The Lairig Ghru never disappoints

Wow! A vital ingredient for happiness. 

 

November in the Lairig Ghru. I packed all my warm clothes, my waterproofs and extra dubbin ... but I forgot the sunscreen. 

Intellectually, I know these places are important habitats, that the trees in the distance are one of the few remnants of the Caledonian Pine Forest, that these terraces and ridges are the marks of past glaciers with ice-marginal lagoons dotted with icebergs, that the broad, distant valley was once filled with a great ice stream. All this is amazing, but there is something that isn't quite so conscious, more primitive that makes this place really special for me: peace and perspective, feeling the wind on my face, smelling the heather... being able to focus city-living eyes beyond the neighbouring tenement and next-door's recycling bin; a half-forgotten memory of being lured up a wee hill as a lass with the promise of a kit-kat at the top; a mountain-goat style clamber as a teenager through here on Cairngorm Mountain Rescue Team sponsored walks. Happy to be "home".

More than a year in Scotland

Somehow a year has passed since the massive Samskip container was parked outside our flat and 4 men, 2 grandparents, one baby and I emptied it in the space of about 10 minutes. Throughout, the traffic warden, a great bear-like man, prowled about and gave warnings of hefty fines.

Since then we've missed two eruptions, got married, Hazel learnt to crawl, sleep through the night (phew), turned one, then started walking two weeks later when staying with her Scottish grandparents. She learnt to climb, to dance, and now is perfecting talking  (salsa, salsa, more, more, tango, tango..). Óli has started writing mobile phone apps and I am addicted to spinning his (and H's) game hedgehog around his phone screen. I am writing papers and doing some teaching and enjoying being back around some of my old friends, the old building where I studied before and the new library which is all fancy and shiny and a wonderfully quiet place to hide and work. We have been lucky enough to meet some lovely new friends and to get back in touch with old ones. We miss Icelandic friends, friends and family in Iceland and the wonderful folk sessions. We are growing plants - but outside, not on our windowsill and are already munching on the fruits of our seed sewing. As much as possible on sunny days like today we live in the little garden and Hazel is trying her best to cuddle all the local cats (and today a spider). All the cats and the spider have so far resisted her charms. I think perhaps chanting "meeow, meeow, meeow (mjá, mjá, mjá) " and running at high speed with arms outstretched towards them doesn't help.

A wedding under the trees and a ceilidh in the byre

Ever since being a little girl I dreamt of getting married under the trees in my parents garden and I remember hearing Dad joke that if I got married we could have a dance in the byre - I thought that was a pretty good idea. So, I met a really great guy and he didn't think it was crazy. The pagan priest who we asked marry us did think it was crazy, which is why he agreed to fly over to Scotland from Iceland to marry us. And so many people that are important to us were able to come too, travelling from Scotland, Iceland, England and France. I started writing out here all the wonderful things people did to help but the list is soooo long. We are lucky to have such kind friends and families.

My Dad and my sister accompanied me to the tree cathedral and my old school friend piped us in.

Hazel ate my bouqet while we listened to Alsherjagoði

Óli sang "Ég fann þig" (I found you) for me. 

I had no idea he was going to and I'd never heard him sing before.

and he and his friends played great folk music

Every party needs a Cumberland Square Eight

Big day for Iceland

Last night we sat watching elections all night. First the Eurovision Song Contest which Iceland was knocked out of quite unjustly because of neighbourly voting in eastern Europe and a limited Scandinavian population to back up a pretty good attempt, by Eurovision standards, by Eiríkur Hauksson. Perhaps not being a beautiful blond model didn't help either. Still, being knocked out before the final didn´t stop folk taking everything seriously and being outrageously irritated by the unfair, political voting. This year west versus east Europe it seems. It didn´t help pointing out that it has always been like that. Also didn´t stop Iceland voting for Sweden and Finland at 10 and 12 points.

Then, to my horror, before the winner was announced, just seconds before the finale and replay of the winning song, the TV cut to watch the other big event of the day.. watching the ballot results coming from across Iceland. For yesterday was the Icelandic parliamentary elections that threatened at least to be a pretty close run. In the end the two parties in the ruling coalition were voted back in, but that wasn´t too clear until around 4am.

Of course I couldn't vote for the politicians but it was pointed out to me to soothe the loss that I had one big advantage over everyone here .. I could still put my political ideas into practise by voting twice for the Eurovision, once with my Icelandic mobile and once with my British one.

A suitable follow up to Lordi? Photo by Peter Stubbs

This all reminded me of the recent elections in Scotland. I couldn't vote there either because it was deemed not to be a national election despite being my nation. I had some lively conversations in Edinburgh and was brought close to tears at the unusual levels of hope and community strength in the city. Perhaps for once we Scots were able to believe that there could be change and hope for the country, that we could make a difference and be proud. For how can you proudly hold your head up to the world if you have no power to make decisions for your own country? Keep harking back to the great Scots of old and those who went away from Scotland and did brave and exceptional things abroad? Or am I just getting all Sean Connery-like and getting more pro-Scots than any Scot still living at home? Not sure I want that to happen. Or is it just more noticeable to me now that a small country can do well as an independent nation?

