Suspension

Travel is made of a succession of days that never look the same. Multiples. Moving. There are days where you explore a tiny part of the world, step by step, sweat after sweat, going up or going further the endless trail in your eyes. There are days where you discover an area kilometer by kilometer, where you stop to the next crack, to the next cliff, close or far from the tarmac. Then, there are days like today, where you sink into a place staying still, where you build your tent at noon to follow the slow sun’s course in birds’ songs, in water’s wrinkle. Where you spend endless hours drawing forgotten words on your white pages.

I feel my lonely journey again as the boat sets sail towards the North, as I have forgotten three essential things at Jon’s: my woolen hat, my pair of gloves of the same hand and my anti seasickness medicines. Like I didn’t know I was going further cold! I meet my first feathers and wings puffin, in summer camp on windy rocks, and Hitchcock’s birds that attack my peaceful walks along the island.
All of a sudden, I am pierced by even deeper peace as I look at the grass dancing in the wind… I realize how every thing, every encounter, fairly happen in each of my journey’s step. Flamboyant and easy. Unified with my unspoken desires. I feel perfectly alone in the world in the southern part of this flat and quiet island, striking compares to summits that crossed my past Icelandic days. I cherish my patient wait for tomorrow, I breathe this day offering me a truce, surprised while eating lunch by an ewe and her already grown-up lamb.

And I wonder… Does people actually live here everyday, or is it only a summer resort? Lots of houses speak of another time; repainted every year, they shine in a winterish sun. There is absolutely nothing for a daily basis here, only a coffee shop and a hotel. Yet a man and his son plow fields, yet signs are only written in Icelandic, yet Flatey is the only island in Breiðafjörður to be inhabited all year round. It has been, since the 19th century, the Fjord’s main cultural and commercial center. Thus, how many are they to live here? Fifty? Hundred?
I realize, as I am writing, truly meeting the Icelandic soul and people appears hard for me. It is always the same during summer time, you don’t know who is who. Therefore, I go through Iceland without completely knowing her, even if I try to read through stones’ heart.

As I utterly gaze at my first Icelandic sunset, as I feel its light reaching the moon already so high in the sky, I understand the whole Solar System’s concept creating white and dark night. My eyes dance from the fire ball to the icy ball, truly getting the hidden moon’s side’s mystery.

Justine T.Annezo – Aug. 6th 2019, Flatey Island – GTM+0