We have boarded the flight to Geneva, for the past two hours we sat silently next to each other in departures completely ignoring each other's presence, fixated on our electronic devices. To the outside world we must look like a same sex couple who have had a major disagreement on holiday and are enduring the journey home in an amicable silence with underlying rancour.
Seeing as we have a day off from travelling and performing today, and Berang doesn't return to Sweden until tomorrow, we all agreed on applying our free time to recreation. Daniel joined us to eventually ingest some food as we lunched on the fresh catch of the day before our Icelandic host, Ari, picked us up.
Due to social conditioning, I didn't feel entirely comfortable with my order choice but consoled myself with the conclusion that I am ill positioned to place the lives of animals in a hierarchy of worth, if I am to eliminate one meat option I should eliminate them all rather than engaging in some back patting moral hypocrisy.
I consider my relationship with nature as a long and unfolding conversation, like learning a language that I can never master. And this conversation is never dull. Like most discourses, it only improves with time and age, to reach a point where a constant connection evolves and grows, with almost daily realisations.
After all the recent hype over the northern lights, NASA announced back in June 2014 that the sun's polarity had finally flipped and we were beyond the peak of the current Solar Maximum - a period of supercharged solar activity that usually occurs every 11 years and serves as a catalyst for spectacular northern lights displays.
Rain that fell on Iceland anything from 500-1000 years ago is only now being drunk - and some of it in gin and tonics. The rain that lands on lava rocks slowly soaks beneath the surface, and so dense and extensive are the layers of rock that the rainwater takes several hundred years to drip through.