Costa da Morte

I spent last week in the Highlands. Our first stop was Mull; the island, inhospitable, even in the middle of August, it only has one way roads. This way the voyage turns into a slow pilgrimage, in which we must stop every few minutes to yield the way, every time we do so, we say hello to the drivers we come across, remembering those old habits we used to have when the conversation with other walkers was part of the journey. That greeting is a sign that life here flows slowly, that it has come to a halt in a moment that we will never belong to.