, from the Orkneys to Greenland — likely evidence that the tales were carried back and forth by fishermen and traders. But it has a particular resonance in the Faroes, where it's known by every local, and it holds special value in Mikladagur. Rumour has it that some villagers even have webbed hands. Up steep concrete stairs above the Kópakonan, Café Eðge has prime views of the statue and the seals that bob near it come autumn — the perfect setting to recount the haunting story. Actor, playwright and artist Eyð Matras did just that, performing her drama, The Seal Woman, at the cafe throughout the summer of 2021. "If a man from the village drowns or falls from the cliffs,' Elin says, 'it's blamed on the curse [of the seal woman].' Photograph by Jonathan Stokes James Bond's burial site is just beyond the working lighthouse on Kalsoy. Photograph by Jonathan Stokes Catching the last ferry back to Klaksvík, I call in on her at her home, a handsome wooden house overlooking the harbour, built by her grandfather in 1899. With her little dog Vanya snuffling at our feet, the candles lit and a spread of local breads and cheeses on the table, we sit down to chat. 'When we tell oral stories like the seal woman, it's first for entertainment — it's for gathering around the fireplace, keeping the darkness of the night at bay,' Eyð explains, pouring the coffee. 'But it's to protect people, too. It's to keep people away from the sea and off the cliff edge. It's a warning.' She fetches some of the costume pieces she wore for The Seal Woman, including a woollen cape with dark threads coming out of it like seaweed and red shoes to represent blood. Her modern adaptation is a monologue set to music, and she recites some lines for me, her voice rising and falling in a steady, captivating rhythm. 'I think, nowadays, we see Kópakonan as a political story about women, self-realisation and having ownership over your own life,' she says, finishing her performance to my enthusiastic applause. 'But it's also about the wildness in her and in nature. That's not only for women but everyone — we should listen to the wildness inside ourselves. We come from it.' The artist & the farmer The Faroese appear particularly well-attuned to listening to the wildness within, and expressing that wildness through every medium possible; storytelling, it seems, is in their blood. The following morning, I make my way through the streets of Tórshavn to join another artist adding a new layer to the islands' timeworn tales. The quaint capital of the Faroe Islands, Tórshavn is a pretty muddle of black-tarred wooden buildings, some with turf roofs, and quiet harbour. Photograph by Jonathan Stokes - - The capital's old town is quiet, with just the odd dog-walker out and about on its cobbled alleys. It's a pretty muddle of black-tarred wooden buildings, some with turf roofs, most with candlesticks in the windows. The Faroese government still has its parliament here, on a peninsula jutting out into the Atlantic, as it has for 1,200 years. On a whitewashed wall curving around a winding lane sweeps a giant mural — of flying squid, tusk fish, whelks and a bounty of other sea creatures found off the islands' coast. I meet the man responsible for it, Heiðrikur á Heygum (or simply Heiðrik), in a cafe overlooking the boat masts of Tórshavn's harbour. Dressed in black, with delicate tattoos of native flora running up his arms, Heiðrik opens a portfolio case to reveal page after page of watercolours — there's a sinister elfin figure perched on a rock in the moonlight; a lone horse with a serpent's tail and glowing eyes standing in the water; a long-haired man with a tall crown and peevish expression sitting on a throne. They're all part of the artist's latest project — an illustrated book of the Faroes Islands' myths and folklore. 'Writing down the stories is new,' Heiðrik says, leafing through the work. 'Traditionally, they were shared through song, and an oral story is like Chinese whispers — it changes every time you tell it. I'm just another reteller, the latest link in the chain.' Heiðrikur á Heygum's latest project — an illustrated book of the Faroes Islands' myths and folklore, is set to be published at the end of the year, with versions in Faroese, Danish and English to bring the tales to a new audience. Photograph by Jonathan Stokes The plan is to publish the collection at the end of the year, with versions in Faroese, Danish and English bringing the tales to a new audience. Until then, visitors must make do with reading the stories in the landscapes that inspired them. 'Anywhere there's nature and the sea,' says Heiðrik, carefully putting away the pages, 'that's where you'll find legends in the Faroe Islands.' I spend my last evening discovering that the tradition of oral story-telling Heiðrik is magicking into print is still very much in rude health. The sun is just starting to set when Anna and Óli Rubeksen invite me into their home in the tiny village of Velbastaður, 15 minutes' drive from Tórshavn. Enormous picture windows line one side of the farmhouse, opening to views of grassland tumbling down to the pearly waters of Hestfjord and, beyond, to the tiny island of Hestur (population 15). 'Come, sit,' says Óli, gesturing to a long table, 'and I'll tell you our story.' Ninth-generation sheep farmers, the Rubeksens have been running supper clubs here since 2014, opening their house to up to 30 guests at a time. 'We try to be like a cultural exchange,' says Óli as sheep dog Mia leaps on to his lap. 'The magic for us is when everyone interacts with each other.' Named for heimablídni, a Faroese tradition of 'home hospitality', the dinners are a crash course in local ingredients and cooking, with dish after dish appearing on the table over the course of several hours: rye bread with salted mutton; carrot and vegetable soup; roast lamb with caramelised potatoes and red cabbage. With candles lit against the gathering gloom, conversation flows, leaping from the Norse language to rhubarb, sheepdog-training to Viking hygiene. Our attention is continually pulled towards the window, even when there's nothing to see but our own reflections staring back at us. 'You can understand in the old days when there was no electricity,' says Anna, peering out, 'you would sit and imagine so many things out there.' For now, feasting and company have tamed the Faroe Islands. But soon I must take my leave and head back out into the night, and everything looks different in the dark. Getting there & around Atlantic Airways flies direct from Gatwick to Vágar twice weekly from the end of May to the end of August; and from Edinburgh twice weekly from March to December. The rest of the year, fly via Copenhagen with Atlantic Airways or SAS. Average flight time: 2hr10m (Gatwick); 1hr35m (Edinburgh) A hire car is your best bet for travelling around the islands, and there are rental desks at the airport. It's a 45-minute drive from there to the capital Tórshavn. When to go June, July and August see the warmest temperatures (around 13C) and longest hours of daylight (up to 20 hours), but also the most visitors; locations with few facilities can get booked up fast. September is a good choice, with temperatures around 12C and 13 hours of daylight. The weather is changeable year-round, with rain and mist a possibility any time. While temperatures are fairly mild in winter (about 7C), many hotels shut for the season. Puffins arrive to nest in April, and usually stay until the end of August. Where to stay Hotel Vágar, Vágar island. From DKK800 (£90). Hotel Føroyar, Tórshavn. From DKK840 (£95). More info How to do it: Nordic travel specialist Where the Wild Is offers several itineraries. The eight-night Classic Circle Self-Drive covers multiple islands and includes visits to Lake Sørvágsvatn and Kalsoy; from £1,700, including hotels and car hire, excluding flights. The four-night Summer Puffin Adventure takes in Tórshavn and the puffin-nesting island of Mykines, from £1,250. This story was created with the support of Visit Faroe Islands. Published in the June 2025 issue of National Geographic Traveller (UK). 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