Paws on Fair Isle: Skyelark’s Remote Island Ramble
Skyelark's Walkabouts
Travelling is like flirting with life: loving a place fully, then knowing when the road, the sea, or the wind asks you to move again.
Arrivals, Departures, and the Art of Leaving Well
This island is about arrivals and departures. The curious come and go; the resilient stay. Our extended stay continues, and it remains a remarkable one.
Travelling is like flirting with life. It is like saying, I want to love you, but I have to go; this is just the way it is.
We count sheep, count on friends and family, and count on God to see us through the weather, the winds, and the day-to-day remains of the summer.
As we advance confidently in the direction of our dreams, we meet with a success unknown in common hours. Fair Isle remains to us other-worldly.
With all of our travels sailing around the world, I do not know why they call it planet Earth. It is made up of much more ocean.
Echoes of Other Worlds
The geography reminds me of Alaska, Hawaii, the Arctic Circle, Norway, Scotland, and who knows what is next, as we live the ecstatic life.
Ecstasy is not doing your ordinary everyday routine. It is stepping into an alternative reality. Fair Isle can feel like that: familiar enough to inhabit, strange enough to wake you up.
The Case for New Places
All the pathos and irony of leaving one's youth behind is implicit in every joyous moment of travel: one knows that the first joy can never be recovered, and the wise traveler learns not to repeat successes but tries new places all the time.
Every day, you have to go out of your mind in order to come to your senses. A fool, after all, who persists in his folly, becomes wise.
When we get out of the glass bottle of our ego and escape like the squirrels in the cage of our personality and get into the forest again, we shall shiver with cold and fright. But things will happen to us so that we do not know ourselves. Cool, unlying life will rush in.
The wise traveler does not try to keep the first feeling alive by repeating the same route. The wise traveler keeps moving until perception becomes new again.
The Act of Rebirth
I stayed four months in Stockholm in 1995, with the obstacles, the fatigue, the ambiguity, and even the danger. In a practical way, it was the act of rebirth.
I dealt with completely new situations. The days passed more slowly, and most of the time, I did not even understand the language the people spoke.
It actually made me more accessible to others, because they helped me out in difficult situations. Nobody remains quite what they are when they recognize themselves.
The Hardest Thing to Do
The idea occurred to me in Sweden. At first it was only a vague question looming: what should I do? The answer began taking shape: nothing.
Doing nothing always carries with it the sense of violation, of sacrilege. It feels dangerous and subversive, especially for Americans trained to convert every moment into output.
It is a poor workman who blames his tool, and doing nothing is a powerful one. The time I enjoyed wasting in Sweden was not wasted time.
Nothing is the hardest thing to do. Infinite patience, however, brings immediate results.
The Walkabout Continues
Travelling Changes the Traveler
From Stockholm to Fair Isle, from doing everything to doing nothing, from seeking new places to finding ourselves, the walkabout continues.
Travelling is not only about the places we go. It is about the people we become.
We have not been everywhere, but it is on our list. After all, when you come to a fork in the road, take it.