Part 2: In which Makoto decides, against her best interests, to go on an adventure.
"Then something Tookish woke up inside him, and he wished to go and see the great mountains, and hear the pine-trees and the waterfalls, and explore the caves, and wear a sword instead of a walking-stick." - J.R.R. Tolkein
"He stayed at home for awhile, and all was quiet." -Njal's Saga
At the top of a mountain, everything that is laid out before you seems small and far away. Clouds can even feel small, if you go high enough to the peak. Makoto Kino stood at the top of a mountain range, arms outstretched, fingertips reaching. If she wiggled her fingers, she imagined little strings attached to each of them, reaching far out across the world wrapping around her friends scattered on this good earth. The wind played with the tendrils of her curly, untamed hair, and she felt the whispers of the land tickle her ears, telling her secrets.
A month ago, she'd never have thought herself here, across the world on top of a mountain after trekking with nothing but a small backpack. She had had to board a plane (a plane!) to get here. Something was wrong with her for sure. Something had possessed her spirit, and one night after a rough day of doing the same routine (bussing dishes in a restaurant, training at her dojo, and fiddling about in her tiny apartment with her plants) did Makoto realize she needed something in her life.
It wasn't friends, she was thankful for the girls, but even Usagi picked up on her restlessness that evening. She had burnt a tray of cookies, and her petite friend had immediately asked what was wrong. The thing was, Makoto was bored and tired. When did her life become the same thing, every day? When did she start feeling as if she were a hundred years old, forever settling in her small room, smelling the decay of the soil in her potted plants.
She read a book about an adventure, a ring and a dragon and decided that maybe she'd leave her hobbit hole this time around. But where to? Anywhere she'd want to go meant she had to face her biggest fear. Still, the courage of her friends gave her the strength to purchase a ticket, and even though she spent the long flight from Tokyo to Reykjavik gripping the edges of her seat with white knuckles, she made it. Of course, only after throwing up in the restroom upon arrival.
The thing about adventures, was that they never seemed to happen until things went wrong. Makoto thought that the long flight was her "wrong thing" but it could only get worse. Her carefully planned suitcase was taken from the conveyor belt, and all she had was her carry on pack that she threw in the overhead. She shouldered it, apprehensive already, and wondering if she should just give up, find a different place to fill the void. The thought of having to sit through another flight again soured her, so Makoto left the solace of the airport and took a few breaths in the chilly early morning air of the otherworldly volcanic country.
It was barely sunrise, the rays from the star just beginning to reach over the horizon. Makoto moved in a trance with the rest of the recently landed passengers, walking through the airport towards transportation. She noticed that many others were renting cars and looking at carefully planned itineraries. She felt another slight hitch in her throat, upon realizing that she truly had no plan and bought a ticket on whim. Gathering up her courage, she walked to a couple that were walking out of the car rental service with keys to a new electric car, and asked for a ride-her first foray into hitchhiking, but definitely not the last on this trip.
The drive to the small city was breathtaking. Endless fields of volcanic rocks spanned her vision. As the sun rose higher in the sky, she noticed small mountains in the distance. She knew it was a small country, but from her view in the backseat of the car, it seemed massive.
That first week in Reykjavik was overwhelming. Icelandic seemed to be the main language that everyone communicated in, with English as a close second. Makoto, not proficient in either, stumbled her way through booking a room in a hostel, and buying a travel guide at a bookstore. But for that first week, the book sat in her backpack at the hostel, untouched.
Instead, Makoto found herself walking everywhere, exploring the streets of the city. There were quaint coffee shops and neat little bars. There were murals everywhere, something that Makoto wished she would see more of in her own corner of the world. The smells of the ocean and the views of the Icelandic opera house were now seared permanently in her mind. One day, she walked up a long winding street to find a massive church at the end of it. The tall columns against the brightness of the sky looked formidable, and even hopeful. Standing in its presence made her feel calm, and strong.
Makoto was always independent but this country served to challenge that independence, lest it turn to loneliness. After another evening of sitting in a pub and glancing at all the patrons happily chatting with each other, she felt a surge of homesickness. She wanted to be with her family, cooking a nice meal, teasing Usagi, jesting with Ami, sparring with Rei and giggling with Mina. But she was shook from those thoughts as a burly man sat across from her, with a loud thump.
"Er, hi." he said, in a gruff voice, "I was told to hand out these fliers." He slid a bright orange piece of paper across the table to her. She looked at it, and could make out the English words "farm, help wanted, room and travel." There was also a phone number at the bottom, and then what looked like the same details but in French, Spanish and German.
The man nodded at her and then rose from the table, and walked off, handing out the flier to more people as he made his way to the bar. Makoto finished her soup, and paid the waiter. As she was leaving, she tucked the flier into her bag, shrugged on her coat and began her walk back to her hostel.
