the slow and unyielding march of time, episode 39
One of my many fatalities of getting older has been my ability to travel casually. There were times in my life where, although I had very little money, I also had very little responsibility, and so I spent that money going places. I went across the country for frisbee tournaments, and I impulsively flew across country for parties, weddings, or births. I somehow planned and executed a solo vacation to Vietnam, a place I had never been and didn’t speak the language (inadvertently, it ended up being a week-long silent retreat), and even managed to get a fancy romper made for a wedding I was officiating.
I haven’t gained much more responsibility, but I have gained a creeping dread that makes it difficult to plan. I used to call it my existential dread; the first time my Seattle therapist called it anxiety, I felt like my brain was going to explode. Oh, I thought, THIS is anxiety? Many of my family members have anxiety, and it has often been presented to me via an energy that eventually explodes into a breakdown. I had never connected the slithering apprehension I felt going to a new gym, or meeting up with friends in an unknown place to anxiety.
The pandemic has certainly exacerbated the anxiety, especially since I’m still scared of covid. (I got mono in my early 20s, and my brain disappeared for months. I love my brain! Long Covid terrifies me.) Since we’ve mostly given up on systemic solutions, I have to plan extra. My brain has always considered leaving the house to be a risk (seeabove) but now it’s writ pretty freaking large.
Anyways, all this to say: David and I have talked about going to Iceland and London for years now, and for my birthday this year, he gave me the gift of actually going. He did the high-level planning and bought the tickets, making it a reality. Then we did a lot of the more detail-oriented stuff together. Friends: it was amazing. Iceland is otherworldly.
We accidentally went during the solstice. The sun sets but it never really gets dark. We were somewhat unlucky with the weather, and it was also rainy and overcast every day, like the perpetual twilight of a Vegas casino. But the moody backdrop served to really contrast the striking landscape.
There is Icelandic folklore about trölls; giant, clumsy, magical beings that live in the inhabitable highlands and turn to stone when daylight hit them. We saw “evidence” of these trolls everywhere as we drove across great expanses of mountainous rock.
We walked on mossy, spongy lava fields. The ground smoked, constantly. Waterfalls dotted the landscape. There were no allergens; for the first time in months, I was able to take full breaths.
On our last day in Iceland, we went to the extremely touristy Blue Lagoon, an artificial hot springs (made with geothermal wastewater!!) close to the airport. Travelers going elsewhere will often stop during short layovers in Reykjavik. But the fastest route to the Lagoon was closed because part of the Svartsengi volcano system erupted again recently.
The nearby town of Grindavik had been evacuated — two of the three roads leading in were totally cut off, and the lava came mighty close to the third. We drove the long way around (45 minutes vs 10), slowing the rental car to a crawl as we rumbled over a new gravel roads winding through a still-smoking, blackened lava field. (We had declined the volcanic ash insurance at the car rental 😬 😬 😬)
No matter how hard we try to cultivate and dominate our experiences, our control is ultimately fleeting. The roiling energy beneath us will eventually have its way.
Debris
London was in the middle of a heat wave when we got there, which was very tough to deal with. Once things cooled down, we had a lovely time, looking at street art and eating at Dishoom. The coffee was really, really good.
I asked one of our tourguides if they had a Venmo so I could tip them. They just laughed, and said no, it wasn’t necessary. What’s it like to live somewhere that you get paid enough in the service industry that you don’t need to rely on the kindness of strangers!?!?
We saw A View From the Bridge in London, a play that I would describe as “not Arthur Miller’s best.” The accents were also absolutely nuts. When I left, I thought this must be what British people feel like when they see Americans attempt specific English accents. The daughter’s Brooklyn accent sounded so much like Tai from Clueless it was distracting.
Iceland Air turned our midday flight into a redeye, which wouldn’t have been so bad except three exceptionally annoying young men sat a row behind us and talked the entire red eye at a volume that I would charitably describe as “thundering.” One of them in particular sliced right though the earplugs and my noise dampening headphones. When we landed, we drove to the closest soon-to-be-open Pallett, in desperate need of coffee. Friends, it had not just coffee, but good coffee and absolutely astounding scones.
That first night, we stayed in a beautiful hotel set back next to a geothermal river. It had some naturally heated hot tubs that overlooked the smoking, lush river. As we luxuriated in the perfect water, I felt like I had stepped into a fantasy fairyscape.
We walked on top of Sólheimajökull Glacier, where there was a little melting waterfall that I drank from. It was delicious, and hopefully the volcanic ash radioactivity will only make me a little bit of a mutant.
Friends! We just got back last night and I am too tired to write about books this time. I also barely read at all during my vacation — my brain was too busy filling up on landscapes. (Although I did read two books on the flights home.)
Anyways, I’ll probably return to writing about books next time! We’ll see. Instead, here are some pictures!!!
Was the vacation perfect? No, of course not. There were lots of hiccups along the way. But they were all surmountable, and I’m so happy and feel so lucky that I got to breathe beyond my normal four walls for awhile.
And now I’m very happy to be home. Much love to you all, and hope you’re all having a great summer so far.
xoxo, Davida