These past few weeks have brought an influx of blog readers to verify the accuracy of my reportings here, and bring me Things From The States. It's been somewhat stressful, since I always hope that Iceland will show off its best, but in true Iceland fashion, it does what it pleases. Two weekends ago, we did manage to see a smidgen of norðurljós in spite of the cloudy day, but last week it was like I controlled the earth, the sea, and the elements, providing two days of perfect weather for my next tour group. On Thursday, I met with four guys who were on their way back from a European tour-of-male-bonding, and together with K we went for a lobster dinner in Stokkseyri. This restaurant is exactly the kind of restaurant you'd want to eat lobster at- the menu consists basically of lobster in three sizes, lobster soup, and wine that goes with it. They know what they do best and they stick to it.
The restaurant is right on the edge of the sea by the south coast, and we arrived just as the last tinges of evening peach were fading from the sky. Good northern lights sighting ahead. After a truly decadent dinner involving wine and their famous meringue cake, we piled back into the cars and drove back along the coast. K pulled off at a beach entry in the darkest part of the road, and we all stumbled down to the dark beach (black sand plus a moonless night makes for challenging walking).
Even though I have lived here for a year, I cannot fail to be absolutely speechless when in a moment like that. On a black sand beach with the Arctic surf crashing below us, and above, the millions of stars glowed clear, washed in undulating green to the north. No cars, no other people, no sounds beyond the waves, and a crisply frigid wind to remind you that you are on the edge of the Arctic Circle, and all this only 45 minutes from home. I live here for those reasons.
The next day I played hooky from work and did the usual tourist trip of Þingvellir, Geysir, Gullfoss. I've done this now in sun and fog, snow and summer, and it is still exhilarating to see. In spite of its touristy nature there really is something to be said for these sights, and I love being there when people see it for the first time. As with the day before, the weather was absolutely perfect, and I am sure that memories of the gorgeous weather will sustain me through the winter. Having visitors come to explore with again reminds me of what is great about this place, and I always end renewed, refreshed, and loving Iceland again.
Ship sighting: Speaking of being on tour, I am typing this in the airport, as I am once again going to Holland. I will be missing a tanker-intensive day, as this one and another arrive today. I'll probably be taking the train through Rotterdam today, but the trains don't go anywhere near the legendary harbor. Better luck some other trip.
26 September 2006
19 September 2006
on Campus
These past few weeks I've sort of felt like I'm back in college. Something about the scale of life here, and the variety and mixing of activities in my life has set me back five years to dining halls and student centers. I realized this last week as I was walking from rehearsal to beers with friends downtown, the Bach trills still ringing in my ears. We met at the Alþjóðahús, the international house, where laptops sprouted from half-a-dozen tables, and across the corridor a tango class gyrated silently behind the large glass window. Even though people of all ages meet here, the international scene, the frequently discounted beers, and the cultural-sharing vibe makes it feel student center-y, especially on a blustery damp evening.
The autumn leaves are falling fast here, and piling up in scuff-able corner heaps. The air is crisp, backpack-bearing teenagers crawl the sidewalks in my university neighborhood, and kids on bikes whizz by in the mornings, scarves a-flying.
When I was in college, I also used to give tours to prospective parents and students, and the tour-guiding has continued here in similar vein. The tours are always part history, part things I like best, part daily life, and leaves me with a new appreciation for the place I am showing off. Plus, on an almost daily basis now, I run into some visitor or other, and I glow with secret glee at being on The Other Side. Those hippy-backpackers buying bread in the bakery this morning had no idea that I was also from their country, with my stealth-cloak of Icelandic scone-buying skills.
The scones also make me think of university. My friend A had a thing for the cinnamon scones from Au Bon Pain near my school, and I remember many a pharmacy run that resulted in a detour to fulfill her scone needs. It's now my favorite thing to buy at my local bakery- fluffy and richly speckled with cinnamon deposits (A, you have NO idea what a scone can taste like until you've had one of these).
