My milk run flight back home bounced up and down off the major cities like a ping pong ball. Three takeoffs and landings; enough to make one sick.
It’s nice to fly over BC’s green-carpeted mountains and remember that I love this place. So much wilderness, so close. And Vancouver doesn’t look so badass from the air, just squeaked into the flat space of the river delta where the mountains shrug aside.
All the verdant abundance we have here, this surfeit of trees and resources and adventure, makes me wonder why Iceland took such a hold on me in comparison. Just look at the gorgeous Keremeos valley, a pastoral landscape and serene photo ops like many we just saw. In this whole country, we have so much more than little Iceland, about the size of Newfoundland, does.
All I can say is that there’s something about Iceland that defies description or definition that exists only there, and I can hear it calling me back…