Seeking patience and the whole truth

So, living in Iceland, four months in. A watched pot never boils. Waiting to feel settled and at ease feels like waiting for your hair to grow, tugging expectantly at the ends everyday: for a long time, things don’t seem to change at all. Then sometime later you look up into a mirror, brushing your teeth, scrambling to be ready in time for whatever it is next: and notice that your hair has somehow shot past your shoulders and reaches down your back. Wasn’t it just yesterday barely long enough to tie back? So it is, here.

At first I had acres of time to fill up, with wandering and drawing and writing and thinking. Nowhere particular to be; no threads. My feet didn’t know my way home. Still a stranger in a strange land. I was on the outside looking in to this city with so much going on. Yet I was so eager to build a life here, I wanted everything at once: friends, a job, a favourite caf茅, the whole tapestry. But I have had to weather my haste.

It took four weeks to find a place to live in the city. It took six weeks to find my job. Oh it sounds so little time now, in retrospect! But days stretched with uncertainty, with ‘maybe I’ll never make friends’, with ‘what if I can’t find a job’, with the creeping underlying worst doubt of all ‘maybe I’m too old, too sad and too tired to start from scratch’. Over the top, but there you go. That’s worrying for you.

A treat when delivering things from one cafe to the other branch

Then, after two months, I found I had enough threads to begin to weave together. I go to wonderful, challenging, nurturing yoga classes three times a week (which started as a perfect birthday present from J贸hann). I navigate the city enough to get where I need to go without checking my phone every thirty seconds. I go to work, I stumble over the same Icelandic phrases everyday, I know the recipes by heart and the quirks of the equipment: the sieve that leaks from the handle at a certain angle, food processor with lid that needs a little help to close. I know where tea and skyr and pesto are in the supermarket. I rack up library fines like always (bad habits don’t get left at the airport, unfortunately). I sleepwalk through the changing rooms at the swimming pool and am in my favourite hot pot before I know it. These routines, the paths I tread everyday grow like a cocoon around me. I am home, now.

And it seems that when I got busy working full-time, and going to yoga after work, and taking a trip out of the city at weekends to see nature, and so on, I stopped thinking so much about whether I would ever feel at home. And I just did.

On the road to Akranes

Acceptance of what is. Patience. Letting go of worrying. Lessons I learn and forget over and over again. Sometimes I rage at myself for making the same mistakes repeatedly, but my wise one reminded me once that when I learned to ride a bike, I most likely fell a lot of times. So every time I fall I get back on the saddle and one day, without even noticing it, I will just keep on going.
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In a perfect example of the tyranny of perfection, I wrote this post six weeks ago aiming to post it as a four months on review. But I thought I needed a drawing to go with it and I never got around to doing one, so the words were left by the wayside. I think that I will try and take my own advice: I will accept that to keep this blog going, I cannot wait around for the time and inclination to write the best words and make the best pictures I can. Because the expectations I have of myself get bigger and bigger in the meantime and then I can never meet them, and so another project is left in the dust.

So I return to this post. What I wrote for four months stays true for six months. I will add a little more. I have my moments of wailing ‘I want to go home!’ but more often than not I find my heartbeat slowed, and a calm feeling of familiarity here. I start to feel fond of Reykjavik. Fond; it feels almost like a sense of nostalgia for something that is still in existence. Perhaps in my heart I anticipate that I will leave in the not too far future, so I guard myself from a fatal head-over-heels tumble for the city. I feel affection for Reykjavik, not the zealous crush of a tourist, not love at first sight, but an amicable balance. I rather enjoy my walks to Sandholt bakery to pick up bread for work, I enjoy them even more when I go first thing and the streets are mine. I like hearing the relentless creak of the neighbourhood trampolines and the distant squeaks of children making the most of the summer sun. I like having a library card and wandering round the fleamarket on a Sunday and the routines of the swimming pool: card beeping at the turnstile, yellow rubber wristband opening locker with a click. I even like the showers where washing naked in the company of women of all ages and shapes and colours has become for me an unexpectedly affirming, relaxing and positive act. To undress and shower in a communal space is to say silently, I have nothing to hide, my body is acceptable, I am valid and the more I say it with actions, the more I believe it. Practice.