Downtown even has this feeling of being a university town, with all the cafes and shops, the funny old buildings, and the pond in the center, and going the few short blocks to the pool even feels like a campus sports center. Even the variety of people I hang out with perpetuate this feeling. My first year in college I lived on a hallway with people from all over the world, so having friends from Guatemala, Norway, Holland, Germany, and Iceland living so close by in this little town fits perfectly. I even have lunch in a dining hall every day, and since I live with a friend now, the occasional evening discussions, the help with hairdos, and nail-painting procrastination even feels like the fun parts of dorm living.
So many people talk wistfully about the college days as being the best time in their life, but I've discovered that you can have the best parts of that life in other places, and that it's actually more fun the second time around.
Ship sighting: I spent all weekend in town so I took a few pictures down at the water, like this Portugese fishing boat (again, verry friendly crew) and the peaceful sunset on Saturday evening.
*Note that I have discovered the mapping component of Flickr- many photos now have location data!
The autumn leaves are falling fast here, and piling up in scuff-able corner heaps. The air is crisp, backpack-bearing teenagers crawl the sidewalks in my university neighborhood, and kids on bikes whizz by in the mornings, scarves a-flying.
When I was in college, I also used to give tours to prospective parents and students, and the tour-guiding has continued here in similar vein. The tours are always part history, part things I like best, part daily life, and leaves me with a new appreciation for the place I am showing off. Plus, on an almost daily basis now, I run into some visitor or other, and I glow with secret glee at being on The Other Side. Those hippy-backpackers buying bread in the bakery this morning had no idea that I was also from their country, with my stealth-cloak of Icelandic scone-buying skills.
The scones also make me think of university. My friend A had a thing for the cinnamon scones from Au Bon Pain near my school, and I remember many a pharmacy run that resulted in a detour to fulfill her scone needs. It's now my favorite thing to buy at my local bakery- fluffy and richly speckled with cinnamon deposits (A, you have NO idea what a scone can taste like until you've had one of these).
Downtown even has this feeling of being a university town, with all the cafes and shops, the funny old buildings, and the pond in the center, and going the few short blocks to the pool even feels like a campus sports center. Even the variety of people I hang out with perpetuate this feeling. My first year in college I lived on a hallway with people from all over the world, so having friends from Guatemala, Norway, Holland, Germany, and Iceland living so close by in this little town fits perfectly. I even have lunch in a dining hall every day, and since I live with a friend now, the occasional evening discussions, the help with hairdos, and nail-painting procrastination even feels like the fun parts of dorm living.
So many people talk wistfully about the college days as being the best time in their life, but I've discovered that you can have the best parts of that life in other places, and that it's actually more fun the second time around.
Ship sighting: I spent all weekend in town so I took a few pictures down at the water, like this Portugese fishing boat (again, verry friendly crew) and the peaceful sunset on Saturday evening.
*Note that I have discovered the mapping component of Flickr- many photos now have location data!
14 September 2006
Boots, bluster, Beethoven
Autumn has definitely arrived in Iceland since I returned from Holland, which means pulling on the boots, bracing into the wind, and restarting the extracurricular activities after summer vacation. This time of year always makes me want to listen to classical music, perhaps as a nod to those early days back at school when we got all the new music we’d sing in chorus at the end-of-semester concert. I’ve channeled that now with an iTunes playlist of Beethoven piano sonatas, their pared-down simplicity a fitting soundtrack for the low clouds and swirling leaves outside my kitchen window.
Choir has started too, and with it more classical music. We’re singing a Bach cantata now, full of those signature eighth-note runs that seem impossibly complicated the first time you see them. After a few run-throughs though, the momentum of them and the vocal memory takes over and they roll like rustling leaves from my lips. They remind me of living here in so many ways, the effort and preparation when you turn the page to see this six-measure phrase, the thrill that ensues after nailing all the dotted quarter notes and all the tones perfectly, the inability to gloat in your success as the next onslaught of notes arrives. I’m always scrambling slightly to keep up musically, culturally, and linguistically here, but it is all so engrossing that I easily forget all the bad stuff when all the moving parts synthesize in a perfectly crafted moment. It’s not specifically about living here though, but just about trying to build a life that keeps you happy and interested. It sometimes does seem easier to find those minutes when you’re sitting on the edge of a massive, unpopulated, and silent fjord though.
