My favorite part of the day is walking the 38 steps it takes to get from the cabin to the studio. When you step outside, you get enveloped in this wall of cool fresh air. There is always a steady gust of wind and nine times out of ten you'll be splashed in the face with a misty rain. Our cabin and studio face Lake Laugarvatn, which is so big it should be catagorized as a mini ocean. There are parts of its shore where steam rises from the ground and the puddles bubble and boil from the geothermal hotspring. As a treat, some locals show visitors how to make 24hr rye bread using its heat.
While it is only in the mid 40's, the water itself, in some spots, is like a hot tub. The faint smell of sulphur occasionally wafts through the wind.
Iceland is all blues, grays, greens, golds, and dark browns. Trees are scarce but hardy when found. They'd have to be in this climate. Many grow sideways as if they were in a perpetual storm, reaching their branches desperately for something stable to hold on to. Birch and coniferous trees stand in random patches, mostly near larger towns. The evergreens have this bright green that is so vibrant it seems unnatural at times.
320,000 people live in iceland and 2/3 live in Reykjavik alone. As the entire island itself is slightly smaller than England (or the state of Iowa), that means there plenty of places to be alone. I find I like it.
It was and is an adjustment to not wake up near my family. I certainly miss making my parents laugh. That, and pancakes. I could really go for some decent fluffy pancakes right now. But being here has already been one of the greatest gifts I've given myself. It isn't a vacation. I am treating myself as a professional writer; as though I am being paid to be here and have a story that is worth telling.
Let's start at the beginning....
I arrived on a red eye at 6:45am Iceland time. Two enthusiastic thumbs up to Icelandair, by the way. I sat in the front of the plane, in an aisle seat, with no one next to me, with free digiplayer, and no screaming children. I've always enjoyed that airline. They are neither over friendly or intensely rude. And you always get a free little bottle of water when you board. Anyway.
The cab driver was this gruff, leather jacket wearing, 5 o'clock shadowed, cigarette smelling icelandic dude. When I exited customs, I searched for him carrying my sign among the other well put together drivers. Instead, I found him hunched over, lounging around drinking coffee, half asleep on a bench. "oh. You're early." He said. And he wiped his mouth with the back of his sleeve, and chucked his coffee in the garbage as we walked out.
One of the perks of a 2 hour ($247 dollar) cab ride to bumf**k Icelandic boonies is that they will stop at a grocery store on the way so you can stock up. At this point, I hadn't slept in over 24 hours but I stumbled out of the cab as the driver said "20 minutes. I be back" and drove off with my luggage. In the fuzziness of my brain I remember, "this would never happen in NY."
Luckily I had planned ahead and brought a lot of the food essentials with me. Pinterest had told me that food is so expensive since they import a lot of it (i.e. a box of cereal is near $6) and me, being the planner I am, had already made a grocery list. That does not mean it was any easier. Because guess what? The packages of all the food are mostly in Icelandic. I spent a good five minutes staring at what I thought might be butter. Could be lard. Then again there was this one time in Ireland that I saw something in the shape of butter and it turned out to be ice cream so...you never know. I was so tired that I just shrugged and threw it in my basket and hoped for the best. Luckily broccoli and apples are pretty self explanatory or I would have never gotten out of there.
At checkout, the cashier greeted me in Icelandic.
I said, "Hi."
To which he responded, "Would you like a bag?"
He must have seen how grateful I looked because he then said, "Did you not think I spoke english? We all do. Most start learning it in 3rd grade but I learned most of mine from cartoons."
I paid and said, "Well I hope they were the good ones."
The cab driver pulled up as I exited the grocery store. Thank God. And it was another hour to the town of Laugarvatn where I would be staying. The drive was fascinating. Even through gritty sleep deprived eyes. The sun rose and peeked through a thick ceiling of violet clouds. There are rivers everywhere and very few highways. They drive on the right side of the road and I think in the two hour drive I counted only three stop lights. There are cliffs with waterfalls, miles and miles of lava fields, and only a smattering of farms.The lava rocks poke their black and white heads through the moss covered ground. The surface of them remind me of chocolate crinkle cookies. I've never seen a place like it. There are moments it reminds me of WA, or Scotland. But then you see something that is solely unique to here. And my favorite part, there are hundreds of Icelandic horses roaming around. Stocky short legs, beautiful manes, and clearly strong thick bodies to withstand the elements. I wished I had been able to stop the car to get closer.
I finally got to my residency at Gullkistan. It is small and cozy and peaceful. You hear the highway cars in front, but only midday. In back are tons of trails to take writing breaks on and get some exercise. Today the clouds are so low though, that it feels like we are almost sitting in them. There are three artists here with me. Three painters. Dennis from Hong Kong/Korea, Molly from Iowa, and Victoria from San Francisco. We have two people arriving from the Phillipines later on today. The painters are quiet introverts but are very kind and respectful and clean. Though we create in the same room, we say maybe ten words to each other. Each of us in our own worlds.
