The thick
Icelandic wind warned of winter. It harshly dried my tears, which had fallen in
endless waterfalls down my cheeks like the powerful waters of Gullfoss.
The wind brought
on chills, shivers, uncontrollable shaking. The damp earth where we laid slowly
stole my warmth. A distant red-roofed farmhouse stood in stark contrast to the
dramatic mountains, decorating the valley where we crashed. It appeared to be a
picture perfect scene from a movie, and I felt as if I were in one, or perhaps in
a distant dream. Somebody wake me up.
Four thousand
miles from home, but close to each other, we laid in the grass, whipped
irreverently by the relentless wind. We were insignificant obstacles in its
path towards the angry ocean at the base of the nearby cliffs.
We laid and we
waited. Laura ran down the road to find help as we hung on to the hope that
someone would drive by. Anyone.
Time did not
seem to move forward. Worse case scenarios ran through my mind. I don’t
remember how long we waited, but I soon felt a gentle touch and caught a
glimpse of white hair as it touched my cheek, soft like silk. A calming,
motherly voice said hello; she said her name was Sue. She told me it was going
to be okay… so I believed her.
Faces blurred in
and out of view, blankets piled on top of us, rocks placed around the edge of
the blankets to keep them from joining the torrents of the wind. People held cushions
to barricade the harsh wind, building a fort around our sprawled bodies.
More people
arrived and the wind soon carried foreign words, worried tones. Minutes felt
like hours and strangers became friends as we learned the language of
expression, tone, and smiles. Kind gestures speak volumes.
Our eyes tried
so hard to close, but Sue’s words kept us awake. In a friendly Toronto accent,
she and her husband Dave asked us about our trip, asked us our names, and constantly
reassured us it would be ok. We weren’t sure what to believe, but we nodded,
still fighting the urge to sleep.
Magni joined Sue.
He was driving from Ísafjörður to Reykjavik
to visit his daughter when he saw the remnants of our van and stopped to help.
While we waited for the ambulance, he taught us the longest word in Icelandic: Vaðlaheiðarvegavinnuverkfærageymsluskúraútidyralyklakippuhringur.
Magni’s smile
came in and out of view as he taught us various Icelandic phrases and brought
blankets and more barriers from the wind. Others stopped to help, braving the
devastating wind to collect our belongings and help the other four in our group.
We got word that Fiona couldn’t move.
~~~
I still now have
flashes of flipping – as I fall asleep, I am often awaken suddenly by the
feeling before we rolled, my heart racing. I can vividly remember the moment,
frozen in time, when I knew we were going to die… and also the moment when the
chaos came to a halt and we somehow didn’t.
Just moments
before the crash, we stopped to admire the majestic Icelandic horses. I
marveled at their resilience, picturing them in the dead of winter, eyelashes
covered in ice, hooves in the deep white snow.
Just moments
before, I ran back to the RV, sprinting up the middle of the wide-open road,
tiptoes touching the double yellow lines, every step pushing me through the
strong wind, feeling energized, blissful, free.
I grew up
longing for wind and lived by it for years of competitive dinghy sailing. We
called ourselves sailors, but I now realize we were really acrobats of the
wind. We jumped, hung, and balanced in the boat, every precise movement carried
out with calculated grace. And we did all of this while reading the wind,
analyzing every pattern on the water, preparing for what we anticipated it
would do next. Many metaphors relate sailing to life, but for me, sailing was
life. We lived by, and for, the wind.
But all sailors
also know that the wind can be challenging, unpredictable, unforgiving.
When our RV
emerged from behind the wind shadow of a mountain in Iceland’s West Fjords, a
damaging gust violently threw us off the road.
There are simply
no words to describe the feelings moments after the accident, besides perhaps
pure shock. I had no idea what had happened or how many times we rolled, or
where I had been when it happened.
We screamed for
each other, cries drowned by the roaring wind. It lets up for nothing.
Some of us
emerged from the rubble. Fiona had been thrown from the van as it tore into
pieces during the roll. Greg’s face was painted red with blood. It wasn’t until
2 hours later that I realized I suffered a bad concussion.
We found each
other and fell to the ground next to the van. The wind instantly ripped the
roof and sides from the RV, sending them flying like pieces of flimsy cardboard,
across the field and into the roaring ocean below.
 |
| Photo by Jennah Caster |
~~~
It’s amazing how
something can be so horrific and traumatic, yet so beautiful. We experienced
the kindness and generosity of total strangers – in a foreign land, we felt
like family.
A helicopter
came for Fiona, and Magni graciously offered a few of us a ride back to
Reykjavik – the ambulances from the west fjords didn’t go to the hospitals in
the capital. It was the longest 2-hours of my life, but along the way Magni
made it a bit better as he pointed out various landmarks and told us their
names, and often a little story. He shared with us his love for his gorgeous
country as we drove by scenery that looked unreal – this simply added to the
dream-like, dazed, and shocked feeling of the whole endeavor. But as he taught
us more complex, yet beautiful, Icelandic words, we realized that there was
really only one word we wanted to learn: thank you. “Takk fyrir,” he said. It
took us quite a few tries and I’m not sure we ever mastered it, but Magni
smiled.
I have eternal
gratitude for the people, both local Icelandic citizens and other travelers
who, selflessly and without hesitation, went out of their way to help us both
at the scene of the accident and throughout the difficult days that followed.
In a world so often
full of negative news – from natural disasters and war to sadness, tragedy and
devastation – this was a beautiful reminder of the compassion and kindness that
still exists. It’s also a reminder of the fragility of life, how everything can
change in seconds.
Just as we will
never forget the gust, the shock, the trauma, and the tears, we will also never
forget the incredible people, once strangers, who now hold a special place in
our hearts. To those who we will never see again, to those who we did not officially
meet and we never learned your name, to those who took the time to comfort us,
help us heal, and make it back to our own home: Takk fyrir.
~
For more details about the accident, see Patrick's Facebook post and for photographs of our adventures during the 10 amazing days in Iceland before the accident, check out @Waterlust & @jmadler.
superb post about "Takk fyrir"
ReplyDeleteNIOS Admission 10th
NIOS Admission 12th