PROLOGUE. Home is where my heart Is. And since my heart is in my chest, my home will always be where I am, at present. And I am nomadic.
After moving up to Canada’s arctic during the dark of darkest winter, what a better way to welcome summer back into my life than by re-visiting all the places I call home. I believe I am an Elf, or in other words a wondering spirit, sandwiched between worlds and now different cities and cultures. I knew from my beginnings at Bathurst and College in Toronto that I was restless and would probably spend a lifetime searching for a place I could truly fit in, but knowing I had a challenge ahead of me, well, that brought me peace instead of fear. Through constant jetlag, extreme climate changes, parasites and all-night sun, I have discovered that there is no one place I have been searching for, but that bridging the gaps and going the distances is what I need to survive. Once feeling out-of-place and alone, I now have a mismatched family spanning the globe. Just as oceans eventually lead to streams that twist and turn and tumble out somewhere new, I have realized that we are all connected much more easily than we think. I hold myself accountable to understanding and standing up for the environments, cultures and different people I have met, who have laughed with me and acknowledged me along the way, no matter which way my path crossed, and uncrossed and crossed over again.
Not counting the many years I spent as a baby Elf living and splashing deep inside the geothermal pools under the volcanic glaciers, this is my fourth trek back to Iceland, my official and spiritual home. I don’t know if it’s the feeling I get as I am sucked into the clouds while trekking along the high fjords, or the way the glaciers see right through me when we once again are face-to-face, at a distance, yet close together. Something about this vast land has spoken to me for a long time, and I can feel the presence of some magic lurking behind the rocks and shadows left by the midnight sun. I could get lost here forever and ever and ever, and everything would work itself out. It just would.
This journey back to Iceland was even more special as I was traveling with two of my bestest friends, who are now fused into my life by either a mutual love of singing, or being forced to make fancy coffee for a big corporation for years and years, as well as our common mission to be world explorers and Revolutionaries. Our first Revolutionary mission was to visit the Westfjords, the claw-like region on the very Northwest of the island, where only 7000 humans live (mostly farmers, fishermen, or moustache-clad directors of a Sea Monster or Wizardry museum…yes, the moustache is must-have), and only 3% of tourists visit. Being part of the 99% on previous Occupy missions, we were determined to be the 3% that ventured to the WESTFJORDS! While looking on a map in the rental car office about an hour after we got off our overnight flight from Toronto, I noticed there was a little town in west fjord of the West Fjords labeled Bildudalur. As a Bilodottir, I could feel my Elvish heart itching to set my feet there…