I think about it all the time. When people find out that I spent a week there this past summer and ask me how I liked it, I feel like I'm talking about a past love when I answer wistfully, "amazing." as I shake my head in wonder of it all. Iceland has it all, beautiful people, fashion, art, music, nature, pools, excellent bread and cheese, which is all I care about, really. I wonder what would have happened had I been born to an Icelandic family with strong Viking roots and grew up on that tiny island that's just hanging out in the middle of the Atlantic Ocean. Well, based on what I know of myself and my history of moving around, I'm willing to put money on the fact that I'd probably make a play for NYC.
Isn't it funny that you could wish so badly that you're anywhere else in the world but where you are? Whenever I travel, I picture myself living there. When I was in Barcelona, I tried to imagine myself speaking fluent Spanish and riding my motorbike to the American School for another day of teaching cute Spanish children. I imagined myself meeting up with my circle of cool, international friends after work for wine and dinner, staying out way too late and it not effecting my work performance because, for some reason, in Spain, everyone is supposed to stay out really late on weekends AND on weeknights.
But the thing is, I know that all the bajillions of tourists who circulate my neighborhood every single day are doing it too. When I come out of my cute little brownstone with my dog on my lively, bustling street, I bet tourists are looking at me and thinking, what if I lived there? What would it be like?
There are special things about every place (well, not every place; I've yet to find one redeeming quality for Hempstead, Long Island.) but what am I missing out on while I fantasize about getting an apartment overseas and sitting in a cafe talking to a Scandinavian man over coffee and cake? Probably not that much, really, I mean, this imaginary Scandinavian man is quite beautiful.
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