Lost in Iceland

63.459523,-19.364618

Douglas C-47 (Dakota RAF) Skytrain crashed on the Sólheimasandur black sand beach, on 24th November 1973

40 years and 2 days ago, an American Navy Douglas C-47 found itself in a typical day of Icelandic hostile weather. The huge steel bird on route to Höfn í Hornafirði was forced an emergency landing at Sólheimasandur, south of Iceland, due to low fuel. It was a successful landing as there was no casualty. All survived.

40 years later, on a Saturday, sitting in a walled room, fingers jumping on the keyboard, I find it hard to imagine the dramatic scene of an aircraft braving the weather and banging onto the bleak black sandy beach in the middle of nowhere. It is equally difficult for me, a lay person that have seen nothing much stormy or extraordinary, to visualize how the emotion waves tides up to extreme horror during the crash and how ecstasy took over the crew when they found each other safe and sound after the bumpy journey.

I've seen no dramas in my life. That's probably why I went all my way to the wreckage of a drama to suck in the remains of a legendary landing.

Two hours' drive east of Reykjavik, capital of Iceland, along Route No. 1, a ring road connecting dotted towns of the island, my friend and I arrived at a spot where there was a random car park. No signs on what the spot was all about. The directions on travel guides tells explorers to drive along the route until a casual car park after crossing a bridge east of the famous waterfall: Skógafoss. With constant fears that we might miss the spot, there we were.

Back in April 2016, the owner of the land where the plane rested decided to close the vehicle route to the wreckage for fear of excessive damage to the landscape. Iceland is extremely stunning, yet extremely vulnerable. A five-minute drive of 4 kilometers single trip turns out to be a round walking trip of 2 hours.

Without much thought on where to gather the courage to cross the sandy beach, we set out on the longest 8 kilometers I've ever set my feet on. It was windy. I mean, really windy. The kind of wind that might sweep a toddler to the ground in a gust. I was walking like a toddler, tilting myself against the wind. Drops of rain slashed onto my face.

It was freezingly cold. I wrapped my mesmerized dancing hair with a sweater in order not to play Medusa. It was long. All I see was black sand, spreading from the toes of my feet to the edge of the skylight, extending to as far as my eyes can reach. Luckily I had my friend with me to walk along, to encourage me. For a moment, I was thinking maybe this is how explorers to the South Pole might feel when they were trapped in the white world. I was wrapped in a black, windy, rainy world where I constantly regret my decision to walk all the way to see some deserted steel frames.

Why didn't I turn around and head back? Well. My aspiration is to become part of a drama or at least be at the scene of it. It is some sort of curiosity mixed with pride. I braved through the journey as if I was walking on the surface of the moon. There was nothing human-made except myself and my friend. All nature. It's an experience where I feel that I am alien to the earth.

After an hour's walk, there emerged a tiny point on my horizon, surrounded by colorful moving spots. Finally. People coming to Iceland mostly equip themselves with colorful garments for the convenience of life saviors in case of emergencies. This isolated land bestowed our earth with unspeakable beauty and its mysterious existents adds to a sense of danger. I remember reading a post on the plane flying out of Iceland saying that the Icelanders find it funny to see travelers coming to Iceland armed to their teeth. After all, it is a land of people. A land of kindness disguised by snow, ice, and stories to the outsiders. Too much equipment is a sign of insecurity faced with unknown journeys and land. It is also a sign of respect awed by Nature.

The silver spot grew bigger and brighter as I stepped towards it.

I saw it. Lying there.

I took nearly one thousand photos as if I wanted to suck the wreckage into my camera. I was walking around it again and again. I was examining every detail of the plane as if there was a piece of hidden diamond somewhere and I didn't want to miss it. I was exploring the whole steel bird from inside out, from outside in. I found no other proper way to make the most of my time with the plane. Photos, more photos, and one more. It was admittedly a bit crazy.

But I don't regret it. I want to see every inch of the skin in this legendary place. The one hour was all that I have with this plane wreckage. I was greedily making the most out of it, just like a hungry lion licking the bones of its game.

How I wish I had the same attitude to cherish the many-in-a-lifetime experiences which are equally precious. I was taking that kind of person and place for granted. By not caring too much, I created wreckages in my life. It was not the same as this plane wreckage with a cheerful story of no casualty, but wreckages with drops of tears and sounds of sighs.

Drama has a special appeal to me. Yet, ordinary life is more of a tinkling stream than a pouring waterfall. I am learning to dramatize daily life in a way that I never cease to admire, to be grateful for, and to give all that I can to things and people I love.

Quietly, I set foot on my journey back...

#Europe #Travel #Iceland