A Very Short Dispatch From Aðalstræti

As a skateboarder, I’m particularly attuned to certain sounds: urethane wheels on asphalt, the vacuum-sound of a street cleaner. I heard both of these outside my window yesterday morning. I also heard many more passers-by yesterday than on any other day since I’ve been here. That’s because the first cruise ship of the summer arrived in the port here in Ísafjörður. And with it arrived 800 or so tourists—many of whom walked the streets of this town pointing at things, taking photos, and wearing berets. Honestly, I find it pretty charming. Anecdotally, the only people I’ve spoken to who seem annoyed by this influx of tourists are… other tourists—that is, people like me who are here for a little longer than a typical tourist and who try to blend into the fabric of the town, at least a little bit. And I get it: you develop a fantasy of the town and your place within it, and these tourists come along and remind you that you’re also just visiting. Or maybe not. What do I know?

I’ve switched rooms over here. I had a bathtub in my old room, so close I could fill the tub without getting out of bed. While that sounds amazing in theory, it’s not actually something I ever did. Now I have a grand piano in my studio—much to the disappointment of the couple who are in my old room. I’ve been trying to teach myself some songs. And I’m not very good. In fact, I’m terrible. But what makes it even worse is that I’m also determined. A lack of talent combined with tenacity=disappointment for all involved. I mostly play when no one is around. But a couple times I interpreted the silence in the other room as absence when in fact it was naptime. Mea culpa.

From the desk in my old studio, I looked out directly at the forest and at the mountain across the water. It was delightfully distracting. I can still see the forest and the mountain from my desk in my new room (as well as a rainbow at this very moment!), but I’m now sitting directly across from an apartment. Directly. Across. I could set up a slack-line between the two windows and it would be a quick trip over there, an easy walk. The curtains in the apartment opposite have been open since I arrived and I’ve never seen a light on in there or any movement. I assumed the occupant was away or that the place was empty. So I got a little lazy about closing my blinds.

Here's the thing. I’ve gotten really into stretching and touching my toes lately. Whenever I need to take a break from writing, I stand next to my desk, do some stretches, and reach for my toes. I do this a lot. Also, I sometimes dance around a little bit. This is an unexpectedly nice way to think (or not think) when I’m working on something. Put on some music. Dance around a bit to think (or not think). You’d be surprised. Okay, and also, sometimes at night after I have a shower, sure, maybe I do some more stretches while I’m drip drying. I’m only human.

The other day, while reaching for the ceiling after having just touched my toes, I looked across the street and saw, for the first time, the silhouette of someone with extremely wild bedhead standing in the shadows of the apartment over there. How long has this person been there? What have they seen that they can’t unsee? I feel so bad for them, and so embarrassed for me.

This morning the curtains over there were closed, and I can’t help but feel that it has something to do with me and my stretching.

Okay. Back to work!

IR