On Thursday, a small construction work crew showed up and used a tractor to start digging near our generator. Of course they accidentally cut the wires to our phone and internet. This is our ONLY form of communication to the outside world as the owners of the Centre (Alda and Kristveig) live in a town 25 minutes away. After a few hours, and being the only ballsy person in the group, I shoved on my uggs (still wearing my sweats and hair looking an absolute fright) and walked down to the construction crew.
"Excuse me. By any chance did you cut any wi--"
"Few hours."
"What?"
"We fix. Few hours."
"Oh. Thank you."
At 5pm, we look outside and the crew had clocked out and gone home. No fix. So, the four of us decided that Friday would be an excellent day to get away. Victoria had said that it was one of the only days there would be no rain so at dawn, we would venture out. Old school. Maps in hand, no google, no GPS. The residency has one single beat up car that we are allowed to take out for $80 a day. Most of the places we wanted to see were along the highway. No prob. This was going to be fine. Great.
And it was.
Our first stop was Gullfoss, one of Iceland's largest waterfalls. Because the island has started to become so touristy, we wanted to beat the buses. It was the best idea we ever had. The sun cut through the clouds, shining down beams of light onto the cliffs and water. It was like spotlights from God. I could not have asked for better. But it was colder than a mother effer. Sidenote: thank you Costco for the softest most useful thermo pants for $9.99. I will take them everywhere from now on.
The pathway to get near the waterfall was steep and slippery but so worth it. The deafening sound of just crashing water made me laugh out loud. No planes, trains, automobiles. Just the natural roar of water over rock. Loved it.
Next stop was Geyser. This is on the side of a mountain where there are hot springs everywhere and two geysirs. Strokkur blows every 5-10 minutes. Steam releases constantly from murky greenish craters and a sign reads "careful. water is 80-100 degrees Celsius." CELSIUS. That's mad crazy hot, people. We climbed up half the mountain, watched the sucker blow, then piled in the car again.
Next was the volcanic Kerid crater. This is the moment when you realize how overly protective Americans have become or how nonchalant Icelanders are about safety. You pay 4 krona and get to walk the top edge and down into the crater. The only thing that really stops you from biffing it and falling to your doom is personal balance and the occasional rope and post. I am truly grateful I had trained for the half marathon last week, otherwise I would have sat down and moved in. It was a lot of walking. Uphill. Blugh.
We made a stop off at a town called Selfoss to grab lunch at a cafe and send some emails from the public library. Then decided it was a good idea to drive an hour to try and find the black sand beaches. As we got closer, the wind had picked up so much that the car began to be pushed around the highway. Thank God we waited to do this last because...
In our drive we noticed a bunch of cars pulled over to the side of the highway and people walking towards the sea. There were no signs to tell us what it was all about. The water didn't look THAT far away so we thought, let's see about it. We later discovered this was Solheimasandur. In 1973, a US navy plane ran out of fuel and crash landed on the black sand beaches, the wreck is still there. What we didn't know is that most people take ATVs to get there. We, like the lemmings we are, followed the small amount of people and began walking. It is 3.5 miles to the shore. And 3.5 miles back. In sand. And the wind is so strong that you are walking sideways, pushing against it so it doesn't blow you over. Then the drizzle happens and because the wind is so powerful, it is like tiny pin pricks on your face. For two hours we fought there and back. But when we got there, because of the crappy weather, there weren't the mass amount of tourists and just as we found the plane, a bright rainbow formed. I couldn't have asked for a better photographic miracle. It was phenomenal.
The walk back....not so much. We were cold, tired, hungry and praying to baby jeebus that we had internet when we got back. (which we did.) But the entire day I kept thinking, this is it. This is where the novel takes place.
So I have spent the past few days switching the entire piece over. And its going to work perfectly as a setting.
With all this positivity, you must think, I am so jealous. I wish I could flit around Iceland and write crappy flowery descriptions about nature. But also remember who you are talking to. Being alone is nice because you dont have to fight people, put on a show, worry about being liked, or play nice. There is no confrontation with outside forces. But also know that that means you have to deal with yourself. It gives you time to think. A not always healthy or useful thing in my case. I'd say most of the time I am perfectly content. But I have troubles falling asleep. It's jetlag, sure. But it's also the time, in the absolute quiet of the night, that I begin to worry and attack my own insecurities. What will you do next? Where will you live? What if you go back to the way you were before? What if you hate your life? What if your book is bad? Oh God your book IS bad. You can't write for shit! You are shit. What are you doing?? You are going to be an alone 50 year old waitress working at a diner, telling people you are "a writer and performer" who is working on the next thing that will once again go nowhere and you cant get a cat because you are allergic so there goes being the cat lady and you cant get a dog because you cant even afford yourself and who would do that to a poor animal and you'll never pay your parents back and you are a big fat failure!!!!
...i mean...what?
And then you calm yourself down. You do a few yoga sun salutations. You have faith in that voice that is telling you what feels right (be it the voice of God or your own intuition). And then you say, "just write the damn thing, Stacy Lynn." You don't have to be all things. Your only job is to live authentically, kindly, and to do your best. It is enough. It is well.
And don't waste what is in front of you by dwelling on what is inside your head.
Take the 38 steps from cabin to studio. Sit down. and write.
The rest will work itself out.
