This essay by Sarah Harley first appeared Sept 24th on the CELL Program site.
I have found it difficult to choose just one isolated experience that has most impacted me in my brief time in Iceland thus far, so I’ve decided to dissent from doing so. Iceland is a land that hints at magic and mischievousness and breathes life. Poetry bubbles up through me and then skips off into the mists of my mind before I have the chance to write it down, as if elves play a soft melody just over the hill and then spirit themselves away just as I reach the crest.
I have been cradled by the land and had my mind wander to places I have tried to avoid, to experience a release of emotion and a sense of peace and healing that I have not felt in many years. I have had my breath stolen from my lungs by the cold, powerful waterfalls to have it handed back to me a moment later with a spray of mist. I have been brought to my knees and humbled by the terrain (which gave me an upclose look into the Icelandic medical system). I have bathed in the mercurial light of the elusive Aurora Borealis and wondered at its beauty.
The flora of Iceland often reminds me of my birth home in the farmlands of Central New York and then I look into the distance or go around a bend to find an alien landscape. The juxtaposition between the two is always a mixture of bewilderment and intrigue. I don’t think I have felt any real culture shock here; in fact, in ways I feel as if I have been called home. The land whispers to me and I want to learn its secrets.
I have enjoyed studying the habits and mannerisms of the Icelandic people, trying to introduce myself to them, in my own way, despite socialization never being something at which I’m adroit. I find Icelanders to be fascinating people and feel a great fondness for them. Through my observations and musings I came up with the expression, “Iceland: where the clothes are wet and the humor is dry,” which I believe is quite fitting – their quick and dry wit is something to be reckoned with, as is the rain and mist. There is also an interesting divide in personalities in the sense that some Icelanders seem to be more reserved and pithy while others are quite open and gregarious – I have not seen much of a middle ground yet, but look forward to exploring this further.
Even though I am usually quite skilled with languages I have found Icelandic to be a challenge. I am not sure if this is due to having some difficulty hearing the unfamiliar inflections (my ears never seem to pop here so things often sound somewhat muffled and difficult to parse – even my native English) or if I am too distracted with all of the new sensory information and my attempts to “live in the moment.” I wish more time was dedicated to this facet of our studies as it was the subject I was most keen to explore. I plan to continue to try to learn Icelandic after I return home. I love the “gentle harshness” of the language. I feel it is very natural and mimics the sounds and imagery found in the landscape, from the rumbling of the volcano and the undulations of the sea to the spirited winds and firmness of the plentiful stone.
I think on some level it’s almost heretical to try to limit myself to one specific experience in The Land of Fire and Ice. On another level I think it’s almost heretical to try to express myself at all because I’m not sure I could ever communicate my experience here in a way that does this land justice. Iceland is a place that, I believe, can only truly be experienced by visiting it in person and opening your mind and heart to the many wonderful things it has to offer. If one insists on my choosing an experience that has had an impact on me here, however, I guess it would be fair to say that I fell in love with Iceland.
