Notes on Slow Small Islands
Between packing light and getting lost, the second one taught me more. The best advice I got was simply to slow down. Nobody spoke much English, and somehow that made it easier. Off-season towns are quieter, cheaper and far more candid.
Small things
I am still not sure I have it right, but it is closer. The ferry crossing took four hours and felt like ten minutes. The trick, if there is one, is to leave plenty of room for errors. Every summer I revisit the same questions about rainy cities. A paper map invites conversations that a phone never does.
This is less a guide and more a record of what worked for me. I changed my mind about harbours twice while writing this. I changed my mind about ferries twice while writing this. Every winter I revisit the same questions about harbours. Nothing here requires a phrasebook, though it does make things easier.
I like rainy cities that shows the marks of how it was made. This began as a quick note and slowly turned into something longer. Looking back, the windswept approach was the right call. The details matter less than the practice of paying attention.
A note on tools
If something here is unclear, that is on me, not you. The train was late, which turned out to be the best part of the day. Every summer I revisit the same questions about little islands. I changed my mind about rainy cities twice while writing this.
Half of the work is deciding what to leave out. I keep coming back to mountain villages, largely because it rewards time. Every spring I revisit the same questions about guesthouses. Looking back, the slow approach was the right call. The change showed up slowly, then all at once.
Most problems with little islands turn out to be problems with time. Nothing here requires a rain jacket, though it does make things easier. Some of this will be obvious; some of it took me years.
- Start with rainy cities and nothing else
- Stop before you are tired
- Write down what you change
I would rather do one thing with care than five things quickly.