Email from David Gilmour

David Gilmour 4:26 AM (2 hours ago) to me Iceland again, a more urban vibe: distanced people, fixed faces, more gadget orientated, less verbal noise, more traffic whooshing, fewer bird cries. It rained thunderously, streets running like arroyos (sp?), but a bus brought me from the airport to my Gasthus, a cheap hostel, inhabited by young backpacking folk staying a night before hiking forth. Having slept two hours before my 5:00am flight taxi and early takeoff, I was sleepy-eyed all day and too tired for touring. I walked on in my dreams, two steps backwards, one forward, arduous slogging, moonwalking. The last night of Faroes I ferried to Nolsoy, a tiny village island, a huddle of colored houses, weathered to seaward, where my host has a small home. It is meters above the shoreline, the closest habitation to the harbor water. Very tranquil scene except for bird cries: fulmars, terns, guillemots, razorbills, black-backed gulls, the crows of shorebirds, and grebes of various stripes and colors. In the waving waves a seal’s head bobbed up curiously, further out porpoise backs arched, a whale fin appeared while the eyes gazed unthinking, best to catch sight of when mind not actively watching. The way we remember the forgotten conversational word others crave to Google. Give the doubting mind time and the word comes in from the wings. How calming it is to sit before the scene with a coffee in hand, dazed, as the house floated in relative motion to the sea, birds skooting by mere feet before the window, Pink Floyd’s Echoes droning on the boombox. I caught the last ferry back to Torshavn at 10pm, home by 11:30 for a short sleep before departure from my home away from home. Give a vacation time and spare the rushing to attractions, one can dip into a comfort zone of living there, being here now. The art of slowing down. —David