But let us be brutally honest, because I’ve been thinking a lot about the veneer effect of sharing things via social media and this blog and even in conversation too. Life seems all very wonderful on Instagram and I have had some time off sharing things on it because I became aware of a growing disconnect between what I posted and the totality of my experience. Not to negate what I have posted there, the coffees and sunsets and rhubarb and waterfalls, that all happened and is true, but I am guilty of editing. I tell the truth but it is not the whole truth. I make rhubarb tarts and custard-based ice cream and dandelion green pesto at work and then I plod home and I cannot face cooking anymore, cannot even face being in the kitchen where I might have to interact with other humans. Johann picks up the slack, all the time, makes dinner and washes up and brings me tea and porridge in the morning. Maybe we get a pizza. Maybe I spend all evening pondering the meaning of life and work myself up into a black hole and feel utterly despondent and lost and hopeless – and then, hey, I get up in the morning, feel a little silly for being so catastrophic the night before, go to work, and take a picture of the swirls I make on my latte. Who am I cheating with this narrative? EVERYONE. Myself, because I am hiding the sad and bad and mad aspects of my life and in doing so I am unwittingly telling myself and everyone else that it is unacceptable to feel sad and bad and mad. But it is okay. This practice of hiding the negative aspects of my life and showing only the sunny side of myself is not in keeping with my swimming pool shower revelations. It seems that as in yoga, I learn first with my body and it provides the gateway to learn with my mind. Or do away with the thinking mind altogether, perhaps.

Instagram me
Normal me

Moving to another country does not mean leaving your issues behind, though it might feel that way at first. They are written over with novelty and might take a few months to appear. Then the same old patterns emerge. I have struggled with my mental health, wellbeing, equilibrium, whatever you like to call it, this whole year, since Calais broke my running streak of ‘good times’. In fact, I would consider that this year marks the second round (ding ding ding) of depression for me. It’s something that I could have expected, I think it’s commonly held that people who have one major depressive episode (2014-2015, holla) in their lives will be likely to have another one. To cut a long story short last time around I dropped everything and thanks to the incredibly loving and generous support of my family and large dollop of luck I was able to concentrate only on getting better- figuring out what that meant for me. There was swathes of time to simply learn to ‘be’ without the usual pressures of everyday life: work, a social life, a relationship.

This time around I am trying to do things differently. For the past six months I have been finding a home in a new country, attempting to make new friends, working full-time in a different job, and building a strong relationship with the one I intend on sticking with (aforementioned porridge-bringer). I have simultaneously been attempting to find my way out of depression and anxiety and back to full health again. Progress is slower and at many times seems non-existent. However, I have an inkling that recovering this way will give me even greater resilience;聽 I will have learnt how to nurture myself whilst keeping a foot in the maelstrom of everyday life, rather than needing to drop everything and hibernate.

A moment of beauty at the sea near our house. May I always have eyes for them.

So now I have aired all my laundry (metaphorically only, of course it’s all in a heap on the floor) I will sign off. I am intending to post some photos and words soon about some nice things that have happened this summer – funny that acknowledging the rubbish times makes me feel happier and more ready to share the good too. Honesty is the best policy. It’s hard to find the right words to talk about these things but I feel that it’s important to try so I will keep trying. Thanks for reading if any eyes make it this far 馃檪

 

Learning to rest

My mind feels like a pot brimming with thoughts, brewing for hours as I go about my day, then too heavy to lift and pour into this space when I get home and slump into the armchair. Too many to put into action, at the moment, when I feel tired after work. A snapshot of the pot contents:

Start fermenting things: sauerkraut, beetroot kvass, kimchi. Pot on some of the herbs on the windowsill. Sow more seeds indoors and out. Clear the outdoor bed of weeds and cover in compost. Start collecting food waste in the kitchen for composting. Draw more. Write about all this. Bake bread. Acquire mushroom spawn and start growing mushrooms at work. Make a plan for growing herbs and salad at work. Test new recipes. Meet a friend for coffee. Go swimming. Meditate. Make a planting plan for my former wwoof hosts, Greyhound Brewery. Write letters.