If an independent Scotland were entered into the Eurovison which political connections would they be trying to maintain through the media of drag acts and sparkles? Well, apparently there was a Scot there, singing for Montenegro, who´s ancestor "William Faddy, .. came through Montenegro on the Crusades and fell in love with a local girl and decided to stay". He hoped that would help his song win Scottish support. Viewed that way, the Norwegians, Danes and Irish should have voted to keep Iceland in the contest and perhaps Iceland would have won Eurovision.. just like they should have done of course!

Oh, how we ceilidhed!

Circling dancers in Linlithgow

Today I held my first ceilidh class in Reykjavík. I enjoyed it, I hope others did.

Every time I nip back to Scotland I try to fit a ceilidh in. Actually I bend backwards, sideways and spin round about to make one fit in. This time we fared outside Edinburgh in search of the best ceilidh to be had and we definitely found it. The Linlithgow Rugby Club Ceilidh with Last Tram Tae Auchenshuggle. We shuggled, we hopped and we both learnt some new dances. I really liked the Siege of Venice! And the Cumberland Square Eight .. aka the Basket Dance. We even showed off with a little tango.

A basket performed by Magnus and friends to Last Tram.
One for Keith!

Our feet were still hurting days after and Óli´s arm was bruised for days due to the rough handling he got being spun by the ladies! Still, thats a mark (literally) of a good night with lots of dancing.

Whirlwind

A new friend in Edinburgh.

We´re back north with views of the snow-capped Esja on the way to work and far across to the Reykjanes ridge from the living room window, the sulphurous smell in the shower and the highly changable weather here. There was sleet hitting the car windscreen as we were kindly given a lift back to Reykjavík by Óli´s Mum, rain on the kitchen window as we enjoyed her cake and coffee and then sunshine when we were invited back for dinner. Today there is a bright blue sky and red roofs outside my window.

The trip to Scotland was a whirlwind. We met family, friends and made new friends too. My folks passed by. That was lovely and I´m looking forward to their visit here. We saw some great friends and sadly missed seeing others. I met a friend of Óli´s who was just lovely. We had sun, sun and more sun. A tiny sprinkling of rain in Glasgow. My pro-Edinburgh propaganda works well in the sun. I indulged in Scottish ex-pat tourist behaviour buying dodgy tartan tights and Óli showed his celtic maternal origins with great enthusiasm in the form of bagpipe and kilt purchases. There was fire, body paint, cold chilly nights, hot summer afternoons, good old fashioned pubs, too many cooked breakfasts, ice cream in the park, a not very scary underground tour, satisfyingly focussed work on pretty shiny glass, desert, tropical rain forests and dusty, cosy bookshops. I belly danced, we ceilidhed... oh, how we ceilidhed. Photos of these things soon.

Friend in a bag.

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.

Lab life

It's a Friday night and I am here, up there, above. I wish I could capture the buzz of the air conditoning the whirring of the instrument and the black black blackness of the view outside. Insdide it seems a grey world on the surface. Yet, I have been searching for points of colour as I wait for calibration.



I don't mind. After a while this little world becomes cosy and safe. And it's worth it .. I expect greatness from these results. Making connections where none were visible before, a great puzzle coming together. Jigsaws of lines of evidence, strands of impressions, sketches in notebooks, maps and on my brain blending and weaving into a story to tell. The life and desires of a palaenvironmental detective.

Meanwhile, microwave ready meals, pickled onion Monster Munch, pretty pink fairy cakes and Coca Cola keep me going, buzzing into the night.

Meanwhile sad news from "home" - a major fire and a burst hot water pipe both in downtown Reykjavik. Some people were badly scolded by the hot water running down Laugavegur. The fire has destroyed some of Reykjavik's oldest buildings.

Gleðilegt sumar - Happy Summer

One spring where I grew up

Today is the first day of summer in Iceland and I understand there is sunshine to celebrate the event. What I want to know is "was it frosty last night?" A frost on the night between winter and summer brings the good luck of a good summer and I want one of those please.

A bright spot

Night monsters

It is dark and cold outside but in a windowless room in Edinburgh there is work to be done. The smell of petroleum ether and araldite glue mix in the air along with shortbread and tea. I work on my slides, polishing and grinding until they shine and the coloured specks of ash from the volcanoes of Iceland glow like specks of gold. The air conditioning monsters growl and I play bellydance music to chase them away. They go. Perhaps they can try a little shimmy in their corner.

There are shadows outside waiting for me to join them and walk, head held high between pools of lamp light back to the homely warmth of my rented room. Plastic bags russling in the wind wait too, drifting along the pavement. They will follow me home, try to tempt me towards one glance back. What was that shadow, that noise?

Back to work, tea and shortbread and all monsters and shadows and plastic bags can wait, their time will come before bed. They have a ten minute slot as I walk to try their best. It's not long enough to get me.

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?

Spring lambs

Sheep and lamb bottoms, Fljótsdalur at the end of last summer.

Lambs and sheep make the Icelandic and Scottish news today. The first lambs in Iceland were born in the last week in the south of Iceland and red-sheep have been spotted near Bathgate in Scotland. We are getting ready for Easter here now, with thoughts of a trip to the country, chocolate eggs, daffodils which are still not blossoming and roast lamb or perhaps a little chicken.