On Iceland & Tattoo Ink

In 2009, during spring break the year I graduated from college, I spent that month’s living expenses on a tattoo. After $250 and five hours of linework a vegvisír emerged onto the back of my right calf. It’s a beautiful piece of work, an artist’s take on a timeless Norse design, and it remains a centerpiece of my tattoo collection.

I was 23 years old. I’d never heard words like ‘cultural appropriation’ or thought about why it might not be appropriate to take something from another heritage and put it on my body. I was fascinated by this symbol purported to ensure a clear path through even the fiercest storms, and it never occurred to me that I might one day set foot in its land of origin. Over this past week, though, in Iceland for the first time, I’ve given my vegvisír a lot of thought.

Iceland. Oh, Iceland. This place…it’s been a long time since I’ve seen something truly foreign, but this place is unlike anything I’ve ever encountered. One look at the landscape, one breath of the air, and it’s clear why so many legends were birthed here. It is stark. It is stunning. It is old magic, maybe not remembered as it once was, but it waits. It lives on.

While based in Reykjavik for the duration of our time here, we took a day-long bus tour from the city to the Snæfellnes peninsula in western Iceland. It’s frequently described as a microcosm of the best natural landscapes throughout the country, and it was astounding. Surrounded by fissure-veins where nature carved its will into the land, mountains, glaciers, volcanoes, lava fields, and colors an artist can only dream of, I felt small. Magnificently insignificant, because this island has proved time and time again it will endure, through fire and through ice. With the exception of human settlement in the towns and villages along the coasts, the landscape has changed due to no influence save its own inclination. It’s marvelous to know places like that still exist on earth, and a true honor to behold one in person.

As an outsider I don’t see a war between humans and environment, rather I see an understanding that there is no peril like the one posed by the Earth every single day. All it takes is one eruption; one phenomenon deciding to remind the world how extraordinary it is. A whisper can trigger an avalanche. An approaching cloud can herald a terrible storm. It is easy to see why a vegvisír would be needed, valued, and held in high regard.

I’m 30 now. I’m not who I was at 23, thank god. Would I get a vegvisír tattoo today? Probably not. Do I regret the one I have? Absolutely not. I’ve learned. I’ve found my way.