Ever since I got back, the wind has also been blustery in what I am told is signature autumnal weather. It hasn’t been cold though, so this wind is rather invigorating when outside, and makes me happy be in a cozy warm bed as it roars against the windowpanes at night. I’ve discovered the Ultimate Icelandic dresscode for this weather too, involving some sturdy-yet-stylish fleece-lined boots and a generously-sized scarf (assemble the rest between, whether it is a skirt or jeans rolled up to show off the sassy buckles at the top of the boots). All this time I thought everyone was swooping artistically with the scarves when it really is about practicality. A scarf like this can protect from the quick spurt of drizzle, gives you something to bury your nose in when it’s really cold, and when inside it can cut the slightest of chills admirably. Plus, it’s fun to wear when the wind throws the fringe around when you walk down the street.
Ship sighting: Today is a massive influx-exodus of all kinds of curiously-named cargo ships. They are not all for containers though, like this Irish-registered dry-cargo ship, the Arklow Wind. More photos of its controls and such are here too.
Choir has started too, and with it more classical music. We’re singing a Bach cantata now, full of those signature eighth-note runs that seem impossibly complicated the first time you see them. After a few run-throughs though, the momentum of them and the vocal memory takes over and they roll like rustling leaves from my lips. They remind me of living here in so many ways, the effort and preparation when you turn the page to see this six-measure phrase, the thrill that ensues after nailing all the dotted quarter notes and all the tones perfectly, the inability to gloat in your success as the next onslaught of notes arrives. I’m always scrambling slightly to keep up musically, culturally, and linguistically here, but it is all so engrossing that I easily forget all the bad stuff when all the moving parts synthesize in a perfectly crafted moment. It’s not specifically about living here though, but just about trying to build a life that keeps you happy and interested. It sometimes does seem easier to find those minutes when you’re sitting on the edge of a massive, unpopulated, and silent fjord though.
Ever since I got back, the wind has also been blustery in what I am told is signature autumnal weather. It hasn’t been cold though, so this wind is rather invigorating when outside, and makes me happy be in a cozy warm bed as it roars against the windowpanes at night. I’ve discovered the Ultimate Icelandic dresscode for this weather too, involving some sturdy-yet-stylish fleece-lined boots and a generously-sized scarf (assemble the rest between, whether it is a skirt or jeans rolled up to show off the sassy buckles at the top of the boots). All this time I thought everyone was swooping artistically with the scarves when it really is about practicality. A scarf like this can protect from the quick spurt of drizzle, gives you something to bury your nose in when it’s really cold, and when inside it can cut the slightest of chills admirably. Plus, it’s fun to wear when the wind throws the fringe around when you walk down the street.
Ship sighting: Today is a massive influx-exodus of all kinds of curiously-named cargo ships. They are not all for containers though, like this Irish-registered dry-cargo ship, the Arklow Wind. More photos of its controls and such are here too.
13 September 2006
being American
This morning I went for an early swim, and as I turned my face to the sub-arctic early-morning sun on alternating breaths, I thought about yesterday and all the international press about September 11th. I'm still an American, although having been away for more than a year, it's become both a more abstract identity but at the same time all the more clear that it is definitely who I am.
I followed the stripe along the bottom of the pool and thought about my weekend, and several discussions I had about nationalities. For example, I had lunch with a Norwegian friend on Saturday, who said that she'd felt my American-ness from when we first met a year ago. I'd invited her and a few others (also Norwegian) to a party at my house, and while they accepted gladly, they were also bemused by this quick invitation. Apparently this kind of timeline is unheard-of where she is from. We also talked about what you do when sitting next to someone on a plane. Unless they are a frighteningly large Polish guy that has no sense of personal space and speaks no English (this is not a fabricated seatmate, unfortunately) I will usually make an attempt at conversation. Makes the flight go by quicker and does sometimes result in a new friend (I met my friend H that way a few months ago). Apparently this is Not Done in Norway unless under very unusual circumstances. This opinion was corroborated by an Icelander as well. Am I really that American and open or is something else at work here?
