Photo by Sheilagh O'Leary

We’d decided early on to celebrate our 30th birthdays in style with a trip someplace fabulous. After several go-rounds, we decided something off the beaten path would be ideal and I’d always wanted to visit Iceland. It was settled! Planning the flights and arranging for a rental car proved simple enough and we lucked out when I stumbled across a 2-bedroom flat that a lesbian couple rents out in the heart of Reykjavik, Iceland’s capital city.

Being overweight, out of shape, and clumsy to boot, I was worried about my physical ability to take on such an adventurous trip. I knew that what I wanted to do and what I was capable of accomplishing were two very different things, but I decided to try my best and let fate lead me where it would.

Words cannot describe the beauty that is Iceland’s barren and captivating landscape. Nothing can prepare you for true isolation, the uncompromising and unforgiving remote paths, and the shocking discoveries that wait around every turn.

As we picked our way along roads that hugged the western fjords with glaciers looming overhead and an ice-filled ocean lapping beneath us, we would often go almost an hour without seeing another car or human being (though there would be the occasional sheep or Icelandic horse to greet us). Villages dotted the landscape, consisting of low, humble structures built to withstand the harshest of environments. After fourteen hours of far-flung communities with no more than a few dozen inhabitants, passing through towns like Borgarnes and a population of close to one thousand felt like plunging into a major metropolis. You have a lot of time to spend with yourself and your thoughts on days like that.

People that looked at our pictures continually commented on how cold it looked and seemed turned off by the ice and snow. Thanks to some thorough research on temperatures and climate, we had come prepared with thermal underwear, layers upon layers of clothing, heavy hiking boots with thick socks, waterproofed jackets, ear warmers, and winter gloves. With all of our gear on, the cold hardly affected us. Only when we stood atop a mountain to see a thousand-year-old shrine to Thor or when we scrambled over rocks to stand at the edge of a teeming north-facing ocean that sprayed us with its delicate mist did we feel the deadly chill as it cut through parka and long johns.

After each adventure, we’d hop into the car and feel thankful for the built-in seat warmers that helped defrost our butts on the way to our next stop. We allowed the spirit of adventure to grip us and pulled over at every place that looked interesting. Hidden secrets waited for us over each ridge and behind every hill. To stand in a place of legend, on a trail carved by hand through a field of solid lava by a barbarian wanting to earn himself a wife thousands of years ago… the spirit of that wild, untamed place crept up and seized my soul.

I doubt that I realized it as it happened: the slow opening of my inner self, my deepest dreams finding their way to the light of day. How can anyone hold on to their walls and insecurities, worries and trivial concerns, when the wildness of Mother Nature at her most fierce throws itself at your feet, daring you closer and closer to the edge of humanity?

The Icelandic people are an intense and beautiful group. They come from blood that withstood the test of time, carving out a society where volcanoes erupted and glaciers tumbled. It is a place where the entire country is listed in the phone book by their first names. Reserved, straightforward, and honest, I was also charmed by a culture that has virtually no crime (at worst, a few drunks break a window or make some noise outside your bedroom), doesn’t distinguish between straight or gay because it just doesn’t matter, has zero homelessness due to a well-organized government that provides the basics for all of its citizens, and where even the most sophisticated and elite individuals still secretly suspect trolls lurk in the not-too-distant mountains.

It was there, among the people and the volcanoes, the hot springs and the glaciers, that I connected for the very first time with what it meant to truly be alive on this planet, in this time, in this body. For those eight days, I forgot (most of the time) that I was ashamed of being overweight, that I woke up every morning dreading my job, that I lived a life of consumerism and indulgence and that I still wasn’t sure where I fit in the world. Instead, I greeted each day, ready to face another fourteen-hour journey of driving, hiking, walking, climbing, laughing, talking, and being visually inspired.

I’d never felt so energized. My allergies disappeared completely (as most would in a land without pollen or pollution). The inexplicable dizziness that had been plaguing me for a year vanished. My body, though tired and unused to so much activity, craved more and more. I overdid it halfway through the week and injured my back, but we took that as a day of rest and explored Reykjavik. By the following day, we were on the road and headed to explore basalt columns and volcanic lakes. We even began to appreciate the mild weather in the city, leaving our windows open during the day to fill the flat with fresh air.

One of the most incredible feelings I had was one of complete safety. It enveloped me and wrapped me in its arms. I had no qualms about walking to the corner market alone at 11pm because crimes of violence are virtually unimaginable there. As a woman, I felt empowered by my freedom. Letting go of that kernel of suspicion and fear we all keep buried within us was like ripping out an infection and finally healing a wound I’d been carrying since birth.

That last day was the hardest. All of us were sad about the return flight home. We wrapped up our trinkets and said goodbye to the flat. We longingly looked back as the Reykjavik skyline disappeared over a ridge on the way to the airport. Stopping as often as we could justify, we snapped last-minute pictures of the distance glacier we’d visited days before. It wasn’t until we were seating on the plane, taxiing down the runway that the sadness gripped me and I put my camera to the window and took as many pictures of the fading countryside as I could. My last glimpse of Iceland was of a rugged peninsula tip, slightly green with moss, reaching out to me across the ocean. I wanted to weep.

It’s been several months since our trip. My fiancé surprised me with a proposal by a spectacular waterfall when we were in Iceland and I’ve been busy planning my wedding ever since. Life has picked back up and all of the normal daily annoyances and blessings returned. But hardly an hour goes by that I don’t think about Iceland. Framed pictures line our walls at home and decorate my cubicle at work.

We learned so much about sustainable communities and attitudes while we were there, that we’ve started shifting our life to encompass these values - growing our own organic produce, completely removing all the toxins from our home, recycling, researching solar energy options, and starting a blog about our discoveries.

I’ve reached a new peace within myself that seems to be growing with each day. We keep talking about going back in the near future and may try to do so in the spring of next year. We even started researching immigration laws. The land is calling me and I am desperate to breathe that clean air and feel that raw potential of life-versus-nature again. I am coming to terms with my body and making healthier, earth-based choices. I feel like I look at the world through a new lens, one that feels like life shouldn’t be about acquiring stuff, or building it bigger and better, or making more and more money. Instead, I feel like a life that is simple and community-based would be one that solved most of our ills. And so I am trying to create it for us.

There have been many people that have asked if I would recommend a trip to Iceland. My answer is always ‘yes,’ though it’s difficult for me to verbalize why. For the individuals that go for something other than the club scene, they will find themselves face to face with their deepest self in one of the rawest displays of nature on Earth. My advice is usually the same: rent a car and explore the countryside, avoid the tourist buses if you can, visit at least one pool or lagoon, bring your sense of adventure, and be open to the possibilities. You will not return home the same.

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