time warp

This morning I woke up in my new place for the first time, and since I hadn't seen the view yet (all my previous visits had been after dark), I lingered over my strong coffee to watch the sun illuminate what lay outside the kitchen window. With the window open, I could hear the bells chiming the hour and the half up the hill at Hallgrímskirkja, and the flurry of Reykjavík starting the day. The town surrounds me where I live, and although I'm close to a busy street, the buildings in the area create a cocoon of quiet. The contour of the hill has also been kind to me, allowing a glimpse of Esja's spine and a spread of buildings off to the northeast.

Outside, Fréttablaðið tucked under my arm, I took the shortcut through the back yard and out onto the street, where I discovered that the new 'hood is full of little artisan studios and shops. I passed a window with pulled shades, the sill cluttered with paintbrushes, rags, and some slightly forgotten lemons that must have once been a still life. On the next corner, walls of yarn made the backdrop for a knitting and seamstress shop.

Later in the day, I went to what is now My Local Pool, where the vintage 30's styling charmed me the first time I saw it when I had newly arrived. I was thinking it was going to be a sad swim since the pool is uniquely indoors, but the high windows, the frightening deep end, and two empty lanes for the picking were perfect conditions for a rousing swim, and I do so love the rooftop hot-tubs with panoramic city views. On the way back to my new home along an empty street, I marveled at how I could hear the activity of the city but it all seemed to be happening somewhere else. In the midst of these 1930s-era short apartments, behind the vintage curvature of Hallgrímskirkja's apse, and in the rain-gleaming fresh darkness, it was Iceland 70 years ago, and I live in the middle of it.