'Round The Golden Circle

In bringing my week in Iceland to a close, my second last day was spent travelling around The Golden Circle, also known as Ring Road. A road well-travelled by locals and tourists, our first morning stop was Iceland greenhouse farming, and visiting the beautiful Friðheimar greenhouse, where tomatoes, cucumbers and other plants are grown with the aid of geothermal heat. As I learned, tomatoes are harvested every day of the year, despite the dark and cold winters. Iceland has 'green electricity' combined from hydro-electric and geothermal power stations. The heat is also largely from the ground, with 95 degree celsius hot water coming in from a borehole 200 metres away. Because so much sunlight is needed, their glass walls are only 4 mm thick, and therefore, 100,000 tons of hot water is used from the ground each year.


Further along the Ring Road, our next fascinating stop was the Geysir geothermal area where the Strokkur geyser shoots water up to 30 metres (98 ft.) into the air every 4-8 minutes in the middle of October-golden fields and mountains. Depending on which side of the circle you stood, you could easily get sprayed, and because of the spontaneity of the water bursting from the ground, crowds of people had their cameras poised, ready to snap away as fast as possible, followed by many cheers and laughter when the water surprised us every time, no matter how ready we were!

The tour continued with Gullfoss (Golden Falls) waterfall (pictures below), created by the river Hvítá, roaring down into a crevice some 32 m (105 ft.) deep. While I have seen Niagara Falls many times, this water fall felt more natural and wild; surrounded by Icelandic fields for miles, and autumn bushes and trees lit up in ice-covered sun glare, I witnessed a rainbow that came out only for moments, long enough for me to feel the promise of such beautiful colours.

Next we saw Thingvellir National Park, where the American and Eurasian tectonic plates are pulling apart by a few centimetres per year. This created a beautiful stone pathway involving a 20 minute walk up, and a view of surrounding Icelandic fields and lakes lit by late afternoon sun. I've been told that in the way that nature miraculously cares for itself, and to off-set the tectonic plates pulling apart a little more each year, Iceland's volcanoes (once deeply and historically feared) are what actually keeps Iceland from sinking to the bottom of the ocean. I'm not sure how, yet, but am planning to find out. Sometimes the things that seem scariest and most unpredictable in life, are the very things that come about to save us in the end.


Also, for those of you who saw my last blog post, and read about my loneliness for birds, I did see my first memorable bird today, who cheerfully greeted me as I left the greenhouse... a beautiful Icelandic chicken! :)

From here, my adventures in Scotland begin, where I am blessed to stay with my friends Kathy and Neil and their very sweet baby Chloe. Stay tuned for the sound of bag pipes and softly falling rain, where I pray the wind will always be at my back... and I will end with a beautiful Scottish saying that I hope will bless you:

It’s a lang road that’s no goat a turnin.’
Translation: Don’t lose heart in dark times, things can’t keep going in the same direction forever.


More photos of the day:

This view made me wish I could return in summer and camp.

Rainbow over Gullfoss waterfall.

Gorgeous green cliffs.

Beautiful purple outside the greenhouse.

Morning light from the outside of the greenhouse.

Seen inside the greenhouse.

Young greenhouse tomatoes, geothermally grown.

Steam rising from the ground.

Geysir bubbling and hot just before shooting out water.

Magnificent waterfall spray among dark stone and yellow cliffs.

Bright sun-lit icy view, right after rain and snow.

Waiting for birds that didn't come.

Where Have All the Birds Gone?

I miss seeing birds. I thought I would see all kinds of birds, but it seems to be the wrong season. No sparrows on the sidewalks, no black silhouettes in the trees, almost no birds anywhere. I saw one in the city the other day, and a couple while out along the seashore and lava fields. But other than that, my friendly creatures have left me quite well alone. I miss the black wings, red wings, yellow winds, blue wings, miss the eyes of the sparrows that seem to hold the world in them... I never knew how much I was used to being accompanied by birds until I longed for them here.


