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  • "Why would you ever want to leave a place like this?"
    "There's nothing for me here, this place has nothing to offer."
    "The thousands of tourists who come here every year seem to have a different opinion..."
    "Yes, but beautiful nature isn't enough, not in the long run. Besides, there's so much to see out there."
    "Out where?"
  • We were a seafaring people once, did you forget?

    Let others build houses and families; some of us still feel the urge to board our ships and go out to sea.
  • The urge to travel is enhanced by the rhythmical sound of fishingboat engines, the crashing of the waves against the breakwater, the persuasive call from the ocean and the enticing glow on the horizon, the songs on the wind that tell of distant shores, new faces, opportunities to acquire new knowledge.
  • The sense of being stuck here, bound and gagged through the long, dark winter is suffocating. The urge to travel, the urge to leave is so strong.
  • "This place is so beautiful, though... It makes you wonder how people get anything done around here."
    "Oh, I'm pretty sure they don't pay much attention to their surroundings, they're too busy making a living. Yours is the visitor's point of view, you know, the outsiders' perspective."
    "I'm sure you're right, but I have to say that if I lived here, I'd never think about leaving, not for a moment."
    "You would hardly feel that way if you had grown up here. Personally, I don't see how anyone could be content living all their life here, each on his own islet, isolated by mountains and wild ocean, at the mercy of wind and weather."
    "They seem to be doing just fine, if you ask me. After all, people have been living like this for a few thousand years. It's in your blood, too, you're part of this continuous tradition, this history."
    "Then why this incredible urge to leave?"
    "I don't know, I really don't get it... I just want to stay, forever, I want to sit right here and watch the night-sun. Forever."
  • Too much beauty is blinding, you know, like too much light.

    The sun doesn't set all summer, and we don't sleep. We watch the golden globe being lowered, like an anchor, and pulled back up just before it reaches the surface. And we think: How can it be possible that we're given a new beginning without having experienced an ending?

    It feels like an omen.
  • Then comes winter, with its storms, its shipwrecks and losses. Too much darkness is numbing, you know, like too much wine.

    The morning news bring announcements of yet another trawler going under, and we look out through our windows at the curtain of compact darkness outside, knowing it won't lift until spring, and there is nothing to do but wait.
  • Still, this place is close to my heart.

    It's such a quiet place, keeps its secrets to itself...

    The music in my soul stems from this place, from the strong colours, and from the contrast of light and darkness, sun and rain, the shift between fog and clear sight, exultant joy and screaming sorrow, calm and storm, calm and storm, like waves through my veins.
  • It's such a quiet place, it draws me in...
  • There are surprises, too, occasionally. You'll turn a corner on the road and find something like this:
  • Or this:
  • The writing on the wall means that someone has come in from the outside, in from another angle, another place, and discovered something here that we have been unable to see. And that is why we need to leave this place, and return, with fresh eyes.

    The equasion is not complicated:

    If you stay too long in one place, you gradually lose your ability to take it in, feel it, sense it. But if you leave for a while and come back, you may discover something new and unfamiliar where you once thought there was nothing to see.
  • I understand why you keep clinging to this place, I do. I keep coming back, it draws me in.

    The weatherbeaten houses, the lighthouses at the edge of the headlands, the narrow strips of pasture land, and the light, the ever-changing light; I get it, I do.
  • This is what this country is all about, this is what reflects our history; these rocky shores, and the ocean, our lifeblood. A wide open sea to carry you out, and back.

    Because it's not just about the leaving, it's about the return as well, to solid fundaments. The distance I put between myself and this place equals the thought of coming back, and the ocean-coloured veins just beneath my skin carry the lifeline that ties me to the land.
  • Yes, these rocky shores, and the ocean. And the magnificent pull of the horizon.

    ... and when I leave, I want to pick up my footsteps and carry them with me...
  • Quotes taken from the song This Place by Melanie O'Reilly. There is a link to this beautiful song on page 1, it's worth listening to.
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