Barn Owl

Huh, though I had a wonderful dream about Chun, a Thai friend of mine whom I met in Southampton and whom I’m going to see again soon, this morning was tough... The question left me with a feeling of torturing confusion.

I knew I had to turn to my mentor for help. So I did. I knew I had to resort to Alastair’s The Gift Half Understood. So I did. This amazing book on a European journey is something of a spiritual shelter for emotional downpours on my Asian journey. Only a couple of pages were enough to cheer me up:

Crawford drove me to the ferry at Otternish in his open sports car, an extravaganza I greatly enjoyed. Here were two grey-haired fifty-somethings, one quite distinctive in camouflage kit, bowling along in the sun and the wind on a single-track road in the Outer Hebrides at all of thirty-five miles an hour. Past the Scolpaig Tower, and carpets of wild pinks by the Vallay Strand, to where rough grass is growing again on a hill which was gutted to supply the rock for the new causeway to Berneray. On the way a barn owl surprised us by the roadside, its measured flight, soft plumage and heart-shaped face unmistakable in the daylight. Hold on, I thought, barn owls are mainland birds. What's a barn owl doing on a moorland in North Uist? But then I could hardly believe I was there myself!

True, Alastair, that realization is far more than enough.