Gimlé

This always happens after I visit Iceland. I’m blocked, unmotivated and unfocussed right now. Finding it hard to write.

This never happens when I travel normally (anyplace but good old Iceland), normally when I travel ideas well up constantly and phrases keep bubbling up in my mind as I wander around a slightly unfamiliar place.

The issue may be that of overfamiliarity. I’ve spent many a sleepless nights wandering around Reykjavik, got a couple of dozen photos taken in the midnight sun, some which I am quite proud of.

One photo can be found in the places category on wKen’s photoblog which I mentioned previously and has now successfully recovered from internet ribaldry.

I’m thinking about putting more up at some point. Maybe.

I think that I’ll have to do something different the next time I go to Iceland. Maybe bring a really good camera like a Canon A1 and a couple of good lenses. I know my grandfather has a couple of good tripods that he’d be willing to lend me so I would have to bring those.

And then travel. My Dad’s an ex-boy scout, a compulsive “outdoor experiences&rdquo guy. He’s the kind of person who you can travel with in the Icelandic countryside and can give you the names of all the mountains that surround you on the horizon.

You are always surrounded by mountains on the horizon in Iceland, even in Reykjavík. If there isn’t a mountain there, that’s probably because you’re facing the sea.

I think a trip dedicated to photograph the Icelandic countryside would make my next trip much more cathartic and personally inspirational.

In the meantime, I think that the only way to restart my writing engine is to read a good book.

Baldur Bjarnason.
Clifton, Bristol.