The zodiac boat driver allowed himself to only get so close to the icebergs that had broken off from the glacier tongue. The icebergs floated about Glacier Lagoon. They were magnificent in color and shape.
An iceberg is always several times bigger beneath the surface. The boat captain had to mentally measure how big the widest expanse was and formulate a safe distance.
For an iceberg, without warning will flip over.
After boating around the icebergs, we took a walk to Diamond Beach. As the icebergs floated out of the lagoon, into the ocean, they continued to change shape and size until they reached the ocean and were tossed back upon the beach and renamed: diamonds.
Again, the beauty was astounding.
I've been home for six days, and Diamond Beach, the Icelandic Glaciers, the volcanic soil all seem like a dream. I have lost the perspective needed to tell the story of Iceland. I need to be there to bare witness to the splendor, the wonder, the magnificence of nature.
I am writing from the perspective of home and looking back. My voice is different. The lens has changed. Tapping on a laptop in the luxury of my home and private office are not conducive to the spartan, raw, Icelandic wilderness. It's why journals are more powerful than memoirs. It's why memoirs must be fed from journals.
It is a strange phenomena to look at photos and realize you were just there, but it seems like it could have been decades ago. It's strange to arrive home and feel like you never left. To be with friends you haven't seen in a year, but feel like you saw them yesterday. The strangeness must be a culprit of modernity. That I can be in two different countries a thousand miles apart --all in the same day.
The culprit and the miracle of modernity.
So it is with strangeness that I write about Diamond Beach.
Comments