These are the things I daydream about doing, as I wash up, as I walk home, as I stir soup. Still, I think I am learning to prioritise and thus most of these seeds remain unsprouted (and in the case of the gardening plans, quite literally unsown). The most important thing I need to do at the moment is work out how to rest, and how to lose the guilt that slips like a shadow stuck to the heels of these ‘things to do’, a shadow that grows darker when they aren’t done.

I need to rest because I’m working 40 hours a week, at my new job, which I love, and which takes concentration and effort as I make new routines and learn how to get things right. I need to rest because my mind still fizzles with a hum that comes from making a home in a different country, where there are new sights and sounds on the morning walk, where my brain tries to unscramble the language constantly, where I am making new connections with new people, where I don’t know where to find toothpicks in the supermarket. It strikes me, writing this, that actually I need to learn that I don’t have to justify my need for rest.

However, I’m trying to pull this thought from the pot and share it – that learning how to be at peace with resting feels like the greatest task of all. To be at ease with yourself when you are not doing something that makes you feel useful, successful, or beautiful means to find fulfillment within your own being and not from external sources. Which is helpful when everything outside you crashes to the ground, as I have known before and think I will know again sometime.

Recently, in a low mood, I had the vision of a bottomless hole, a black hole into which a jug of water pours, but never fills. The spiritual equivalent of ‘in one ear and out the other’. This image comes closest to making sense, for myself, the importance of working towards (living towards, being towards) finding peace in myself. Because everything else is fleeting, and I’m so tired of being tossed on stormy seas, being elated then despondent then joyful then miserable.

So this week, under Johann’s suggestion, I have tried to prioritise rest, in whatever form that takes. And wonderfully, it’s kind of great finding a real, day to day, way of tackling the ‘how to find peace’ question. Whenever these exciting, creative, action thoughts have bubbled up in the evenings, I have tried to choose what feels like ‘rest’ over action, which for me means reading and yoga over everything else. In a confusing way writing this blog does not count as rest so I am currently not obeying my own guidelines. On the other hand, I am feeling much less guilty than usual about that, so I’m doing something right. Oh, what a minefield.

This is all big people stuff that I am in no way trying to present myself as an authority on. Nothing here is original gems of wisdom from yours truly. For genuine gems, I have found Eckhart Tolle’s The Power of Now to be most eye opening book on the matter of learning how to be. And I learn a lot from talking to Johann who is the real sage. Yoga shows me a path out of despair, and so many other patchwork pieces of experience have led me to this point. Rather, I present my credentials as human being who struggles but sees there is another way. In talking about my journey, narcissistic and utterly pointless though it sometimes seems, I hope maybe another person would find something that helped them on their own journey.

On a side note: I so often think of big problems in the world in contrast to my ‘struggle’ and I feel immense privilege and, yes, a great big anvil of guilt, that I have a warm home, food and safety, yet I often feel so despondent. Many people are struggling for warmth, food and safety, and don’t have the ability to launch into a navel-gazing, inner peace-finding experiment. Then I try to hold on to the idea that to transform the world, you have to transform yourself first. I think that’s not worded very well, and the change I want for myself is not an adding but a sloughing away of unnecessary habits, thought, action, and a radical return. But that’s the essence, and it’s my lived experience, from being in Calais, that without re-finding the peace that is in all of us, I am not able to work towards peace outside of myself either.

If you’ve read this far, thank you. I hope something resonated somewhere, for someone. The photo at the top is of lava cooled into rock, in the Rift Valley, where two tectonic plates meet. Hot flow in the tempest finding stillness.

 

 

 

Foodie Fridays: okay, it’s Sunday, but here’s a catch up anyway

Typically, the week I spend completely immersed in food (not literally, or perhaps I wouldn’t still have the job) is the week I don’t manage to get fingers to keyboard to write about it. So here is a compensatory, quick little jotting of thoughts. It was my training week at my new job in the kitchen of a lovely cafe here in Reykjavik. I’ve been learning recipes, tasting, adjusting, tasting again. I’m used to cooking for just friends and family so it’s been cool to scale up and learn how to prepare large amounts of things. I’ve worked as a kitchen assistant before, in summer as a student, but this job’s a little different, it’s a one person kitchen – for two branches of the coffee shop! So it’s a really interesting challenge for me.

