Somewhere between the snow drifts and the extended sunsets, three months managed to slip by unnoticed, and so my Icelandic adventures have come to an end. I'm once again packing up my possessions and willing, cajoling, and threatening my bulging bag into closing. My time at Sólheimar is finished, and as I glare at my unpacked bag, my thoughts are on the past three months. It is said that REM cycles go in 3-hour segments, a theory which, whether it be true or not, I can oddly attest to: 3 hours of sleep is better than 4, 6 hours of sleep is better than 7, and 9 is simply dreamy. For the same people who buy into this questionable hypothesis (semi-guilty as charged), I propose a similar theory for time cycles: the seasons come in 3-month segments, the financial quarters come in 3-month segments, and 3 months seems to be the time when you finally begin to settle into a new place. So of course, in true vagabond style, I'm ripping up my roots before they grow too deep, gathering them about me like a pile of cumbersome petticoats, and waddling on down the road.
So what has been my experience working in an eco-village in Iceland? Sólheimar isn’t really an eco-village, and so it shouldn’t be advertised as one. The way of life isn’t particularly focused on living in an ecologically friendly way, and in this respect it doesn’t add up to other well-known eco-villages in the world; some of the more extreme like Findhorn in Scotland and Lammas in Wales come to mind. But whether or not Sólheimar is a sustainable community isn’t as black and white. Obviously the issue of eco-mindedness will come up here as well, but there is more to sustainability than this. A truly sustainable community is able to continue itself in all aspects: population, culture, life-satisfaction. Sólheimar is a vibrant, thriving community, and that itself is an aspect of sustainability that is difficult to find. It's a place where after a few days people will recognise your face, and if you're not at the morning meeting or at work, someone will come by your house to make sure you're alright. Its inhabitants look after each other, but they're also very willing to accept new people, whether they're just visiting or here to stay. Sólheimar has people with intellectual disabilities, physical disabilities, terminal cancer, people who are completing their prison sentence, artists, and students. It has an organic tree nursery, greenhouse, and bakery; creates ceramic, wax, carved, and textile art; it has a choir, theatre group, and chicken coop. I was surprised that when it came time to say goodbye, it was quite tough. I’ve done a lot of moving around, and three months isn’t much time, all things considered, to feel like you can know a place well enough to really miss it. But Sólheimar is a special place. The people don’t put up walls like they do in other places, and because it’s all about the community, you become a part of it almost immediately. And leaving that, knowing you’ve had your own little part to play in it, is difficult.
While it hasn't taught me about life in an eco-village like I had hoped, it has taught me things I hadn't expected. And so for all of that, I say takk fyrir, Sólheimar. This place is doing some wonderful things, and has the potential to do everything it sometimes implies it does. I wish it and all the people in it health, happiness, and above all else, a sustainably run pub.
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