Iceland Journals: Highs and Lows
Day 3 (5/8)
When you’re in an emotionally trying situation and wake in the morning, there are a few moments of quiet, unassuming calm before the creeping anxiety returns. When I woke around 7am, the first thoughts to enter my mind were, there’s so much condensation on the car windows and I don’t remember if I shut the windows in the apartment before leaving. After the initial grogginess, waves of despair and uncertainty took over. I remembered that my wallet was still missing and I would now have to find some way of moving forward. Unable to sit still, I threw on my jacket and decided to walk to the traveler’s rest stop next to the gas station we’d stopped at the night before. There, I washed up and connected to the WiFi to look into next steps. I checked a Facebook page Icelanders use to post Lost and Found items, but found nothing about my wallet. I logged onto my bank’s mobile app to verify whether the credit cards in my wallet had been used, and found that there had been no suspicious activity. I then borrowed a phone to call the information desks at the waterfalls we’d visited the day before to check whether the wallet had been turned in and then called to report the missing wallet to the local police. My despair only grew as I realized that I likely would not see the wallet again. I’d now spent two hours entertaining the pipe dream of the wallet being found magically appearing before me, but the reality of needing to think of other ways to move forward was settling in. It’s difficult even now for me to portray the desperate hope to which I clung in those first hours of reconciling with the situation I found myself in. To acknowledge that the hope I felt was in fact denial meant that I’d need to commit to the dreaded task of cancelling the cards in the wallet and to cancel the cards meant that I’d at least prevent any fraud that might occur, but I’d still be left with no money to continue my trip. What would I do without any form of payment for the eleven days I still had in Iceland? I thought how terribly I wanted to go home and deal with all of this in the comfort of loved ones and unlimited access to phones and internet. I also thought about how far behind schedule I was going to be and how spending hours on the phone with my bank was not at all what I’d envisioned doing in Iceland.
By now, I’d been aimlessly ambling around town, fueled only by nervous energy and restlessness. I finally found my way to the town’s visitor center, where I hoped to find someone whose role it was to help foreigners, someone who might have some idea of how to move forward, only to find that the office would not open for another hour. It was now drizzling, and so waiting outside was not an option, so I peeked into the cafe of the hostel beside the visitor center and asked if I could sit for a while. Generously, the waiter on staff agreed and when I explained to him the wallet situation, he offered to let me use his phones to make calls to my bank. In the course of walking around town, weighing my options and summoning the courage to make the difficult and irrevocable decision to reporting the cards missing, I was ready to call it in. I’m not sure how other banks deal with this kind of situation, as Chase has been my bank both times now that I’ve had my cards stolen or misplaced, but even considering that it always is a long and arduous process to deal with canceling and ref-provisioning cards, I was thankful to have someone on the other end of the line to lean on. After making half a dozen phone calls and being put on hold for literal hours, it seemed that however unfortunate the circumstances were, there would be resolution. First, Chase cancelled the cards that had been in the wallet and then we looked at options for gaining access to other forms of payment.
I feel I should take a moment now to recognize that for all heartache and misfortune of the situation, I was in an incredibly fortunate and privileged position. To begin with, I’d bought nearly all the food I would need for the next two weeks at the beginning of my trip and since I was living out of my car, I was covered as far as sustenance and shelter. Furthermore, I still had my passport with me and the benefit of these people on the phone with me, all working to make sure I could safely complete the rest of my trip. My greatest concern was not for my safety, financial or otherwise, but for my ability to successfully continue on in a trip which I was incredibly fortunate to take. Acknowledging this truth especially in the trying and emotionally draining moments gave me the perspective to release some of the stress of the situation and embrace the belief that it would all be okay, even if it didn’t feel that way just then. After many holds and transfers, I was informed that Visa, my card provider, would be able to send an emergency credit card to Vik in three days and in the meantime, I would stretch my last quarter tank of gas and drive to the closest Western Union an hour away in Selfoss to pick up emergency cash. While this wasn’t the most ideal situation, given I’d have to “drive empty” for part of the trip and use gas in the reserve tank, it was a far cry from the worse, and for that I was glad. It’s okay and you will be okay, I thought, repeating the mantra from the night before, words I was beginning to believe to be true.
