Sailor Lucia encourages me to admire at least once a sunrise in the far north. But at what time is that exactly ? The sun will probably set otherwise Lucia wouldn’t be suggesting this, she’s not here to tease us. When the sun sets it also rises again. I can’t unequivocally verify here whether the sun really goes under, because there are always so many mountains around our boat that the sun is mostly hidden behind them. And otherwise there are clouds that obstruct a clear view of the horizon. So I should believe Lucia, but for some reason I keep having doubts. And the fact that it doesn’t get completely dark all night doesn’t help me take her claim seriously.
So you never really know what time it is, you have no reference for it. Unless you look at a watch, but here I have consciously decided to resist this temptation. This is a unique opportunity to live completely at the rhythm of my body and to experimentally determine that time does not actually exist. Something I already knew. Here on the Opal I get the feeling that I can always keep busy, that there is no need to sleep, that there is always something to see or experience, there is no possibility of boredom on this trip. And if I ever feel tired, I take a nap, whatever time it may be in the normal world of success and failure that we have completely left behind us. Just like the sunrise, I suspect it still exists, but I’m not completely sure about this either.
That time I wake up and Lucia’s words spontaneously come to mind, I estimate that it must be about morning and that the sun will almost rise, if at least it set yesterday. When I go to the deck via the steep stairs next to the galley I enjoy the superb scenery. After a wee while I see a full rainbow appearing in a flash. However, nothing has changed in the meteorological conditions. This is the proof of the sunrise: somewhere drops are falling and at first they were not illuminated by the sun, and now they are, a rainbow! What a unique experience, a rainbow at sunrise! And you have to see that combined with dark copper-red clouds that hang menacingly above the mountains. They seem all the more menacing because they are also reflected in the water surface, I am trapped in them as if between the jaws of a crocodile. It occurs to me that I may be the only person on earth today who sees this. The crowd below me could have witnessed this too, but they prefer flat rest. All the better, it offers me a nice excuse to reflect and to meditate and to be alone for a bit.
I like to be alone. Traveling with a group is not easy for me. There are always some people whose behavior annoys me, and those annoyances tend to reinforce themselves day after day. Today I come to an unexpected conclusion. There have certainly been irritations in recent days, but they do not immediately evoke the counter-reactions that I normally feel. I can see it more neutrally. Apparently I am more able than usual to observe this from a certain distance. And among that tangle of annoyances I notice some behavior that I experience as positive. And I embrace that too. I enjoy my art to put things into perspective after those days of living in isolation. This journey strengthens me that I am one step further in my spiritual growth journey.
I’m happy there are clouds today. Otherwise it would be so empty here
Tour Guide Willy
I often take observing from a distance quite literally during my walks by being the last one. So we are not permanently on that boat. We regularly walk on land with the help of a zodiac, under the guidance of our tour guide Willy who has a thorough and complete knowledge of the geology, fauna, flora, history and whatsoever of this area. He is happy that there are clouds today. “Otherwise it would be so empty here,” he says. When we ask what is on the program next, he only reveals one small single step. He structures the journey as a thriller. Exciting and also very wise. We would almost forget that we are here in the wilderness. The idyllic greenery and all the other autumn colors in this permafrost environment give you a false sense of confidence and security. You never know what sudden event may change the ideal travel plan and that is why it is better not to create unrealistic expectations in the group. Certainly also with respect to spotting large wild animals. Of course we all hope for a polar bear, why else would he always carry his gun with him, but in the end we had to be content with one muskox and one arctic fox. And greatful we are. The latter was at the airport just before we left. There I held the most interesting conversation with Willy. “Read the book ‘Old Roads’ by Robert MacFarlane,” he says.
But I’m ahead of events. As mentioned, I walk a bit separated from the group, so I can better follow my own walking pace and enjoy the deafening silence. When we return one evening after such a walk, the crew has caught fish for us and it is now being prepared, marinated and cooked on the barbecue before our eyes on the deck by Chef Sulby. He plays inspiring music and a exceptional event takes place in my life. I have a wonderfully connecting conversation with somebody about the late Syd Barrett. About how he still inspires our lives and how we recognize his vulnerability in us. We conclude that we both had the courage to follow him by bending towards a more minimalist lifestyle that is much more in line with our soul mission. There’s no such thing as coincidence, I think again. The chef says he is proud of me and that makes me happy. I’m proud of him too, but I keep this to myself. I spend the entire evening in a slightly different state of consciousness that I cherish. The next morning I wake up blissfully in my sarcophagus due to some sudden heave. When I arrive on deck, we are once again surrounded by icebergs.
Before the start of this travel, I had a stereotypical image of an iceberg. You know, a large piece of white ice that has a pyramidal shape and you also know that the vast majority of the iceberg is below the water surface. The latter is true, but I can delete the color white from my caricatured ideas. There are also black, blue and even transparent icebergs. And there are no limits to the shape, I can imagine entire zoos in it, just like I do with clouds. Creativity skyrockets. Here a seal, there a Doric column, there an iron, now another blown-over shoe, the top of the Statue of Liberty, a football field, an atomic submarine, and on the horizon new candidates are emerging for my appointment. Sometimes my imagination is too far fetched to still be creative. If I were a sculptor I would get a lot of inspiration from icebergs. And why do we actually call them icebergs? For most of them, the name ice rock or ice hill would be more modest.
Sometimes my imagination is too far fetched to still be creative
This wide variety of shapes is because they are born as a piece that breaks off from a melting glacier. Oh yeah, I see an iceberg more and more as a living being. Glittering and enjoying the sun, you hear the cracking and crackling like loud heartbeats as you get closer to it. Full of dynamism, it bobs and moves with its top like a sail in the wind, accompanied by small, recently broken pieces of ice that form a trail behind the father. A large fragment regularly breaks off under water, causing the center of gravity to shift and the iceberg to tip over. I see some that continue to rotate for a while until they find a new equilibrium. This creates a new melt line at the interface with the water. Older and twisted tilt lines tell like ripples about his younger life. Older icebergs are usually streaked with blue veins, the fossils of cracks filled by rain and snow. Some literally have a split personality. While the perspective from the sailboat changes permanently, they show you their diverse faces. There are also social icebergs that carry tired smaller icebergs on their backs so that they too reach the ocean. Where they slowly melt for years until they are completely reunited with their former salty friends after so many centuries. That’s the completely updated view of icebergs this trip has given me.
We say goodbye with a sliver of northern lights. Even days after the return I feel that my body is enjoying the afterglow and wants to preserve the subtle rocking of the boat. I would not describe the occurences of last week with the ordinary label ‘travel’. I rather see it as a series of top experiences that I want to continue to hug as eternal memories. As if to tame the afterthirst, I keep reading this text again and again. I also delve into MacFarlane’s “Old Ways” in the original version. New travel ideas are already bubbling up.
Related Posts