With the assistance of her phone and a quick internet search for the Japanese translation of the words on the flier she read the ad again, laying in her small bed.
"Help Wanted! Looking for a farm hand to stay with us for the season. Room and board included. Travel affairs also included. Please meet at the bus terminal, Reykjavik."
Well, she figured, why the hell not? After all, she hadn't booked a return flight yet, and there was still so much to see. Maybe, she figured, some sightseeing could shake her out of her homesickness.
In the time Makoto spent from arriving at the bus station (where she met that same guy from the bar) to taking said bus across the country, heading north west, she realized how wide and expansive Iceland could be. Dramatic waterfalls, and rolling fields blew past her window. Houses carved into the hills, with no neighbors for miles. Wild horses, with long fluffy manes running across the large fields. It was like she was transported into that fantasy novel she had read. She imagined adventure, and the full experience of those stories, but this time, she was the main character.
They had to take a ferry to the Westfjords, and Makoto was thrilled. She bought a small snack at the harbor, a hotdog with onions and mustard, and happily munched on it as the ferry was underway. She sat on the top deck with her new friend, Kristjan-who had told her that he was a fellow farmhand, a cousin of the family, and just wanted to help his uncle out.
"Family is important here, in Iceland." he said.
Makoto could only give him a small smile, and then turn away to hide the painful expression on her face, letting the wind wipe away a small tear.
They continued on their journey, meeting an enthusiastic young woman with a small truck upon docking, who later introduced herself as Eva, Kristjan's cousin. The drive up to the farm was spectacular, with roads that winded around each fjord. When they reached the house, Makoto was pleasantly surprised to see how quaint it was. It was exactly as she imagined it, painted white with a red roof and sheep mulling about. A small cat greeted her as she was shown around the property.
The weeks she spent at the farmhouse were not easy, physically. She was constantly checking on the sheep barns, making sure the hay was stacked, the sheep were fed and the fences were closed. There were a few sheepherding dogs that ran around and helped guide the herd animals as well, and Makoto loved watching them. She was quickly introduced to the classic Icelandic sweater, made from the wool that Kristjan's aunt would shear from their small herd.
They were the most physically draining weeks she had had in awhile, but throughout it, her overwhelming homesickness and feeling of boredom both washed away. There was some purpose in this routine simple life, something that kept her inspired as she learned new ways of cooking, new ways of farming and new ways to connect. In the evenings, she would sit with the family in their drawing room and share stories with them. She even picked up some Icelandic words, and laughed heartily along as Kristjan's uncle told her stories of the Norse gods. ("Thor, with his hammer! Freya? She's a nice girl.")
The few weeks of her stay ended soon, and Makoto found herself wondering what to do next. She had been in Iceland just shy of a month, and was surprised when she felt she wasn't ready to go back yet. So she took up her small pack again, though this time she bought a few extra things- some hiking boots, rough weather apparel and a new map of hiking trails.
Eva and Kristjan drove her to the nearest trailhead, and pointed out her peak: Kaldbakur, the "Alps of the Westfjords." She smiled as they waved her off, and she began her trek. It took her about four hours to get to the top, where she breathed in the fresh air and spread her arms wide. It had taken a while for her to get it, but now, she finally did. This whole trip was the adventure she was looking for.
Later that evening, after hitchhiking to the nearest village and checking into another hostel, she stood outside and looked up. Aurora borealis snaked across the sky, another part of this country that took her breath away. Snuggled in her homemade Icelandic wool sweater, clutching a cup of the strongest black coffee, and staring at the night sky in this tiny fishing village, Makoto found new inspiration in her life. Even if her friends were across the world, even if it was taking her a moment to find someone special to live her life with, she recognized that there was a way that she wanted to live her life from this point on. She liked to think that the colorful patterns in the sky were ribbons from her parents, encouraging her to go on.
On the day that she had finally scheduled her return flight, she decided she wanted something more to remember this feeling she found in this country. It was a cheesy tourist thing, maybe a little reckless on her part, but still something that she felt would cement her time. So, conquering another fear, she allowed the artist to pierce her skin with the needle and ink. Kristjan's uncle's words came back to her in that moment: "In the old days, we would draw it on your forehead, in blood taken from a raven." A tattoo didn't hurt as much as she thought, and later, looking at the small symbol etched into her ribcage, she realized the full meaning.
Vegvisir, the stave to help it's bearer find their way through rough weather. The protection rune for travelers.
A/N: The words uttered by the Icelanders in this story were all told to me when I was on my own adventure in the country. Whether or not they were messing with me, or completely serious, I'll never know. But it didn't stop me from buying all of the Icelandic Sagas or getting my own Vegvisir tattoo. I know, I'm a tourist.