I’ve spent a couple of years growing food, first on a little allotment, then working at a herb farm, then as a long-term wwoof volunteer in the UK. When I came to Iceland, I considered finding work as a gardener: but after some pondering realised that I’d rather like to follow my passion for good food, rather than end up gardening commercially with only ornamental plants, and non-organically. I want to experience the other end of the food chain! To be in between producer and consumer. I have a feeling running the kitchen will inform my future food growing, and be a great opportunity to develop new skills.

As it turned out, I am super lucky to be working at a really great company. Everyone has been friendly and welcoming, and everything I learned to make was delicious. Fresh hummus, pesto, tuna salad…almond and coconut milk from scratch…toasted granola mixes…tip top spiced chai. I have enjoyed the variety of processes, and the focus of my week has really been getting my head around multi-tasking. Cooking dinner for me and Johann is a relaxed process, where I can usually just focus on one thing at a time. Preparing food at work means making the best use of time, which has often meant working on a couple of dishes at once. On quieter days I was able to plod through my to-do list one at a time – maybe four tuna, two hummus. Simple. But some days it’s necessary to get one thing going first, then hop in between various stages of the process, getting other things done too. That really taxes my mind and will be a skill to develop!

Often while I was stirring the chai and inhaling the spicy aroma, or zesting lemons, or getting a waft of toasted maple syrup as I took the granola out of the oven, I would catch myself and think happily, ‘hey! this is WORK!’ because it felt like play. I enjoy cooking. My learning curve next week will be being in charge of my time, having to decide what to make when, and co-ordinating everything. The time I spent in Calais co-ordinating the packing of food parcels has given me some confidence in organisation, and although undoubtedly it sometimes feels strange to be preparing gourmet breakfasts, not bags of tins for hungry people, I think to myself that this is part of my journey towards helping other people again sometime in the future. This is time that I am allowed to take for myself, to recover financially by working full-time, and also recover mentally, by doing something that I enjoy and that has a lower stress factor. Actually, in the past I’d have been a little furious ball of stress having to organise the volume of food needed for our busy cafes, now I feel it’s a do-able task – after all, there aren’t 10,000 customers. And I understand a little more the kind of attitude that gets things done: it’s not the hare-brained worrier! So I try to cultivate the confidence, and savour the enjoyment, and remember to be grateful.

So, just a small post to make up for missing Friday. My other challenge coming up is keeping up writing and posting here twice a week , which has been really easy whilst not working, but harder to stick to after an 8 hour shift! I’m going to have to accept that not every post can be a 1000 word opinion piece…actually, maybe that’s a good thing. Let’s see how it goes.

 

 

 

Settling

The last seven days has been so busy, my feet ache and I’m just about hanging on, but enjoying the ride. Here follows the week in brief:

Last Thursday was ‘Sumardagurinn fyrsti’, the offical first day of summer here in Iceland. It was snowing. Then the snow cleared and the sun came out. This happened approx every ten minutes throughout the day. Johann had the day off work and we made an expedition to Hverager冒i, a village about 45 mins out of the city, where there’s a horticultural school. There was an open day, so we could wander round the glasshouses and buy plants raised organically there. One glasshouse contained Iceland’s largest (and now only, I believe) banana plantation. Yes, really! Warmed by geothermal heat, we walked past steaming pipes running from the ground outside. Indoors I was so excited to see the bananas actually fruiting, oranges hanging from trees, and tropical flowers, all under the shadow of a snowy mountain. I feel like a child at Disneyland going to gardens these days. Always going wow, wow, WOW! 

We were inspired and on our way home stopped at a garden centre, where we bought seeds, soil, and seed trays to start our own windowsill garden. Watching the seeds sprouting and put down roots helps me grow my own roots here. To grow something in a place is to commit to it. And we are so lucky to be watching this game of nature already, the rocket sprouted in 48 hours, now 6 days on we have chives, dill, and mustard too. So exciting. 

