Page 116 - Monocle Quarterly Journal Vol 1 Issue 1 Q4

BANKING
“In a speedboat, we crashed through the waves of the freezing North Atlantic, with the rain and backsplash trying unsuccessfully to penetrate our weather suits.”
all hotels were fully booked. Fortunately, the bank’s project manager kindly o ered to have me stay in his personal home. Unfortunately, that meant sleeping in his child’s single bed, underneath a duvet covered in dinosaurs. Nevertheless we were received with the warmest hospitality and great food.
e next day, we headed to the bank to consult on their credit risk modelling methodology; a space in which I was far more comfortable. Considering the Islands are about as far from civilisation as you can get, the bank was incredibly sophisticated – and the meeting went well. Of course, no business trip would be complete without a little sightseeing, and soon we were huddled at the harbour, crawling into thick, weather- proof suits.
In a speedboat, we crashed through the waves of the freezing North Atlantic, with the rain and backsplash trying unsuccessfully to penetrate our weather suits. We stopped at an even smaller island and hiked up the rugged trail through a small village, wind at our backs (and fronts, and sides) to a local’s home. But the welcoming entertainment wasn’t a cocktail on the deck, but a show; of the local stu ng a pu n (no, that’s not a euphemism). e bird stood no chance against his skilled hands.
Despite the fact that a stu ng isn’t always my aperitif of choice, our next stop was back on the mainland, for a meal at one of their fanciest, nest restaurants. Nestled at the top of a hill, the place is straight out of a Tolkien novel, overlooking miles of tiny houses, complete with traditional dark-wooden panelling and insulation-friendly grassy roofs. Whilst admiring the beautiful view, sipping an ice-cold beer and feeling proud of my adventures of the day, I suddenly picked up a strange odour. Without even seeing the menu, I was presented with a plate, o ering ve di erent local delicacies; likkja (that is whale biltong to us), whale blubber, skerpikjøt (or wind-dried mutton) which smelled more like it was buried for a few days so that it had begun to rot, dried shark, and lastly potatoes (or so they said). I needed a strategy, and fast. Luckily, the locals believe that the best way to have a beer is to chase it with a strong schnapps, which meant there was ample amounts of Dutch Courage to help me through. I followed each bite with a quick shot of schnapps. But after the dried shark, I respectfully retired from the table, and headed home to crawl into my Dino bed.
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