Why, Iceland
could have been named Lavaland, or Ashland, or maybe Craterville. Even Grayrock or Treeless would be more like
it. Perhaps it’s more accurate to
imagine that these drunken Vikings simply got distracted just trying to
pronounce Reykjavik, and then it all quickly got lost in translation. Reykjavik
is actually Reykjavíkurflugvöllur in
Icelandic. Yeah. Twenty one letters but not one pronounceable or familiar
syllable for those of us not trained or native. It’s embarrassing to admit but that
word simply boils down in my brain as being “yada-yada-yada-yada-UMLAUT-yada.” Apparently
the Vikings and I both arrogantly botch accuracy.
Fanciful history aside, Iceland is one of the most awesome and
beautiful places on earth. Perhaps
130 volcanoes, blue lagoons and all those tectonic plates have something to do
with it. Or, that stunningly beautiful video they show you during their airline
take-off. Why that sucker seals the deal within the first twenty minutes in the
air. Iceland Airline takes a sober,
boring emergency landing video about seatbelts, oxygen masks and water slides -
during a potentially horrifying crash - and makes it feel like an artistic
experience or a yoga-like, meditative retreat.
It’s the most peaceful, hypnotically narrated nature-fest take-off I have
ever encountered. They might more
accurately name it Eckhart Tolle Airline.
I have flown in and out of the
Reykjavik airport for layovers four times now and each has lured me in with magnetizing
wonder, despite never having actually set foot on land. This magical place is where the United States
has sent astronauts to train for landing on the moon. So, in simple terms, it
genuinely is almost out of this world.
Recently, I was in the Reykjavik airport for an eight hour,
overnight layover to England. Despite
arriving at almost midnight their time, the central waiting area in the
terminal was at the height of busy; and busy for me with all those new things
you experience when you are first in another’s world. Theirs is very modern, and full of a lot of
Nordic sweaters. And hairy boots. Cultural competency, daylight at night and
assimilation aside, this moment was different in a new way. There seemed a deafening omission of something, and it
all felt shockingly different. It actually took about an
hour to even begin to realize what it was.
Quiet.
All these hundreds and
hundreds of people were busy in engaging conversation, eating or drinking,
talking, walking and yet it was like we were quietly in a large living
room. It was filled with clinking
glasses, laughter, droning voices and children giggling in a terminal not
designed linearly, with chairs attached in straight lines like in the
states. In Iceland, people are together
mingling in a community circle design.
This moment seemed like the movie Love,
Actually with a new geometric effect for that opening scene where they pan
in on the crowd waiting for life stories to emerge. An Icelandic remake would also
have very, very tall actors and actresses, with blonde, straight hair. Oh, wait a minute. That would
be Hollywood. Never mind.
After taking in the quiet, I
began to question why. Oh. OHHH. There
were no TVs anywhere in the airport. Not
one screen of news to blare reports of terrorism, weather, politics and gossip,
all with ticker tape urgency.
There was also no music
playing over the speakers, no flight announcements, no neon signs and no fast
food chains in this large, Iceland airport. No sensory distractions and junk whatsoever. The Iceland airport is filled with just people,
and stores in which to shop, all located around the perimeter. Being. In the
moment. And eating an inordinate amount of fish for breakfast, lunch and
dinner. It couldn’t be more Un-American.
I found this stark difference to
be a welcome salve to my U.S. noise-battered and consumer-badgered soul. It
seems we have become a country obsessed with providing an undercurrent of sound
and sales 24/7. In the American world
there is music constantly playing or visual stimuli consistently flashing us a
message everywhere we go: In the doctor’s
office, dentist chair, grocery store, liquor store, hair salon and car dealer;
in our offices and on our computers, in yoga class, the locksmith, coffee shop,
elevator and in every, single store and restroom in the mall. Billboards as we drive and Music as we walk.
News and advertising update us, while war, violence and terrorism depress. We are a country now designed to sell, tell,
serve and satiate the public to death. Iceland
by comparison seems alive with a promotion merely of living quietly together in
peace.
Weeks later, I landed back in the
states at Logan airport in Boston. One
of the first things my senses noticed about our country was the undercurrent and
barrage of sound and TV’s back in my life.
It seemed an assault on every level.
The most glaring was in the ladies room.
Directly over the stall was actually a speaker in the ceiling, and the
music was so loud I wanted to cover my ears.
I could barely hear the toilets flush.
It seemed ironic when I realized the song playing as I peed was Bruce
Springsteen screaming at me, “Born in the U.S.A.! Born in the U.S.A…”
When did we decide to kill
Quiet? I miss it. In our country, quiet
seems a language long ago and far way, frozen and literally not heard
anymore. You simply can’t get more accurate
than that.
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