Unexpectedly Iceland

The possibility of a trip to Iceland appeared in my inbox out of the blue. A few minutes later, I was already texting Jane back, mid-evening-walk. I had very little practical knowledge about Iceland then, though I had seen a lot of photos from people who had been there. It wasn’t anywhere on my current travel list, but it had been when I studied in Germany for a year in college. So Iceland was a wildcard, but not completely unknown.

(Okay, practically everywhere was on my list that year, when budget airlines and high-speed trains, not to mention open borders, made anything seem possible. The big destinations I missed out on during study abroad—not that I’m complaining—were Morocco, Turkey, Scotland, and Scandinavia, including Iceland. I also failed to see large parts of Germany, which I regret more. Hamburg and Bremen and the North Sea and Dresden and the castles on the Rhein; I barely even saw the Schwarzwald, the Black Forest, which surrounds the city I lived in.)

At that point, late May, our big plans for the rest of the year were nil: Cooper and I had, yet again, ruled out the possibility of a trip to Italy and Germany. Too expensive, too ambitious, and Cooper now had conflicting obligations for September. We weren’t sure what we should do instead. Jane, who’s been friends with Cooper since middle school, was preparing to move from Atlanta to Minneapolis with her husband Ed. I was preparing to invite myself to Minneapolis, hopefully en route to Lake Superior’s North Shore and a road trip home through a more northern Ontario than I’d previously encountered (another harebrained idea I wasn’t sure we could pull off in the time we had). Jane wrote back that they were thinking of Sweden, Denmark, or Iceland for a vacation before her job started, since she had never been to Europe and flights weren’t too bad from MSP. Did we want to come?

Staying away from mainland Europe quelled my instinct for extended, multi-country trips. The flight to Iceland from Detroit was cheaper than any other European destinations for the summer. Plus, it’s a small country. Michigan is almost two and a half times bigger in area, and Detroit has far more people than Iceland does. We thought it would be manageable, and rewarding, since it’s bursting at the seams with beautiful and unusual scenery. How often do two of your closest friends offer to meet you in Iceland? Of course we wanted to tag along!

iceland south coast

I looked into costs, plane tickets and car rentals and accommodations. We panicked, a little, since by this point Cooper and I were expecting more of a drive-your-own-car trip, not a journey to a much more expensive continent (okay, technically, tectonically, Iceland is on both the North American and European plates). I worried it meant we wouldn’t be able to afford Europe proper next year.

I clicked through slideshows of the top Icelandic sights and got overwhelmed by how much there was to see, all over the country. I narrowed in on southwest Iceland and still found more than we could do in six days. I definitely wanted to go. A week after Jane first mentioned it, Cooper and I bought tickets for $860 each, to fly to Keflavík International Airport via Minneapolis. Emma, my oldest and most adventurous friend, decided to meet us there too, on her way home from Ukraine. So we rented a two-bedroom apartment, plus sofa bed, in Reykjavík, and a little automatic car. Cooper and I traveled around the Great Lakes region, worked, read about Iceland (mostly me), bought hiking boots (Cooper) and a rain jacket (me), and waited for July 30th.

Absolutely, 100% Worth It

I love Iceland. I expected and hoped to enjoy the trip, of course, and I knew the company would be great no matter what. But there’s a lot of hype about Iceland—everyone seems to return enchanted—and I wasn’t sure if it could be as good as people say.

But for us, it really was. Continue reading “Unexpectedly Iceland”

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Here, Saturday

The wind is strong, the air is silver. Or is it grey? The sky is grey, in that bright, impenetrable, there-is-no-more-sky-only-blankness way, but the wind jostles the trees and comes in to swirl in my clean apartment, and I think the air is silver because it feels like such a gift to feel the season start to turn like this, to hold this day in the palm of my hand, to hug my world to myself, a new world after all the sun and heat I’m now accustomed to.

It’s September now. There’s time for burrowing into the couch, or spreading my limbs as I lie on the carpet. A dark morning asks for lit candles on my desk, and I oblige. I know that lighting a different mood can make for magic sometimes; it could trick me into writing.

I look forward to hot evening baths on winter nights. I’ve tidied the apartment day after day because I want to welcome friends in whenever I can, and to feel the peace of this refuge every evening. I still dream of road trips, of lakeshores and bare feet, but also of fiery trees and warm scarves. My wanderlust will not be sated, but now that things are different, I’m trying to hone in on home, on here, instead of my focus always flitting around with all the different theres.

Up North Rituals

manistee-bluff-2015The first thing we always do when we arrive is run down to the beach, or up to the bluff, to say hello again to our friend the lake—whichever Great Lake it may be. It was true when I was a kid, up north with my cousins. We’d get to our condo or cottage for the week and immediately ditch the grownups, drop that first bag of the many provisions we were supposed to be unloading from our caravan, and run down the path or over the grass and into the sand, to see our long-lost friend, Lake Huron.

When Cooper and I get to a beach, we usually kick off our shoes and walk up to the shoreline where the waves lap up and the sand is wet and firm. If it’s not swimming weather, we’d still like to get our feet wet. Even in winter, we want to dip our fingers in and commune with these giant bodies of water, which surround the land we live on from so many sides.

Of course, wherever you vacation, you usually want to take stock of your new holdings on arrival, however temporary their tenure as your home may be. You want to claim the best bedroom, perhaps, but more importantly, seeing the lay of the land helps you stake a claim on your vacation, and bring it from the realm of anticipation to reality. Your vacation may begin when you pull out of your driveway at home or your plane leaves the runway—suddenly, predictably, and yet improbably airborne. You get a step closer to vacation when you leave the interstate, or land at the distant airport. Another step closer with that first glimpse of lake through the trees, or foreign signs everywhere, or crossing city limits. You come off the numbered smaller highway and onto country roads with periodic mailboxes and gravel driveways tunneling into the trees, tall and impressive although they aren’t as old as we’d like to dream.

But I’m not really there until I’m face to face, as it were, with the lake. Then, vacation has arrived.

It makes me so happy that Cooper shares these customs with me, this friendliness with our lakes (and admiration for the sea, when we find ourselves on ocean beaches). I don’t know if anyone taught me to feel this way toward the land and water, or if I came upon it instinctively. Not every Michigander acts like me. But Cooper, who comes from a different family, is so similar in this.

In a way they are low-key deities to us, our nature gods to whom we delight in paying homage.

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A beach at the Nordhouse Dunes Wilderness area, near Ludington and Manistee.