I am part of a combined family. This situation gave me exactly one step brother. I also have a step sister and half sister and three full biological siblings, but they will have other paragraphs some other day. This paragraph is about that one step brother. His name is Andrew. We don’t talk much, but I like him. This paragraph is also about the Beetles, sort of. I know exactly two things about the Beetles. 1) My step brother loved them to the point that it made me hate them. And 2) Yoko Ono broke them up. But also people say that fact is not in fact, a fact. There’s also the part where Yoko Ono has her own island in Iceland and her very own local holiday where she lights up a massive “peace light” that can be seen by all of Reykjavik. It stays lit until December. It is taken very seriously. Iceland must not know about fact number 2. And probably they don’t know about fact number 1 either.
Christian and I are both impressively anti-social. Although we prefer spending time alone, we like all kinds of people, as long as they think and act and dress exactly like us. This social awkwardness usually causes us to spend time in our home. Alone. Where we live a routine of making food, watching movies, and consistently finishing each other’s sentences. Although we are happy and comfortable the way we are, we believe it’s healthy to branch out. So we try to gradually increase our human contact. Usually we do that by going to events with large crowds where we only have to talk to each other. I’m pretty sure that counts. Because of our desire to assimilate into the human race we decided to go out on a Friday night, leaving the comfort of our instant ramen and predictable Grey’s Anatomy episodes at home, and visited Viðey to see Yoko Ono’s peace light get lit.
Months ago Christian and I had heard about Yoko having an island dedicated to her work for world peace and we thought the locals were pulling our leg. My legs were pulled right out from under me when I found out it was actually real. Due to this discovery, my legs pressed on as we ran to a bus stop to revel in hipster fun and see this impressively iconic/ironic place. The weather was brutal. The wind cut at our coats as we waited for a bus. There was a massive group of people waiting with us. Once a bus was in sight, hoards of activity-goers ran to it and attempted to board even though it was out in the road, having passed our stop completely. We watched as many were asked to leave and, although rejected, saw their eyes hot on the prowl for the next approaching automobile. Their keen focus helped us and we chased after them when they chased after an approaching bus heading to our ferry stop.
The bus was packed full of hippy-dippies off to see the Imagine Peace Tower. There were some tourists, but they were far outnumbered by the many locals of all ages. A man helped adjust the hood of his 1 year old daughter’s snow suit next to me as an elderly woman stood beside me and held on to the rail. I offered her my seat and she refused. And to be fair, she was Icelandic, so although she was in her early 80’s, she was in far better shape than I’ll ever be.
By the time the bus made it to the ferry stop the weather had changed from “bothersome” to “in fact quite a ruckus.” The wind was harsh and the rain was hard. Christian and I quickly realized we would be enjoying this adventure blind, our glasses already completely covered in rain water. Through the blurred view of my oversized Prada frames I saw the line for the ferry. I saw the line even in my legally blind state, because it was overflowing from a neat and crowded cue and blending into a large and looming crowd. A woman in charge of crowd control told a few of us heading off the bus to turn and go to the next port. Although I was confused about leaving the only dock large enough for a ferry I rushed through the crowd of people like the sheep in a herd that I am. More to use the protection of the group to hide from the elements of the storm than for any real sense of direction. Because had I known where we were taking ourselves I would have opted for enduring the bad weather and waiting it out for the ferry to make its way back. Instead of the large safe ferry, we had been sent to a minuscule, worn down, fishing boat. The kind of boat that could comfortably hold five… and was about to hold a very compact 35. The boat tugged along slowly. The storm was much worse in the water than it was on solid ground. Each wave rocked our small sanctuary so far to its side the waves touched the windows. We continued to be pushed back, the boat simply not strong enough to crush through the waves. Eventually the ferry charged in front of us, nearly knocking us over, in an attempt to block us from the worst of the waves. I’ve never been in a situation where lifelong fishermen had to maneuver that cleverly to keep me alive. I’d prefer never to do it again.
