Dear American Citizen, I write from the other side of the Atlantic. Our homelands are separated by a vast, malevolent body of water. Thousands of miles stand between us, yet still we share so many things, music, theatre, fashion, culture, history, high street stores and banking ties, and much more. Our military train together, and politicians lean on each other. We really aren't that different.
The Faroes lie northwest of Scotland, in the North Atlantic, and flying time is only two hours from London's Gatwick. As the plane starts to descend, I realise the 18 islands are just huge lumps of igneous rock, thrust out of the sea in some primordial eruption. They're carpeted in grassy moorland, but there are no trees.
There's a touching moment in the French classic film Amélie where the heroine, as a little girl, reflects the sunlight off her mirror from her window overlooking Paris, hoping someone out there sees her light. From a window across the city, another lonely child--the boy who will grow up to be the man she'll one day fall in love with--is doing the same reflector trick, waiting for a response with the hope that he's not alone.