I do attribute my outgoing attitude somewhat to being in a new place and having to build a new community from the ground up. You gotta get outside yourself in general in order to make headway, especially here in the north. It's funny though, since I am the only American many people here know personally, I also find myself explaining the regional differences in the definition of barbecue, the virtues of salty movie popcorn, and the linguistic brilliance of "all y'all". I'm so accustomed to the Icelandic accent in English that whenever an Icelander does their best impression of my accent, it's kind of shocking to hear the fat-sounding a's, the prickly t's that I realize I myself say.
So by now I have concluded I am undeniably American and probably always will be, and it's likely to not matter how long I live away or how many other languages I acquire. When I started travelling abroad in college, I did my best to conceal it, secretly gleeful when someone mistook me for Dutch or German. It's obviously easier when not speaking English, but now I relish the reveal moment when someone who thought all Americans were monolingual redneck Bush lovers has to reconsider. Perhaps I have just been fortunate to have not experienced any blatant anti-American sentiment, and my optimism can be preserved.
I am planning a trip back in October and I am very curious to see how my acceptance of being American changes when I am faced with the gritty reality of the massive country and its less-than-welcoming passport control agents in Boston. I suspect that American-ness is best experienced from a slight distance.
Ship sighting: A full harbor this evening, with many of the ships I have seen in dry dock over the past few months in the quiet harbor. The whaling ship is tied up again with its brother ships (I imagine these boats to be male, not female somehow) and Eldborg and Atlas, and an unfamiliar dredger at a side dock.
I followed the stripe along the bottom of the pool and thought about my weekend, and several discussions I had about nationalities. For example, I had lunch with a Norwegian friend on Saturday, who said that she'd felt my American-ness from when we first met a year ago. I'd invited her and a few others (also Norwegian) to a party at my house, and while they accepted gladly, they were also bemused by this quick invitation. Apparently this kind of timeline is unheard-of where she is from. We also talked about what you do when sitting next to someone on a plane. Unless they are a frighteningly large Polish guy that has no sense of personal space and speaks no English (this is not a fabricated seatmate, unfortunately) I will usually make an attempt at conversation. Makes the flight go by quicker and does sometimes result in a new friend (I met my friend H that way a few months ago). Apparently this is Not Done in Norway unless under very unusual circumstances. This opinion was corroborated by an Icelander as well. Am I really that American and open or is something else at work here?
I do attribute my outgoing attitude somewhat to being in a new place and having to build a new community from the ground up. You gotta get outside yourself in general in order to make headway, especially here in the north. It's funny though, since I am the only American many people here know personally, I also find myself explaining the regional differences in the definition of barbecue, the virtues of salty movie popcorn, and the linguistic brilliance of "all y'all". I'm so accustomed to the Icelandic accent in English that whenever an Icelander does their best impression of my accent, it's kind of shocking to hear the fat-sounding a's, the prickly t's that I realize I myself say.
So by now I have concluded I am undeniably American and probably always will be, and it's likely to not matter how long I live away or how many other languages I acquire. When I started travelling abroad in college, I did my best to conceal it, secretly gleeful when someone mistook me for Dutch or German. It's obviously easier when not speaking English, but now I relish the reveal moment when someone who thought all Americans were monolingual redneck Bush lovers has to reconsider. Perhaps I have just been fortunate to have not experienced any blatant anti-American sentiment, and my optimism can be preserved.
I am planning a trip back in October and I am very curious to see how my acceptance of being American changes when I am faced with the gritty reality of the massive country and its less-than-welcoming passport control agents in Boston. I suspect that American-ness is best experienced from a slight distance.
Ship sighting: A full harbor this evening, with many of the ships I have seen in dry dock over the past few months in the quiet harbor. The whaling ship is tied up again with its brother ships (I imagine these boats to be male, not female somehow) and Eldborg and Atlas, and an unfamiliar dredger at a side dock.
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