Fascination (sample)

As I awake alone in my lonely island among the ocean, the foggy morning blends with the horizon and I know I was right not to wake up earlier for a sunrise because haze always blurs first hours. I buy my traditional foreign pair of socks before taking the boat; thankfully, North Wind has stopped freezing the swell, and my journey is warmer than yesterday.
I land in a blazing sunny Brjanslaekur and choose to walk to my next rendezvous along Hellalaug hot spring shores, amazed by the blue and clear water in the quiet waves. I am not yet stunned by the Fjords though, I gaze at all the Ben Bulben’s Icelandic brothers, I look into the green they are made of, understanding why Icelanders, tired of their volcanic dark land, prefer this change of scenery. I enjoy my solitude, impatient of an emotion that would rock my world in front of what my foot would face.
I reach the sea view black stones pool, relaxing my sore body in this clear millennium water, almost touchable as it softly blends with my skin. After this nice bath, I get dress in the freezing wind and choose to walk again, forgetful of absent side-roads and hitchhiking opportunities. Therefore, I have to walk my exhausted steps to the port as the sun lowers, burns my cheeks but doesn’t warm my arms. All along this chosen but tired and deja-vu promenade, I think about my nightly divagations, about the fascination that both North and Ouest trigger inside me, the wilderness they awake in my untamed heart. Iceland is made of another magic than Ireland, but mystery is here, mesmerizing. The Land of Ice questions the entire humanity… West is a call towards unexplored worlds, North is an unreal unknown, a goal to understand our planet. And my heart is always pulled towards those extremities.
Excited about my theory of life, I finally get to my morning port, ready to be collected by my first German car travelling throughout the drivers’ one year exil memories, they lead me to the corner where our life will part again. Until then, my world gets upside down, like in front of Aran cliffs, or at Sligo’s door, or along the Columbia River; I didn’t expect anything and everything happens… Ocean turquoise-blue, white sandbanks, breathtaking down from rocky tops’ to swell depth’s Fjords, and drawing shining changing green. Absolute. Unbelievable. Out of time. Out of space. A dizzy vertigo. Almost drunk. Always related to this feeling of being so small in such a giant world. In the best possible way for once. I would like my words to be able to draw how big both the landscape and my emotion are, but I can’t find my nuances nor my ink; it is so surprising, unreal, this two pieces of lands that almost kiss but not yet, thus hiding a part of the translucent ocean. Let’s blow the blue, the green, the white. The wind.

We reach our partition crossroads, I wait for Rauðisandur Beach but my second car prefers Látrabjarg cliffs. I agree with this new option, part of my plan anyway, my journey is as free as the crazy wind, as soft as the vivid breeze. Absolutely drunk of my first Fjord’s drop, my eyes don’t get enough windows to be stunned by huge white beaches that run toward multiple blues’ waters, don’t get enough pigments to understand the landscape and all its changing materials. The upper we go, th dryer it gets. As red as the secret beach. I see more moss on the top and the desert rocky fields. I only passed the next hill, the scenery completely metamorphosed. Thus feeding my curious soul, always willing to see what is hidden behind!
I sail to the unknown for longer than I thought, I feel like I am throwing myself into the end of the world. Close enough since I reach the Western point of Europe that every country claims to have… Dingle already told me that story last winter*… I face the cliffs on the edge of one world, the Czech dad and his daughter’s path slenderly intertwined with mine gets its freedom again in a blowing regrets wind. I put all my layers back on and I launch towards the cliffs. But I can’t see them; after all, cliffs are most of the time most likely to be seen feet in the water. I forgot puffins were the only Látrabjarg’s point of interest. I heard “cliffs” and I didn’t listen after that…

There I stand, on the Western point of Europe, blown by a crazy wind that drives me mad, on invisible cliffs almost forgiven by the vertiginous plateau rising in front of me, above the blue sky. And I feel awfully lonely. Like I have never felt before in my whole life. Of course, I must probably have already felt that lonely and even more, but suddenly, this burning solitude and this sharp wind are the only thing that matters, my only memory of this moment. However, curious random, as I am taken away by my lonely explosion, a blue waterproof jacket man, morning boat buddy, reaches me out and tells me how brave I am to travel on my own. Sometimes, someone else’s thoughts may hear you…
After some come and go, and more blasters on my feet, I decide to stay here for the night, downhill around the cliffs’ soft feet where the memory of a fishing campground remains and where the swell is an immortel noise that no picture nor word could reproduce. The life’s soundtrack relentless falls, boiling and never the same.
I walk along the smelly ocean and all of a sudden, again, I miss everybody. I cherish this place that only belongs to me on this empty no man’s land, the melancholia of those who are my home strikes me though, sharp and sweet. It is my evening mood, fleetingly endless, as this day comes to an end, non-perfect and wonderful, stunning and right. As the sun hides behind the green outhouse and as I impatiently wait for the horizon to kiss the sleeping beauty.

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* cf The Flight‘s epilogue

Transcendantal atmosphere
I dig into stones’ heart
In between frozen eras
I sank into the blue sea
I tasted salty waters
All of sudden the world is huge
All of a sudden everyone is a mystery
All of a sudden the truth tumbles
beautiful and mesmerizing
in happy tears
shed between summer Fjords
Snow is blue on their feet
They give themselves away
Endlessly green
They give themselves away
with grace and moderation
to my forgotten eyes
All of a sudden, Fjords create a world that I never want to leave
Látrabjarg, 7/08/2019