At the weekend I attended a course in Nonviolent Communication run by Jack Lehmann. You could also call it empathetic, or compassionate, communication. In brief it’s about learning a way of talking and listening that promotes harmony… In which we learn how to express our feelings and needs, and listen to other people’s feelings and needs, in a way that avoid conflict and allows them to be met. I couldn’t afford the fee and so bartered my skills as an illustrator to record the training visually, whilst also being a participant. It was exhausting. Illuminating. Emotional. Affecting. Funny. I’m going to take some time to process it and will hopefully share more details here soon. My drawings are currently with the course leader, I was gutted to get a migraine on the afternoon of the last day so I left them with him in a hurry. I’ll work on them when I get ’em back. 
So that happened…then I started my new job on Monday! I’m working in the kitchen at Reykjavik Roasters, which is a super nice cafe here that’s very serious about coffee. So far I’ve been learning the ropes (and the recipes) from the guy who’s running it currently before he leaves on Friday. We’ve been toasting granola, making seedy crackers, pesto, fresh almond milk and coconut milk and other delicious things. I’m really enjoying working with food all day and it’s going to be a challenge next week with no-one to tell me what to do, but I’ll learn a lot! Everyone is really friendly and I feel like I’m really settling down in this city now I have a workplace and regular faces to chat to. Also, it’s the best place to learn about coffee. So serious. To a decimal point serious. And we also planted some chive seeds at the end of the day today so soon I’ll be able to raise plants at work too, hurrah!

Still I struggle with the discipline of doing yoga and meditation. Still I know what helps and I don’t do it as often as I should! Tonight I’ll try and practice patience and self-compassion for my mistakes. The perfectionist in me wants this post to say more, for me to delve deeper and try to express the settling feeling of this at last becoming home, but I’m tired and reaching my limit. There’s always next time. I’ll be pleased I even wrote at all. 

I walk home down a hill with a view to Mount Esja, and though the foreground is taken up by a stack of humdrum office buildings and traffic, today I smiled and saw the beauty and the strangeness. Why here? Why now? How did I get here, working in a kitchen in Iceland, I who grew up in England thinking only of making words and pictures, scared of new places, scared of new food? Funny how a dream shifts, percolates* through and settles in the margins. As I grow older it becomes less important to me to forge a primary career as an artist. I find having another occupation is fertile ground for making art, telling stories. I was happy and surprised, once I wavered from the path of studying, practicing, teaching art to find other things I love: food and gardening. Things that fulfil me too. So I smile at the mountain and feel thankful for having got where I am today, standing at a busy crossroads waiting for the clickety-clack of the traffic lights to change and signal I can move forward once again.
 

*Coffee on the brain, clearly

The romance of maintenance: keeping well when you’re feeling fine

The ‘romance of maintenance’ comes to mind to describe the last week. The phrase was introduced to me on my permaculture design course, and used to describe what we don’t have in our society: a love of keeping things going once the initial excitement fades. I can’t remember who coined the phrase and a cursory Google reveals only that one episode of a TV series about architecture was titled as such. But the phrase really stuck in my mind. We need to develop a romance of maintenance in order to keep our gardens healthy and productive, and the same is true of our lives.

I am a person who has struggled very much with depression and anxiety in the past, and the present. Over winter, when old blues reared their heads again, I determined to focus on what helped me regain wholeness last time around. Yoga, meditation, eating healthily, exercise. Last time around I also took an extended trip through the world of pills and therapy, with variable results. I came out the other side and won’t deny that part of my journey, but this time I chose to try and regain my balance using the tools that I felt had helped me most to maintain it for a year. 

The very fact that I had to start again at yoga, meditation, exercise and good food indicates why I was in the slump once more. I had stopped doing them. Over the spring and summer of 2016 I was a practising yogi, a smug blender of nut-based snacks, a gardener. I had already without noticing dropped meditation, which had been so helpful to me the year before when I recovered from major depression. Still, I was always active, working in a plant nursery, wwoofing in a vegetable garden. Things were good. I started going out to Calais and volunteering in the Help Refugees warehouse. I was full of fervour and energy and future.  
In August I moved to Calais full-time and threw myself into work. There is so much to say about this time – precious and brilliant and joyful and terrible and sad. For the purposes of this post, I will focus on what I wasn’t doing while I was busy falling in love and working six days a week managing a team of people packing thousands of food parcels a week. 

