Many years ago, when my lads were young, we were travelling in Newfoundland for 2 weeks and stayed in a tiny motel in the tiny town of Cox’s Cove, at the far western edge of the town, which was right against the west coast of the province. It was a Friday night and people were coming home from work or going on a drive. I noticed a number of cars stopped at the end of the road, facing the oceans, and stopped for a few minutes. Then another car would come and do the same thing and then another and another. What was going on? I had to know

So finally, I buckled up enough courage and walked up to a stranger in a car parked at the extreme western edge of Newfoundland  and I asked him and his companion why everyone was doing that. Why were they coming to the edge of town on a Friday night to do that? “What were they doing?” I asked.  “We come to see the sunset,” the driver replied.  I was dumbstruck. They all came on a Friday night to see the sunset!  Didn’t they have anything better to do?  No. That was the point.

Wow. I thought about it. What a spectacular thing to do.

That is what I wanted to do. That might be the day I became an official inspector of sunsets. A life-long job.

Daniel Klein in his fabulous book Travels with Epicurus: A Journey to a Greek Island in Search of Fulfilment wrote about the friends around a table at the taverna on the Greek island of Hydra.  He was watching them from a nearby seat. They were sitting on the terrace in the Greek sun. Tucked behind the ear of one of the men was sprig of wild lavender that it took him considerable effort to pick up. He had to stoop to do it. He was an old man. Some things are hard for old men. During lulls in the conversation of the men, he removed the herb and took a few sniffs of it. Clearly enjoying the smell.

Klein was reading Epicurus on his trip to a lovely Greek Island, Hydra. He had come from America to Greece with that book in mind. It was an essential book for the trip. He was listening to the men at the table. They had a gentle conversation interspersed, from time to time, by a gaze out to the Peloponnesian Straits.  I have been on the island of Hydra, many years ago. It is a small island with a small village at the harbour. No cars are allowed. There are no roads. I was struck by the loveliness of the place so many years ago.

Hydra was a great place to look at sunsets. And have conversations. Like Cox’s Cove.