Nevertheless, what Iceland lacks in birds towards the end of October, it makes up for in a large, beautiful, lovely blue natural hot springs, called the Blue Lagoon. No birds, but the water was warm and steaming, relaxing and kind, with a mysterious, windy fog moving across the waters, white smooth rock to lean your arms or back, thick mud for smoothing your skin, and Icelandic landscape in the background. This hotsprings was one of the most relaxing swims I've had in a long while (though for all you sweet babies back home, don't think I wasn't missing you and wishing we were doing a Water Babies group together in the Blue Lagoon!) The air at the lagoon was icy cold, the wind was sharp and persistent, and the steamy fog rising and moving across the blue surface made it hard to see very far in front of me. As long as I was under the water, I was warm, but step out for even a minute and it felt a lot like winter! At one point it began raining--a lovely, steady, calm rain--and I wanted to hold onto that moment forever. There's something about being outside in the water in nature, while the sky gently rains over me, that brings me fully into the present moment, and makes me love this world more than anything.



The day after visiting the Blue Lagoon, I took a twelve-hour bus nature tour around the western Snaefellsnes peninsula of Iceland. We covered about 500 miles, stopping sometimes for 1 hour, sometimes for 5 minutes, and seeing everything from lava fields, to little villages on the seashore, to sheep and farms and a handful of Icelandic horses (poems coming), to beautiful rock shapes and the broken pieces of rusted iron from an old shipwreck laying scattered over a black-sand and stone beach. That was the first day I was really aware of a cold biting wind, so cold it was hard for my hands to work my camera. Our tour guide said it wasn't much compared to the winters out there. He said he used to ride a motorbike to school and back in much worse cold and wind, wearing no gloves or hat, and that fisherman going out on the waters in winter experienced the worst, dampest, windiest cold. He said when you live in Iceland you get used to it, you don't notice it the same way--maybe so, but living through the winters and fishing in freezing cold along the Atlantic sounds unbearable to me.

The weather changes constantly here. Sometimes chilly and sharp, other times mild and gentle. Along lava fields, the wind is strong because there are no trees, houses, structures, or vegetation. Everything for miles is a low layer of rough black lava rock covered in green peat moss. One might say it's barren, depressing, lonely. But the lava rock covered in fresh green moss astounds me over and over again--a continuous reminder that new birth and growth is happening over every dark patch of lava. Years and years of the earth recovering from volcanoes, and finding it's own way to grow into beauty again. Said best by poet Henry Vaughan, "here in dust and dirt, oh here! The lilies of his love appear." 


More pictures from Snaefellsnes peninsula ...



Lava fields--black rock covered in moss and grass.

Amazing ocean.

Gorgeous and moody sky.

Country church I adored.

Icelandic "prairie" fields.

Pretty red gate.

Shipwreck from years ago, and they decided to leave the metal scraps in peace.

Icelandic "Swiss" mountains.



Beauty in the Sky

Day 3 in Iceland... and I am enjoying myself and the weather immensely. Apparently it comes as a huge gift that I love the cold, windy, rainy weather. Walking the streets here, the air is clear and fresh, and I feel more alive with every breath. I know I have to leave on Sunday, but I'm falling fast in love with this place. There is something so enjoyable about the people, unique and magical about the landscape, fascinating about the culture and history. You feel like anything could happen. Or, like a friend said to me before I came to Iceland, "you'll feel like you're on the edge of the world." I couldn't agree more.

I've begun some day trips, which head outside of Reykjavic, taking us along miles and miles of lava fields and sea shore. Our tour guide shared that wherever you go in Iceland, you're almost always near the sea. For me the sea is my compass-north, always drawing me closer. First it was my longing to head to the East Coast for school, then my longing to be in Ireland for 3 months, and now my love of the sea in Iceland. The phrase "deep cries out to deep" has greatly affected me for months before coming to Iceland, and when I look at the ocean here, these words fit perfectly.