Having spent the greater part of the day on the phone, trying to figure out what the next few days and the rest of the trip would look like, I was thoroughly exhausted, but thankful that the dust had settled somewhat. Sitting in a cafe in the travel center that I’d made home base for the day, I took a moment from the stress and anxiety and reflected on how unbelievably fortunate I was, in spite of objectively unideal circumstances. I began to write a list of things for which I was grateful, something which I often do in times when I’m having trouble being grateful. Though not exhaustive, below are some of the things I wrote at the time:
- All the kindness of strangers who’d let me borrow their phones, charge devices, and sit in their cafes knowing that I couldn’t repay them
- Voicemails from my family, telling me they loved me, even though they were a world away and unaware of what was happening- Dima & Robbie, who accompanied me while I got things sorted
- Beautiful views of Iceland to remind me that despite the circumstances, I am so unbelievably fortunate to be right where I am
- Warm clothes, a (car) roof over my head, and enough food to hold me over
- Promptness and compassion of the Chase agents I spoke with on the phone
- Visa for providing emergency cards to make continuing this trip possible
- Eddie, who let me use the rest of his minutes to make a million calls
- Sunlight peeking through the clouds after days of pouring rain
- Foresight to buy most of the food I’d need at the beginning of the trip
- Company, shared laughter, and car car conversations with new friends
- Loved ones that I am able reach out to when I need support
After the last call and confirmation that I’d be able to pick up money in the morning, I was rejoined by Dima and Robby, who insisted that I’d spent enough time inside for the day. It had been necessary to go through the process of cancelling the lost cards and securing new forms of payment, but it was now equally important now that all I could do was done that I didn’t wait to live my life. I hadn’t come this far to feel sorry for myself and needlessly despair, I reminded myself, and with that thought, I decide to join them for a hike in the mountains surrounding Vik. The great blessing of traveling around Iceland in May is the long days. The sun rises around 4am here and doesn’t set until 10pm, making it possible to embark on a hike late in the afternoon, after a long day of sitting and feeling stuck inside.
We made our way to a series of mountains surrounding the town, where each turn gave way to breathtaking views of the landscape of the shrinking town, the rugged and untouched mountain, and the expanse of the ocean. For the first time that day, the sun began to peek out from behind the clouds and the skies turned the beautifully vibrant blue featured on all the brochures of Vik that we had collected, but had yet to experience in person. The turning weather felt symbolic, as though the universe were celebrating the small victories of the day with me. I’d felt light as the wind blowing in my hair and ran ahead of the boys, eager to find my way to the top. This was the kind of hike which in theory took an hour, but in practice, took twice as long because you kept wanting to stop to take in the view and then to take pictures, desperate to capture that moment in time and the feeling of looking out at the world from the top of a mountain. There is a triumph that comes with climbing mountains, looking back to seeing how far you’ve come and be astounded by the shift in perspective that a few meters can provide, and a peace that comes with seeing how small we are in this tremendous and wondrous world. With each rock-crunching, mud-slopping step, I gave myself the freedom to explore and enjoy Iceland again. From the wide-mouthed smiles and silly poses in the photos we took that day, you’d never guess that I’d woken up that same morning, cold and damp, unsure of how I could possibly continue on. Looking at those photos, you would only see three travelers in awe of their place in the world, happy to be where they were, with who they were with. When we reached the turning point of our hike, I stopped to sit down on the side of the mountain, legs dangling down to the water. I took in the rolling hills behind me and the crashing waves below me, closed my eyes, breathed deeply, and relished the peace in my surroundings and the peace in my heart.
We hiked a total of 8 miles, ending the day with that good kind of weariness and full body ache that comes with the best of hikes. And as I lay in my sleeping bag, I thought about the great highs and lows of the last 24 hours, and how the highs felt that much greater in juxtaposition to the lows. Travel has the tendency to amplify; the smallest, most ordinary events you might encounter at home fill you with wonder and excitement and, similarly, the smallest of bumps in the road leave you scattered and at a lost. Most things, I’ve found, are more difficult abroad, but they are also infinitely beautiful and life-affirming. And I suppose it’s because these lows have such potential to bring us down that it’s important that we fully lean into the highs. A quote which comes to mind now, post-trip, reads: “I’ll look back on this and smile because it was life and I decided to live it”. Indeed, I’m now looking back on this day, so earlier in my trip, and smiling because it was life and I made the choice to live it in its entirety.
These self-proclaimed Iceland Journals are a collection of journal entries written during my two-week solo trip to Iceland, one for each day of the adventure. In brief, I booked a spontaneous solo trip to Iceland, decided to rent a car to drive around and live out of for two weeks, packed a single backpack to carry with me, and you’ll have to read on to see how the rest of the the adventure plays out! This Medium series, kept in close form to the original entries written during my trip, portrays the day-by-day lived experience and my personal takeaways from stepping out of my comfort zone, the lessons I learn as a result of what my parents would call somewhat questionable decision-making, and the people I met along the way. I hope you’ll get something from reading these sometimes indulgent, often spur-of-the-moment reflections, and this series inspires you to seek out discomfort in every facet of life, build community wherever you are and whomever you’re with, and fulfill the truest expression of yourself in everything you do.
To follow the rest of the journey:
Day 1: Choosing Courage
Day 2: From Strangers to Friends
Day 3: Highs and Lows
Thanks for reading — claps, comments, and shares are much appreciated!