The place that stayed with me: Iceland, the catalyst for my writing journey
I lay in bed, listening to the eerie screams of the wind outside, a stark contrast to the peacefulness of my bedroom. It was the beginning of my month-long stay in Sauðárkrókur, a fishing village nestled in the northern fjord of Skagafjörður, Iceland. The harsh January gloom and relentless wind, with its almost sentient quality, were still unfamiliar to me. But it was this very unfamiliarity that sparked something within me, a desire to understand and capture the essence of this unique place.
Sauðárkrókur, with its rugged landscape of mountains, sea, and valleys, offered little shelter from the Arctic winds. I had already experienced the force of nature firsthand, being blown off my feet while walking home from my new high school, Fjölbrautaskóli Norðurlands vestra. The isolation and loneliness I felt were amplified by the sounds of my dreams, which often featured wailing women. It was in these moments of solitude that I found solace in writing, using it as a means to understand myself and the world around me.
My journey to Iceland began with a simple desire for a year of respite from the pressures of deciding my future. Since childhood, I had a deep-seated need to write, but societal influences had led me to believe that writing was not a serious or respectable profession. The thought of committing to a university degree and a 'safer' career path filled me with dread. When the local Rotary club offered a unique opportunity to sponsor a student for a year abroad, I seized it as a lifeline. Little did I know that my host country would be Iceland, a place I knew nothing about.
As the winter winds softened and the days lengthened into breathtaking blue twilights, I continued to struggle with the challenges of attending school. The feeling of not belonging was palpable, with ongoing misunderstandings and stares from my peers. Yet, writing became my escape. Each night, in the privacy of my room, I poured my thoughts onto paper, trying to make sense of my experiences in this new place.
One memorable day in Icelandic class, I found myself writing a poem in the margins of my notebook. The majestic Mount Tindastóll, bathed in the soft glow of the late sunrise, inspired me. I became so engrossed in capturing its beauty on paper that I failed to notice my teacher, Geirlaugur, standing before me. He gently cleared his throat, and I realized my mistake.
"What is so important that it stops you from working?" he asked, his eyes fixed on my notebook. I explained that I was writing poetry, and he nodded with understanding. The next day, Geirlaugur surprised me by presenting me with an anthology of Icelandic nature poems, translated into English. He inscribed it with a message: "To Hannah, From one poet to another, Geirlaugur." His words of encouragement resonated deeply.
"Keep going, and you will be published one day," he said, his voice filled with conviction. I was struck by his sincerity and the absence of any condescension. His belief in my potential as a writer was a turning point for me.
From that moment on, my relationship with Iceland transformed. I immersed myself in learning the Icelandic language and reading Icelandic novels. As I gained a deeper understanding of the culture, I discovered that Geirlaugur's appreciation for poetry was not an isolated incident. I delved into the works of Nobel Prize-winning author Halldór Laxness, where the farmer Bjartur composes verses while working. I explored the ancient Sagas of the Icelanders, where poets were held in the same high regard as warriors.
As I formed new friendships and found a sense of belonging in Sauðárkrókur, I realized that the respect for authors in Iceland was deeply ingrained. One friend proudly shared that Iceland is a nation of writers, with one in ten publishing a book in their lifetime. This was a statistic unmatched by any other country in the world. It was during this time that I truly understood the value of writing as a vocation.
Iceland, with its sentient winds and majestic mountains, became my muse. When self-doubt crept in, reminding me of the potential distractions from writing, I recalled Geirlaugur's words, "Áfram." These words, meaning "Onwards," became my mantra, pushing me to continue my writing journey and embrace the power of literature.
