Jorgen Niclasen never imagined that one day thousands of tourists would land on the Faroe Islands. Or that, on this archipelago lost in the North Atlantic, where fine weather is rare and there is often thick fog, he would come across groups of Americans hiking around the cliffs of Kalsoy, photographing the grass-roofed houses of Gjogv, or watching puffins on the rocks of Mykines.

"For us, waterfalls were just water. Fjords, just fish stocks. Rocky spurs, just stone. We couldn't see the beauty of it all," confided the 55-year-old Faroe Islander. In summer, he accompanies tourists by boat to the Drangarnir Arch, one of the Faroe Islands' most famous postcard locations. "Many decide to come after seeing photos on Instagram. Social media has made us exist," admitted Jens Eystein i Lodu, co-founder of Bluegate, the agency that organizes sea trips. He started his business in 2017, with a single motorboat. He now owns three, and soon a fourth. A one-hour trip costs €90 per person.

Tourism in the Faroe Islands is a recent phenomenon: It began 10 years ago, and has turned this little-known archipelago of 54,000 inhabitants, an autonomous department of the Kingdom of Denmark, upside down. These isolated islands, located halfway between Scotland and Iceland, welcomed 130,000 visitors in 2023, mainly between May and September – Danes, for the most part, but also Americans, Germans, Britons and French. The islands' tourism is focused on hiking and outdoor activities, set against a backdrop of meadows and basalt cliffs plunging into the Atlantic Ocean.

In 10 years, income from tourism has doubled, reaching €125 million in 2023. Thorshavn, the capital, has been transformed, with more stores, hotels, nightlife and trendy restaurants, such as Roks, which serves sea urchins, snow crabs and langoustines in a tavern-like atmosphere along the harbor. Now tourists can rent an electric bike, take a surfing lesson, ride a horse or go scuba diving. Whereas this sector accounted for 1% of gross domestic product (GDP) in 2015, it now represents 6%. A revolution in this volcanic archipelago, which is said to have more sheep than inhabitants.

The growth of this activity owes much to the determination of the local government, which aims to diversify an economy based essentially on deep-sea fishing and salmon farming. It's a way of being more resilient in the face of crises, in a territory that plays a solitary game: It's not part of the European Union and is not subject to the fishing quotas set by Brussels.

You have 74.97% of this article left to read. The rest is for subscribers only.