Iceland is a Ruck in the Carpet
It sort of diminishes the majesty to define Iceland as a “ruck in the carpet”, but there is really no better way to explain why it exists.
Iceland is a ruck.
There is the grand North American continental plate (where I live) and the grand European continental plate (where I was headed for a month) and where the two meet: is Iceland. A Grand Ruck.
An unstable, fiery, lunar, icy rock, filled with steam and springs and sulphur.
I couldn’t think of a better place for the two massive continents to commune and collide.
Better yet, as the tour guide told us, we could literally see the place- the actual place!- where the two continents came together. We could see the North American plate (that’s my plate!) jutting out for all to see.
And so, for an hour that seemed a little out-of-body, I strolled along the North American plate. Here it is: looking like a castle wall, signaling the start of my continent.
For a few minutes, I just stared at it. I had this daydream where I scaled the side of it, popped out on top, and walked home. I have never felt so weirdly attached to a geological feature. “That’s North America right there!” I thought in my head. That’s home!
Also, I was supremely Jet-lagged, which contributed to much of this.
In the end, I realized that my tour guide was likely hyperbolizing. I’ve no idea if this shelf of rock was truly North America.
But it didn’t matter. I loved the idea that it was. That this huge shelf…was my shelf. Just sitting there, in the middle of the North Atlantic.
You never know where you’ll find home.