I wasn’t doing yoga, that’s for sure. I most definitely was not meditating. I wasn’t taking breaks in a day that started at 8 and finished at 7. I was living in a caravan on the warehouse site and for days at a time I wasn’t leaving the compound as I semi-affectionately called it. I was eating delicious food, to give credit to Johann who cooked some magic from tins every night on a little camping stove. But I was also shovelling sweets and chocolate down all day, as a substitute for rest, a short term energy boost that needed pepping up every other hour. Things I hadn’t eaten in months and had come to regard as toxic were being merrily consumed for the tiny bubble of well-being the brain received on first taste. 

I was taking on more and more and not only taking on but taking in, taking the responsibility of the need in to my heart and feeling it crack under the weight. When I made mistakes I lacked the ability to stand back from them. The presence that meditation and yoga had brought me had slipped away, without maintenance, and my mistakes became burdens. Old thought patterns snaked up like roots that had just lain dormant. Lack of confidence, lack of belief, blaming myself for not being good enough, strong enough, tough enough. 

I was working myself into a hole, in a routine that couldn’t be sustained. People around me told me to take breaks, buoyed me up when I felt down, but I’d gone too far and couldn’t claw myself back in that environment. In the aftermath of the eviction and destruction of the camp, I left. 

I’m sharing this with anyone who’ll listen, with some trepidation, because it hurts to admit how I crumbled, when many of the people I worked with stayed strong, stayed there, stayed helping. But what I have learned in retrospect is the utmost importance of maintaining the things that keep you well, even when you feel well. Especially when you feel well! Because those times when I felt on top of the world: when I met and bonded and worked with the most incredible people, every day, when every part of my being was looking forward, looking outward, looking to save the world one Aldi bag at a time: that was when I neglected to look after myself.  

It’s not that my self is more important than the other people I was trying to help; it’s that I worked myself into a state in which I could no longer help others. I took my eye off the ball. What I should have learned from this is to find what works and stick to it through thick and thin. Treat it not as a cure but as a preventative measure. Make what keeps me sane an immovable part of my daily life.

But guess what? It’s still so darn tempting when I’m having a good day to say, I’ll just do the yoga tomorrow. I’ll let myself fall asleep without using the Headspace app for meditation first. After all, I’m good. I’m fine! 

Some days later, after my routine slips, my composure slips too. This week I’ve had a wonderful time, walking and exploring and swimming and drawing and meeting people. But there have also been some deep dark moods, as if out of the blue, and it’s only when I wail ‘what’s wrong with me!? I’m doing everything right!’ and look back that I twig. Yes, for the first two weeks of moving here I did yoga and meditation every single day. Then I guess I skipped some days of one or the other. The past week, I did yoga twice and meditation twice. I completely forget to stop several times a day in my thoughts and find presence. And just like that, my protective routine is no longer study enough to keep out the black holes. 

So this week, my focus is to appreciate how good my life situation is right now, without losing sight of the healing routine that keeps me calm. I think the difficulty is in accepting at the peak of your happiness that you have within you the capacity for such darkness. It’s more comfortable to pretend that things are good and will always be that way. Much harder to accept that things are good, but they haven’t been in the past, and they might not be in the future without facing your truth and accepting the work you need to do to be ok. 

So I need the lesson more than once, that’s okay. I have hope that eventually I’ll learn once and for all that to keep myself well, some things are non-negotiable. I need to find in myself the romance of maintenance, the every-single-day dedication to the yoga and mindfulness that I believe can bring me balance. 

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.聽 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 Nauth贸lsv铆k. 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 Nauth贸lsv铆k, 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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J贸i 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?

Nauth贸lsv铆k聽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.

 

First month of living in Iceland

I have reached a small milestone today, four weeks exactly since I boarded the plane swallowing my nerves. I would like to hold a small review, more so I can look back and see how my perceptions change over the year than for anything these.

I have moved from a mildly northern European country to a very northern European country, and as such the culture is not vastly different. It’s not a big deal. I tell myself this in attempts to shake myself out of wallowing in embarrassment when I get something ‘wrong’. Not knowing I have to take a ticket with a number at the post office, so cutting the queue inadvertently (cheap to revert to national stereotypes, but surely this is every British person’s nightmare). Focusing so hard on trying to decipher a question in Icelandic that I miss the fact that I’m being spoken to in English. Getting into the hottest hot tub at the swimming pool by mistake and slowly boiling for a noble two minutes rather than losing face in an instant retreat. These are small things.