Last night, I went on an adventure of a lifetime: a Northern Lights excursion. I will never forget the magic of the evening. The tour started at 9 pm, and the buses returned us home at 1:30 in the morning. In that time, we chased the Northern Lights, not knowing where or when they would show up. We left with cloudy skies, and the forecast calling for not much northern light activity. By the time we were 40 minutes outside of Reykjavic, night surrounded our bus entirely, and we looked out rainy windows at black lava fields that went on forever into thick darkness. Soon, the skies started to clear and the stars came out, more and more, until it was a clear starry night. If you've ever been out in the middle of nowhere-countryside, with all the city lights gone, in a darkness so pitch-black you are tripping over your own feet, then you'll also know how bright the stars were when the skies completely cleared. The milky way, the small and big dippers, the bright, white handfuls of brightness everywhere, were magnificent--I was dizzy with joy. And oh, so cold.

And then after photographing the stars, and being so damply chilled that many of us were warming up on buses, someone spotted the first small ribbon of light in the sky. Hundreds of people from many different buses, all stumbled out as far as we could walk, onto tricky landscape of uneven rock and deep mossy patches, and stood shoulder to shoulder in the swallowing darkness, intently watching the sky. Soon, there were more ribbons of light, and then more, until the entire sky was lit with moving rays, forming a curtain of electromagnetic activity and light so beautiful you wanted to climb up inside it and behold the skies and heavens beyond. I was filled with awe and gratitude, and while I did not know any of the people standing in the crowd with me, I will never forget sharing that experience with them.

Call it a date with God, call it a date with the universe--whatever your faith, your language of choosing, your beliefs, or how you perceive the world, I can only say that there is a beauty and grace out there beyond our wildest human understanding, and I hope that someday again I might be lucky enough to witness even a fraction of it.




Starry night

Gorgeous ribbons of light and stars together.

Big Dipper

Beauty of the universe.
 

Deep cries out to deep.



From a seaside restaurant where we stopped for hot chocolate by candelight.

Beautiful light from a nearby village mixing together with Northern Lights.



On my way...

Day 1 of Iceland, and a close friend from back home asked me if I would post a blog. So here you go, friend.

Yesterday I was officially on my way, with a 9:00 pm flight to Iceland and enough time at the airport to watch the Blue Jays hold a winning score for the first 6 wonderful innings of the game. There is something refreshing about bonding so easily with strangers through the common ground of sports. Crowded around a restaurant bar watching a baseball game--cheering together, disappointed together. One long moment of familiarity in an airport of liminal space, where everyone is coming and going and where no one, in that moment, is anchored in a space of home.

Once on the plane, I was eager to arrive--my legs were restless to walk and I craved fresh air on my face. We flew through the first half the night, lights off and screens dim, watching movies and trying to sleep. My heart went out to the sweet blonde toddler in the seat across the aisle who was struggling to sleep. Taking turns, her mom and her dad held, rocked, bounced, and soothed her for hours, but she cried continuously and slept fitfully. On the landing, her ears hurt and she could not be consoled. I felt such empathy for the parents and baby. The love and patience of a parent is extraordinary, and this little girl was definitely loved.

It was still a starry darkness when we landed at 6:05 am Iceland time. My body wanted my bed, but my heart and mind were wide awake. As I took a bus into the city and walked around for a couple of hours in the very early morning, all was quiet and grey, slightly misty, and abandoned. Along the shore, nothing moved, and windows were dark. The city of Reykjavik was still asleep in the stillness of early morning. A black cat with white paws welcomed me and wandered beside me up a long uphill street, quickly becoming my first friend in Reykjavik. After that, it was time to explore, and of course, some afternoon time in the bookstore.

I'm feeling at home in my apartment now--unpacked and groceries in the fridge. The space is small and cozy and has everything I need--a sign of how much I'd enjoy living in a tiny house. I'll be here a week before moving on to be with friends in Scotland. Looking forward to every day here, and every opportunity for sightseeing, hiking, writing, photography, and time alone and with friends. The weather is fresh, chilly, and rainy--it wakes me up and I can't get enough. Stay tuned for more posts and photographs every couple of days, and thanks for following along.




Street my apartment is on.

Reykjavik Harbour waking up, about 7 am.



Cat who befriended me and wandered beside me up a long street.



Sun rising, and I was so hungry for breakfast.



My little studio apartment. So cozy and bright.



I could definitely live in a tiny house, because this little one-room place is perfect.



Apartment includes kitchenette, bedroom, and private bath.



Planning to write some new poems while I'm here.