I arrived at the most southerly point of the Faroe Islands, Akraberg. A remote cape, which juts out into the Atlantic. The nearest islands are the Shetlands, 284 km away. In the house of the lighthouse-keeper, who left since all lighthouses go automatically, I feel that I’m on the end of the world. Around me are only the big ocean and birds.
I’m here to learn again more about cultivated plants and vegetables that can grow extremely close to the sea. Aksal, a bird and plant expert who lives in the nearest village Sumba, teaches me all the Latin names.
The foghorn wakes me up next morning. The world completely disappeared.
Also the next day I’m in a totally invisible world. Not be able to see anything. It’s almost as if the people who live here get punished for the two days of bright sun they have had. I’ve no idea if the fog is only here at the end of the world or also on the rest of the islands, because I’ve no internet, tv, radio or any other form of communication here. I read a book about a lost and lonely island… (And later I’ll try to find somebody with internet in Sumba).