Over time, you get used to how things work around you, wherever you are. Thinking is not necessary. A visit to the post office is a chore, not an experiment. I am far from attaining this stage here, and everything takes up space in my brain. It’s a very interesting state to be in, most of the time fascinating, but sometimes tiring. I go between these states.

I have felt so alive when walking along the cliffs in Keflavik, poring over porous rocks, studying how the plants of last season straggle on as skeletons. Sitting in bubbling, warm water with snow falling on my face. Tasting smoked lamb in the Harpa centre. Eating skyr and berries for pink princess breakfast. Going on evening walks with Johann and seeing the pale green wisps of Northern Lights dance briefly over the sea. Swimming outdoors, in wind, rain and sun.

On the other hand.

firstmonthtopI have felt fatigue when sitting for hours scrolling ‘housing to rent’ facebook groups in a tongue I barely know, keeping a lookout for the few words I know to signal that it’s worth running the whole thing through Google Translate. The same experience, looking for jobs. Sometimes the uncertainty that makes things so exciting becomes too much and bursts its shell, becoming fear. I worry endlessly that we won’t find either of the above, but we have. Well, we have a place to live, and I just mangled my first job application, so it is a work in progress.

Yesterday I was feeling a bit anxious, waking up in our new place, not having met anyone else who lived there, feeling hungry, Johann at work. I got up the courage and set off for the shops. I walked a mile from our new home to Bonus, the cheapest supermarket. The way there required some effort, hood pulled close to my face against the cold, wet, windy weather, checking Google maps repeatedly to find the way, even though it was mostly main roads. Trying not to let too much rain get into the phone. I found it okay and enjoyed pushing my trolley round the supermarket putting in all the basics we wanted for the store cupboard. Choosing a trolley, not a basket, is a rookie mistake when you’re carrying the stuff home yourself. No surprise, my eyes were bigger than my muscles, and the journey back was a small farce. Walking into the wind, a rucksack full of tins and bulk quantities of things, two bags for life threatening to split with the weight of the shopping. Rain becoming sleet and I suspect hail. Soaked to the skin, though still warm in my coat; in fact, extremely warm. Too warm! Glasses showing not much through them, falling down my wet nose. Walking down the main road half fearing, half praying that a car would stop and offer me a lift, thinking – at what age does ‘don’t get into cars with strangers’ expire? Is it ever? This conundrum occupied my brain so much I failed to stick to the inner edge of the pavement and was a few times splashed with gritty water as cars passed. But at least I wasn’t forced to make a moral judgment on whether I should get in any of them.

This experience, though it wouldn’t kill me, is on paper vaguely miserable. But for some reason – perhaps the norse gods shone above the hail – at the time, it was okay. Funny, even. Infinitely better to be battling the elements on a busy road with my shopping perilously close to falling through the bottom of the bag, than to be curled up in my bedroom, worrying about what happens next. And it felt kind of like a small victory, and a sign that everything will be fine.

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I shivered my key into the lock on our front door, shuffling in and shrugging off my sodden coat into a puddle on the floor, greeted by the raucous sounds of bingo. Our landlady had a friend and their grandchildren over, and she was instantly friendly and welcoming. We chatted over some white wine, in English and some attempts at the odd Icelandic phrase from me, she handed over the kitchen to us as she doesn’t cook (hooray! a kitchen!). When Johann got home from work it was quickly discovered that she is friends with one of his uncles, producing a model boat he made from tin. This kind of thing happens all the time. So often, there are reminders of how small Iceland’s population is (roughly the same size as that of Croydon). We made afghan eggs – I think I’m going to write a whole post about afghan eggs, but suffice to say it’s a warming, comforting food perfect for sharing with new friends in new places.

So, in conclusion, though I’m just living in another affluent Western country, and as such the culture shock is minimal, there’s so many little different things to take in every day that I feel like an explorer still. And there’s the knowing that we’re here for a relatively long time, after moving around a lot the past 7 months, that tinges everything with a weight. The desire to make connections, to work out how to be happy here, to learn. It’s exciting, daunting, interesting, and it’s fine. After moving around France, Wales, England; caravans, parents’ places, farms, friends: we have a place to settle for a while. I hope I can keep the spirit of exploring with me over the next few months.