Pathways and noways.

-Excerpt from travel journal - Færoes continued, 15 August, 2008:
Woke up early to ensure I did not miss the bus... too early, so I lounged in bed. Then I had a 'breakfast' of whatever had accumulated over the past few days. I was once again early for the bus, I smoked, and listened to José González - Broken Arrows, repeatedly. It suit the moment well. I was sad to leave Klaksvík, as I had never climbed the 'cairned' mountain [Klakkur]. That goal shall wait. I will return - with someone close to me, and we will take it together. Klaksvík was lonely insular place, so I was otherwise not too regretful in leaving. The tunnel to Estruoy was a blur, but a memorable one. It is definitely an achievement for such a small nation. The village of Leirvík preserved some of the most substantial Viking Age remains I have encountered so far, with intricately constructed walls to at least three feet in areas. I spent an hour sitting in the long hall. Overhead, birds fought and flew; the mountains bore silent witness - as they have for æons. At one point, a passenger plane streaked across the sky, leaving a smoky stream in its wake. The contrast of one thousand years was never so marked as then! The soundtrack, Last Days - These Places are Now Ruins, pitched perfectly to the situation. However, my contemplation was crashed when I realised I should make it back to catch the bus. With a few moments spent capturing the beautiful church against the majestic mountains, I was still too early for the bus. I spent 20 minutes in relative silence with a middle aged woman, while village folk occasionally noticed a foreigner in their midst. The neutrality of the Færoese population perplexes me. Is it shyness or disinterest? An hour later, after fighting off sleep - unsucessfully, on the bus, I was back in Tørshavn. And again, alone in my loft-dorm. I set out to experience the only mall in the Færoes. A reasonable, and relatively good grocer allowed me to stock up on supplies. A cheap meal for the Færoes fueled my lust for the night life of the Færoes.

Everyday II

12 August, 2008, excerpt part II - The Færoes...
-The mist has ringed Tørshavn - if it was not already isolated enough, it now seems to be the only semblance of civilisation left in this world. Perhaps, it is the sheer cost, or just the pace of life, but everything here is all the better when savoured; nursed even - the rain, walking, scenes, beer, books, desolation, sound, etc. The city is small and the streets narrow, but it would assuredly take a lifetime to appreciate every crack and corner. Dostoevsky lends himself well to the islands, but the people seem unconcerned with philosophy. This is not out of arrogance, I suspect, but simply, there is no need. They have 'living' philosophy, it is in the very stone and soil. Life is life - best appreciated as such. The sky is uniformly grey and blends into the mists that skirt the high ground. Truly, there seems little difference between the two; there are no borders here. Fences are but temporary.

Everyday

Further travel excerpts: 11-12 August, 2008:
Tørshavn - raining and dark, three days of drinking and partying, only to end in this self imposed exile. The flight was okay, and the bus dropped me off in good order - albeit tired. I was left entirely to my own devices to my hostel, and then to find the room. After an hour of complete frustration in this warren, I discovered the room outside! the area it vaguely indicated. It appears to be some variety of attic-cum-loft-dormitory. It is sparse, but more than adequate. I am alone with my thoughts and ghosts. The sea is rough, but the lighthouse is shining into the harbour.

*I woke up to that 'photograph' (Tørshavn harbour).

Is There a Ghost?

Further travel diary excerpts: Thursday, 8 August, 2008.

The car ride to Þingvellir was breathtaking - like being surrounded by a landscape of watercolours. The mountains; a dark blue against the grey sky - the features of the foreground seem to be more like suggestions than visual reality. The car is silent other than a slight purr, and there is also the patter of the rain. Despite the rain, the lakes and ponds are still, and they loom at the road's edge in mercuric glow. The land is seemingly devoid of life besides the occasional horse in the distance. Odd it seems, for such an otherwise 'lush' valley. We all seem to be lost in our respective thoughts, unsurprisingly. This will outlive us, but life goes on.  

Steel Doesn't Decide to Rust, It Just Does.

Excerpts from my travel diary - Iceland and Faeroes 2008. 

I am trapped on an island. There is eight of us; conversation has run dry. The radio has been turned on to fill the silence. I hope the boat arrives soon. It will be a strange night, I expect.