Special Dispatch. Iceland.
I got my puffer out again and still froze.
Of course, I had always wanted to visit Iceland, but somehow it was never at the very top of my priority list. I suppose that, given the chance to travel, I would usually choose somewhere warmer and more populated. I love cities and I like having things to do, so a place where most activities involve hiking or getting wet isn’t naturally my thing. I don’t even own a pair of hiking boots, although now I want some, and my friend told me these are good.
Yes, obviously, Iceland blew me away.
The reason I went was to take another writing course with Claire Keegan, so I spent four days in Reykjavík attending lectures until the afternoon and then driving around afterwards. Initially, I was a bit nervous about hiring a car because I had only ever driven one type of car before, and it’s quite small, so having to readjust my brain to a different vehicle and driving on the other side of the road felt overwhelming. But then I told myself: I can do it. So I hired the smallest Toyota imaginable, which sounded hollow inside and made a lot of noise without producing much speed.
The driving went well, all things considered, but I pulled into a petrol station twice, only to be defeated both times by my inability to open the fuel tank door. I arrived back at the airport with one bar left on the fuel gauge. It turned out there was a button under the seat that released the flap—I mean, why???
Straight from the airport, I set off for the Blue Lagoon, haunted by that image of Björk with her son, taken by Juergen Teller back in 1993. I kept catching myself lifting a hand out of the water, giving a little salute to the dreams I never imagined would come true. It was absolutely magical, if slightly chaotic, with people wandering around in face masks, beer in hand, as though it were the most natural thing in the world—but I felt giddy, like a child. (Note to self - don’t wear a nice swimsuit next time - it will get f*cked).
I bought a set of those masks, the only thing I brought from Iceland, as I don’t really go to stores anymore on my travels, to remind myself of that odd experience of floating in hot water, white and blue simultaneously.
In Reykjavík, I stayed at The Edition hotel, and I have to say, the service—and especially the food at their main restaurant—was exceptional (particularly the cod and the sea slaw, a side dish with seaweed and apple unlike anything I’d tried before). In the mornings, I went for runs along the bay and listened to the song of the Humpback whale.
After the first day of lectures, I set off in my little Toyota to drive around Hvalfjörður, a fjord just north of Reykjavík with picturesque views, empty roads and absolutely insane beauty. There’s a great hike you can do roughly halfway through to the Glymur Waterfall, but you’d better have a proper car to get to the parking spot, as the road is all gravel and steep climbs. I bailed and simply stopped here and there along the way to take in the views. There are also hot springs you can visit that are far less known and crowded than the Blue Lagoon—Hvammsvík.
The next day I went to Þingvellir National Park, which is only about a 45-minute drive from the city through a beautiful mountainous valley. What I hadn’t realised before getting there is that it’s where the North American and Eurasian tectonic plates collide. The result is an otherworldly landscape of exploded volcanoes, lakes and hills of solidified lava. And of course, there are more hot springs nearby, but I’m not quite keen on getting wet that often.
On the last day, I decided to stay put and explore the mental-looking cathedral Hallgrímskirkja—I do love a quirky church (my best finds so far have been in Santiago de Chile and Vienna). That day, they were tuning the organ, so the stark church was filled with light and music. You can give the tower a miss.
I was having my pre-dinner martini in the lobby bar on the last evening of my stay when a woman from the course—the loveliest 69-year-old American lady, appropriately named Mary—spotted me and invited me to join her for dinner. Normally, I flinch at the prospect of talking to someone I don’t know for two hours, but I thought, why not. And it ended up being one of the nicest, loveliest conversations I’ve had in a long time. Sometimes hearing the perspective of someone from a completely different background and way of life can be not only refreshing but genuinely enlightening.
The next morning I was supposed to leave for the airport early, and I was so tempted to miss my flight and drive instead to this cabin for a couple more days of complete solitude—but my duties were calling me back. Definitely next time.
On the practical side of things (I mean, clothes), I wanted to travel with hand luggage only, so, for a change, I had to be very efficient with packing. I checked the weather and realised it was still pretty cold in Iceland (does it ever actually get warm there?)—around ten degrees most days. So I wore a pair of jeans, a black half-zip sweater with a T-shirt underneath, and my new go-to Phoebe Philo Club slippers, which look smart enough for the evening yet understated enough for daytime, along with my Miu Miu puffer, which had been packed away for at least a month despite it not even being the warmest spring.
I also packed a black pair of jeans, a shirt, another zip-up sweater, smart trousers, sportswear, and a pair of On trainers, which I could both run in and venture out into nature with. I then found a brooch in my travel bag that I used to add a little bit of something to otherwise quite simple looks. I guess it was the closest I’ve ever come to having a truly functional wardrobe, where everything works with everything else, and all the pieces are interchangeable. It served its purpose—but my god, was I desperate to dress up by the end of it.
What’s also strange is that it felt a little like going back in time. Walking around Reykjavík in that puffer again, watching the first leaves appear on the trees and the tulips getting ready to bloom—it all felt odd. All of that had already happened here weeks earlier.
LOOKS
BOOKS
Going back to the course for a moment—I couldn’t help but marvel at what a privilege it is to be taught by one of the most outstanding contemporary writers on the art of fiction. Claire Keegan is so sharp, precise and charming that you cannot help but fall under her spell. She prefers the small form, but her writing feels incredibly rich and powerful. If you have any interest in writing—or even if you simply love reading and want to do it better—I would highly recommend attending one of her courses.
On to what I actually read:
Wuthering Heights by Emily Brontë — I realised recently that so much of the classic English literature taught in schools was massively overlooked in Russia. I had never read Jane Austen, Vanity Fair, Dickens or Wuthering Heights for that matter, despite always thinking I had read quite a lot. Anyway, I watched the film and was naturally compelled to read the novel afterwards. I’m not sure it’s even possible to say which is better—they are simply different. But imagining how disturbing this book must have felt to readers in the nineteenth century really thrills me.
What We Talk About When We Talk About Love by Raymond Carver — another author who was completely new to me, and whom I discovered through Claire Keegan’s courses. He is an absolute master of the short story. These little snippets of life are so deep and profoundly human that I read the whole book (it’s not long) in a single sitting. There’s also a really good movie that was based on his stories, shot in 1993. Really good cast.
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