Thorsten Overgaard

The story is this. Right out of the airport I was taken by the light of Faroe Islands. And my enthusiasm for the place just grew and grew on the 45 minutes ride from the airport to my hotel, Hotel Føroya, which happens to lies on a hilltop above Torshavn (the big and bussing capitol Faroe Islands with 17,000 inhabitants).

I went straight down the hill to Torshavn city to catch the last daylight with my camera. And next morning I went up early with the sun to almost run down the hilltop to get more photos in the changing lights.

It’s an amazing place.

These 18 islands in the middle of nowhere wake up in a grayish fog which then turns bluish around 06.00 and then the sun starts to break through around 07:30. In sunny days the fog stays around on top and below the sun which – as you can imagine – has quite an exotic fairy-tale-dreamland-look to it.

On foggy days, and rainy days, it’s just fog all over the place, wet boots and wet everything. No sunshine.

The call the Faroe Islands “the land of maybe’s” because if you ask, “Should we go fishing tomorrow?” the answer will be “Maybe.” ‘Cause nobody knows how the weather will be.

It starts out rainy and foggy in the morning, then 16:00 it clears up and you got summer the rest of the day.

Some days airplanes can’t land, and sometimes it goes on for a weeks or so where airplanes simply can’t find the island.

Depressing, exotic, exiting, overwhelming. Depends what you had planned.

Anyway, I spend some days like this checking out the place and preparing for Clinton. As he would be staying at my hotel I was allowed to check this space quite thoroughly. Not that it offered a lot of photo ops inside or outside, but it’s nice to know.

I know how it usually goes. His airplane lands, he is driven to the venue in cars with tinted windows, does his speech, then leaves. I was quite sure we could end up with the same here, though the locals was expecting him to – as I guess they do in all places, he visit – join the locals, have a coffee and what have you.

The Sunday before Clinton was to arrive, we went on a press tour and picked up my Danish writer Oliver Stilling in the airport. He and three other press people just in then joined in on a trip to the Bøsdalafossur waterfall.

You get out of an airplane from Paris, Copenhagen or Canada, and one hour later you are standing here:

It was (of course) raining like in your wildest dreams. I told Oliver, “Funny, you get out of an airplane and right after you are in the middle of this…” at which he replied “Hmm.”

Half an hour later he told me “Funny, you get out of an airplane and right after you are standing in the middle of this … amazing” at which I replied “Hmm.”

It’s unreal.

Anyway. Clinton. That’s what it was about.

Monday at 8.00 on my way to the brunch I noticed like 30 police and Secret Service guys on the parking lot, checking cars, bags and people with bomb dogs and what have you. I went out and took some pictures and the bomb dogs was so enthusiastic about it all.

Clinton was to arrive to the hotel in a couple of hours. The dogs could feel it too.

So, Oliver and I were hanging out by the espresso machine by the entrance – trying to be casual about it. Watching the enthusiasm, professionalism, excitement and all while trying to maintain our position in the middle of it all. As the only press people living in the hotel we were actually allowed to be inside the hotel.

We drank more espresso, stayed relaxed, negotiated on and off with the Secret Service and police who got new orders from Clintons personal staff. “You can’t be here,” then “okay, you can of course be here. You are guests. But no photos,” then “You have to get out because the rest of the press is outside.”

As our story was kind of turning into being one about the fuss about Clinton coming, we agreed and Oliver took mental notes while we just followed the flow.

There was also a local guy who had placed a Harley Davidson by the entrance, with a note to Clinton if he would please sign it. He was all over the place as well, negotiating with Clinton’s staff and the lot.

Fuss might be to weak a word.

Those who have been around people in power, celebrities and the like, know how things gets messed up and exited all up because a lot of people working on the event think they should protect, damage control, foresee problems, be somebody and all.

Definition of problem is two opposing forces or interests: You have lots of people who have spent money and time dressing up, paid VIP tickets and all to be in a certain spot for a certain person, hoping to be seen, eventually discovered, become friends by this person, a handshake and perhaps a photo. And then you have staff and security who have prepared, planned and trained to keep people at a distance, keep things quit and secure.

Hence the fuss.

Clinton is delayed. So we stretch out presence by the espresso machine for another hour. It’s raining outside.

Finally it’s time to go out. I photograph the fuss and prepare for Clinton’s arrival.

The press coordinator has been kept telling us this is the Faroe Islands [implied that this is special] and that Clinton no way will just arrive, speak and leave. We will spend time with him. It’s the Faroe Islands.

Clinton arrives and as we already knew an hour ago, he looks relaxed in Levis and knitwear. He comes out the car, take a look at the press, then head in our direction, shakes hands with kids, mothers and clap a police dog on the head.

Forget it. No matter who you are, this is it, this is the real thing, this spot is THE spot on the planet now. Journalists, kids, mothers, chauffeurs and all take out their mobile camera pones, tape recorders, note pads, books to sign and all to greet Bill Clinton.

He get’s the “how do you like the Faroe Islands?” question and five or ten microphones documents his answer. But all that really don’t matter.

What matters is the moment. Look at the faces. They don’t care about Hillary, pollution, Putin, global warming, Iraq or any other hot subject.

They are having a Clinton moment.

Just look at their faces.

Note an interesting thing. It’s not the television cameras who’s in first row. It’s a mix of professional press and happy fans all together. It’s really not a news event.

It’s a Clinton moment.

That’s where I got the shot I was aiming for. A happy Bill Clinton with some Faroe Islands colors in the background.

I got plenty more, even better, but this was the one I had envisioned. A happy Clinton in available daylight, with some Faroe colors in the back.

Anyway, the moment came to an end, but when you have been up there, it does take a while to cool down again. Hence, the press try to extend the moment by interviewing the hotel director, taking photos of kids and what have you.

Anything out of the strictly ordinary will do.

It’s a natural reaction. You just want more of it.

And that we got…

Meanwhile Clinton got a nap while local police was watching down in front of his suite. And the sheeps was watching the fuss.

Faroe Islands originally meant “Sheeps Islands” you see.