September 04, 2016

Skye - part II

Day after day life on the isle of Skye.

My love comes to visit and we sleep in a ridiculously small tent in the garden. We hitchike all the way to the north side of the island, walking along the cliff to a yellow lighthouse. Here the wind is so loud I can't hear myself think. Our friend and driver takes a picture of us and it echoes others, taken in France, Japan, Portugal. Never twice in the same place. It's almost June and we still don't know which place we'll call home next, and sometimes that thought steals my breath. I'm afraid he'll choose to stay and I'll have to take a plane on my own to a different continent.

One day we take the car and drive to a coral beach. The way there is beautiful, seals swim play in the turquoise waters of the bay. They tell stories here, about seals who came ashore and hid their fur skin somewhere safe. They became human and married men from the island, had babies with them and then returned to the sea, and that's why men here nurse broken hearts. I wonder if any of the seals that dance in the water will come to shore and talk to us. We collect bits of broken corals and yellow seashells. My friend takes a picture of me facing the ocean.

On my last day off, I hitchike to the Old Man of Storr, one of the most famous landmarks on the island. The landscape takes my breath away, like I stumbled into a land that hasn't known time. Stone towers rise from the glen, dozens of meters high, twists and spikes in them like they've been carved by men. In those very special places, I close my eyes and am filled with a feeling I can't quite explain. Some people call it « satori ». Every thought that seems to live in your head every moment fades away, all the worries, all the tiny perspectives of a human life – the only one that remains is the feeling of being part of where you stand – like my feet are becoming roots digging in the dark soil of Scotland, and my hair is just part of the wind. Like every atom that makes me speaks to every atom around me, and my body isn't a barrier. It doesn't last long, but I relish every second of it.

I've spent more than a month here and it's been healing in many ways. I say goodbye to our lovely island house, to the friends I've made here, to the gorgeous sunsets in the harbour. Now it's time to move on south.

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