Southeast Iceland: Fog patches. Moderate or good.

Attention All Shipping, by Charlie Connelly

Sometimes it is hard to fall asleep as the days get longer and brighter and you are tucked up in bed, the curtains drawn, the blackout blind pulled down and your head under the covers but yet the light still intrudes. I am joyously welcoming the spring but am already recalling that this change in seasons and increased light also means that the time for sleep is over and the time for all night wakefulness, parties if you can summon the energy and lying awake at 3am, not really feeling too tired, thinking about what to do tomorrow, what you did today, fond memories of the past or occasional regrets and what ifs, is here.

Last Friday in the pub I was reminded, as we Brits met around 10 at night, a good 3 hours prior to the downtown migration of the locals and the fully integrated, of what I had always thought of as a very British tradition. And now I feel it might have other uses. The Shipping Forecast.. for years I wondered why fog and showers were moderate to good. I always hated stepping out of the back door (where I am from the front door never was opened, it was just decorative) and getting soaked, and to this day I hate to get a wet face in cold northern rain.

Now as I remember and listen to the forecast on the internet (my link to BBC radio 4) I feel comforted, and even more comfortable when the conversation reveals that Iceland has it too .. or at least a coastal forecast.. Veðurfregnir. I always thought it was some British institution, even after reading "Attention All Shipping" - recommended. "Sitting at home listening to the shipping forecast can be a cosily reassuring experience. There's no danger of a westerly gale eight, veering southwesterly increasing nine later (visibility poor) gusting through your average suburban living room, blowing the Sunday papers all over the place and startling the cat." (Charlie Connelly). I don´t know why I stuck with that idea that it was British after all I am no great lover of all things British (though sausage and mash has grown on me since leaving home soil). I think it always sounded so quaint that it had to be as British as cream tea or eggs with soldiers (I bet someone comes along and tells me that is American) to a land-based creature like me.

Ó tells me that it is not as it used to be; it used to sound much more sad, and I wonder if this is true of the British Shipping Forecast. The again, perhaps it was being woken at 5am to go out to sea that put a melancholy twist to the tone of that beautiful, gently meditative poetry.

So now I think I might have found my cure for summer sleeplessness and resultant nostalgia. What could be more relaxing than falling asleep to the shipping forecast? I can´t use the Icelandic one.. it is a rare example of gently, slowly spoken Icelandic which I might stand a chance of understanding and it might keep me thinking. For now I´ll stick with North Utsire South Utsire, Dogger, Fisher and I´ll lend a thought to where I am falling asleep when they reach Viking. Maybe I should look for those old recordings, monotone would be even better for sleep. How many sailors drifted off before their sector was reached? Have a listen, aren´t they good, even if a little modernised and jaunty?

Southwest Iceland: West 1. Moderate. Occasional showers. Good. But still sleepy.

Sisilly's tree

Tree of Life by Welsh artist Jen Delyth

A'm hame noo. Back wi the blether o' the seagulls o'er the ruiftops an' gae soft sleepy whirl o' the cushie doos in the trees. Thae soonds mak a lassie feel that this is kinda hame. Guid tae be hame!

But hame and heim .. they are blending, all becoming one. And thats nice. I like also that to the untrained eye the words for home and the world are so similar in Icelandic .. heim, heimur.

I saw sisilly's tree yesterday and I've been thinking of it this morning. Roots and branches .. perhaps you send a branch out into the world to taste the air in another place and it will become another root. But the world can feel small these days and we can stretch about and keep roots all over so that wherever you go back to you are going back home.

Am I home?

I arrived "home" on Sunday. The first few days here have had a minor element of culture shock, a surprisingly substantial part of my brain saying "Is this home?"

I spent Sunday saying "takk" and "fyrirgefðu" to people in shops and forming sentences of enquiry.. "Ertu með kort á Glasgow?" I spent quite some time wandering around like a tourist in Glasgow Queen Street Station trying to work out how to find which way I was pointing as I spun in circles looking at my choice of exits. I always get lost in Glasgow .. there are no tall landmarks I can see from the street. Perhaps it is also associated with the consistent hangover feeling I have when I am there .. not from alcohol, like many other visitors passing through the town centre after a night on the town. No, this is the effect of sleep deprivation induced by a 4.30am start for a horrible-hour flight and packing until 3.30am. Still, it was worth staying up to enjoy Erik´s delicious little lamb that he forced into the oven and Sylvie´s famous chocolate moose! Meeeh.. jarm, jarm.. eek.. Yummy.

Small things I noticed too. Usually that's what happens when I am a visitor. The greenest of Strathclyde from the air, the arched glass of the roof at the station in Glasgow, the rows and rows of wine and spirits sold in the grocery store, the vast size of the Boots the Chemist (one of the smaller ones), the bird droppings on the platform at Edinburgh, the warmth of the sun on my skin, the birds singing in the gardens as I walked to University this morning (I walked to work!), the drunk man sat at the traffic lights on a patch of grass, the views of Blackford Hill and Arthur´s Seat sprinkled with yellow gorse blossoms, the single black lady walking along the street at 12.20am, the milk van delivering milk as I walked back to my guesthouse and the hand-painted cornice as I lie on my bed and look up... I am reminded now of the home that I grew up in.

It is nice to be here. It is different and familiar. But, is it home?