What makes a place home?

Last Monday morning Johann went to work and I began my first week in Reykjavik. It was quiet in the house, and I faced five days on my own. Free time. I recognise my privilege, knowing that so many of my friends are perpetually busy and working, that five days in a new city with no agenda is a dream.

And yet, it felt like an uphill journey from where I sat. Because when I unpick ‘no agenda’ it turns out there is quite a pressing one: make this place home. Make friends. Find a job that will fulfill me, or at least not make me completely miserable, for a year. While on the surface, I could wake up and do exactly what I feel – stay in bed longer, have a coffee and read some blogs, whatever – it turned out this big agenda, this rather imposing to do list kept intruding. And me without a road map of how to achieve any of it.

For once my overactive mind had some positive effect, because the fear of failing dragged me out of the door in sheer desperation to be doing something proactive that might lead to success. This push led to some heartening encounters.

So it was that I came to Hlutverkasetur. Our landlady told me about a place that anyone could go to and do activities for free, from drawing to singing to knitting to just being there.  Their website describes their intended service users as ‘individuals that have lost important roles for various reasons’, and it is intended that they ‘gain or find valuable roles again by staying active’. I think this is a beautifully inclusive way to describe the need and the solution. The majority of users have a history of mental health problems, others may be unemployed. Our landlady stressed that this was not exclusive, that anyone would be welcomed.

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Art room at Hlutverkasetur

So, I turned up on Wednesday morning hoping to join a yoga class. After assuring the ladies at the door that I wasn’t looking for the language lessons downstairs and I had actually intended to be at Hlutverkasetur, I was welcomed in and shown round. Our Instagram followers have had a digested version of what happened next – sorry to repeat myself! The yoga teacher, who hadn’t had any participants for a few days, hadn’t come in that day. I was asked if I knew anything about yoga. I admitted with trepidation that I did know a little bit. Problem solved, they said, if Anna’s not in, you’re the yoga teacher!

This was not what I had in mind when I convinced myself to get out of the house and go and try a yoga class. I was feeling nervous, alone and worrying about not understanding Icelandic – not finding the building on time – any number of vague misgivings. The last thing I expected to do was waltz in to an unknown place with unknown people and teach yoga. And thankfully, this prospect did not come to pass. I was saved by the rather dubious alternative: I could instead join the sea swimming outing.

Just to be clear, this is Iceland in April. Spring is something I experience vicariously through the Instagram accounts of people in other places. On the day in question, snow partially covered the sand on Nauthólsvík. The water was estimated to be a balmy 2 degrees. I had seen sea swimming on the activity timetable beforehand and thought, no way. But, in the moment, with the kind staff offering to drive past my flat on the way to pick up my swimming stuff, and promising that I could just stay in the hot tub if I wanted, I decided to go with the flow. Sea swimming it was.

It was quite glorious. A long soak in the hot pot which, contrary to the usual small circular ones in swimming pools, was a long, narrow trough at the top of the beach. Lined with hardy sun and sea worshipers, with unlikely tans from their every day swims all year round. A hubbub of Icelandic language which I listened to intently at first, but couldn’t hold the threads for long and drifted off into my own world, watching sea and sky. There were five of us from Hlutverkasetur, some more intrepid than others when we heaved ourselves out of the warm comfort and made a break for the sea. There’s a small, protected area of water at Nauthólsvík, geothermally heated in summer but sadly not in winter when most needed. I broke my cool and ran down the beach, arms flailing, squealing into the water. Shockingly cold, I waded as deep as my knees, whole body working to deal with the signal my lower legs were sending to the brain, roughly: ‘get out get out get out’. But it was exhilarating. I lasted less than a minute before speeding up to the hot pot once more, and steeping with relief in the heat. Then the steambath, scalding hot, one seasoned sea swimmer spraying lavender essential oil so the steam lost its sweat smell and became an aromatic cloud.

Afterwards, walking to the car, my companions asked ‘do you feel good?’, and it’s true, I did feel extremely good. Alive; brave. I tried to remember the feeling the rest of the week when my desire to stay in my little bubble was strong. The reward for leaving it is bigger.

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Jói in our room, after some dweeb did all the washing when there was no space on the drying line.

With that spirit, I applied for jobs. I will not jinx it by talking about it, but I have an interview this afternoon for one I would really like. I went back to Hlutverkasetur and did some drawing in the craft room. I roamed my new neighbourhood, walking for hours, delighting in finding botanical gardens so close. I went to draw my local farmers market and talk to the staff, rather than research something online and write from the comfort of my room. That in particular had great results, for I wrote that I’d like to visit geothermally heated greenhouses, and then next day had a lovely message from a person with a homestead growing tomatoes and keeping chickens and bees outside Reykjavik, and an invitation to visit this summer.

I will try to remember that old adage that you only regret what you don’t try. In particular, I try to keep in mind that whenever I reach out, through drawing out in the world, I make connections that are wonderful. It’s always happened that way. I find that people are happy to talk about what they love: that drawing opens a dialogue. After a week I feel like I’ve found my road map, and what I need to do is simple. Get out. Try things. Approach people and places earnestly. It takes effort and is not without worry, but connections are made, small ones, slowly, and that web is what makes a place a home.

PS. I’d love to hear from any readers, whether you’re a nomad or you’ve lived in the same place for decades – what makes where you live into your ‘home’?

PPS. If you’re reading this in the hope of practical, Iceland visiting information, fear not! Here it is, better late than never…right?

Nauthólsvík is open in winter the following hours:
Mondays 11:00 to 14:00 and 17:00 to 8:00 p.m.
Wednesdays 11:00 to 14:00 and 17:00 to 8:00 p.m.
Fridays 11:00 to 14:00
Saturdays 11:00 to 16:00
In the summer it’s open every day from 10:00 to 19:00 GMT.
Summer time is from May 15 to August 15.

In winter it costs 600 kronur I believe, in summer it’s free. The beach itself is always free and open for a walk, the opening times apply to the changing rooms, showers and hot pot.

Hlutverkasetur is at Borgatuni 1, above the language school, entrance by the sea side. The weekly timetable is posted on their facebook page.

 

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