The close quarters caused my claustrophobia to work overtime. But it was the storm, and my impressive knack for getting motion sick in a movie theater, that made me think I wouldn’t make it to shore. I wasn’t the only person to sport the pale fear of sure sea sickness. The tough elderly woman who refused to take my seat on the bus sat clenching her husband in tears during our perilous boat ride. An Australian traveler spoke wide eyed about how someone would throw up before we made it to shore, and it would probably be her. The general look of all aboard was that of fear, fear for their lives as the waves tipped the boat sideways and fear for the best of their lunch ending up on their shoes. At one point a kind Icelander who sat beside me talked me down and told me to face the back of the boat and look outside to keep from being sick. It calmed me and truly seemed to help. Even though I knew he just wanted me to not face him when I puked. As I turned to watch the ocean through the back of the boat I noticed a group of Brits bobbing up and down, their spot emphasized by the waves as they sat in the far back. They were absolutely unfazed by the crashing waves. Instead of the utter pain of seasickness sported by every other passenger, they gabbed about what they planned to have for dinner, describing each course in agonizing detail as the boat rocked my stomach back and forth. I’ll give the British that much, they have an impressively strong constitution.
By the time our boat reached the island it was pitch black outside. We still only had a very faint idea of what was actually going on on this island. With no clear signs for direction, we chose to follow the random line of candles through the dark, trusting they’d lead us to the event and not off the edge of one of the many cliffs. The end of the candles led us to the peace light, still unlit, and we climbed a nearby hill to get a better view through the packed crowd.
After an hour standing in the cold wind and rain I checked to see if all ten toes were still intact. Although they were, I cursed myself for my outfit selection. As I stared at my closet before we left (the sun shining through my windows, I might add) I decided I wanted to look cute. So I wore a coat two sizes too small. Because of the tight fit, I couldn’t wear a thick sweater (or much of anything) underneath. I figured it wouldn’t be too cold and if I looked hot it wouldn’t matter that I only had a short sleeve shirt underneath. My vanity always trumps any semblance of sanity. I didn’t bring mittens because I didn’t want to look weak. I’ve spent days outside where I feel like I’d be much more comfortable with gloves, but I refuse to wear them until I see locals doing the same. But I hadn’t seen the locals at an outdoor night time event. If I had, I would have known they all brought gloves. I had not. And instead of looking weak, I just looked daft.
Don't think wearing glasses in Iceland means you'll be able to see.
Before the actual lighting of the Imagine Peace Tower (whose purpose I had yet to figure out at the time) there was an hour long set of entertainment. The mayor talked about who Yoko was and why she brought the light to Iceland. At one point, he talked about the influence she had had in Iceland and in “more remote countries like the USA” at that, I laughed out loud. Loudly. I was also the only one.
Next up were the musical numbers. Iceland’s men’s choir is a very big deal. And they are very good. I’ve taken it upon myself to chose what activities to go to in the country purely based on whether they will give a performance. I’m pretty sure the Icelandic men’s choir will call me up to heaven. After sitting on the side of a cliff, Christian’s Barbie sized knees attempting to block the wind, I thought I may freeze to death while listening to men sing about being vikings and waiting for Yoko Ono to light a giant candle. Obviously a worthwhile way to go. Because of this, I chose to risk it in the freezing cold and listen to them sing instead of heading into the warm refreshment tent. I was so cold I was starting to feel sick, but I’d had donuts for dinner the last three days. So if the frostbite wasn’t going to take my toes I figured diabetes would.
The event itself was confusing. For one, I didn’t realize Yoko Ono was alive. Which made her appearance all the more impressive in my eyes. The announcer stated her arrival, and the crowd of Icelanders went crazy. They were absolutely thrilled to see her. And I have to say, I was pretty impressed. This tiny piece of woman had two large guards blocking her, not from the crowd of peace loving, adoring fans, but from the wind.
She gave a great talk. She talked about world peace and about why Iceland, having no military and housing no foreign military on it’s land, was the perfect place to emphasize the beauty of world peace. And as music began to play and the peace light lit up the sky, I thought seriously about just how incredibly peaceful Iceland is. How safe and happy I feel here in a country with an average of .3 murders a year, where children can feel safe in school and where the police don’t carry guns. Yoko Ono had chosen a country where peace was genuinely lived. And while she spoke about this peace, Icelanders crying around us, Christian turns to me and says, “This’ll make for a great Two Truths and a Lie.”
And it’s true. So let’s play a round:
1. My name is Mallory Ann.
2. My favorite animal is a cat.
3. I once spent an evening on an abandoned island in Iceland with Yoko Ono.
…I’m gonna win this game every time for the rest of my life.
