I am definitely prone to
overly romantic ideas of storms. As long as I can think, I have loved
thunderstorms. It's easy to love a potentially devastating storm for its
beauty. To watch the torrential rain, lightening and sulphur yellow clouds; to
feel the thunder reverberating in my core. I also tend to be acutely aware of
(perceived) dangers around me, overly so. I might even go so far as to call
myself a chicken. I'm scared of more or less everything and I definitely worry
too much. How do these two mix? I love observing thunderstorms from the safety
of my home. If I happen to be outside during one, I do the smart thing and get
my behind inside a building or a car as soon as possible. In some scenarios,
nature does not favour the bold.
I haven't experienced any thunderstorms in Iceland; I'm told that they are really rare. However, there are other kinds of storms and Iceland gets more than its fair share of those. When I received my first storm warning a few weeks into my sabbatical, I was super excited and fully intended to enjoy the heck out of it. I all but got popcorn for the event. I intended to settle down in my living room with my favourite TV show and current knitting project and listen to the wind blowing outside. We spend the day preparing for its arrival, tying down the roof of our container, turning the noses of all company cars into the direction of the wind, wedging buses and trailers between buildings, lest they topple over, etc. Needless to say the people around me were slightly taken aback with my excitement. People die in these storms. The potential damage to assets and property can be severe. When evening came around, my roommate left to go to the cinema 25 km away. The road is open; there are no wind breakers, even I, in my childish excitement didn't think that was a good idea.
So here I was, alone in my container, about a kilometer away from the next human soul. In up to 25 m/s winds. In a conservative estimate, this equals 41-47 knots, a 9 on the Beaufort scale and 75-88 km/h. A few minutes into it, the wind pushed my window open. I was in the living room at the time, and I could not open the door to my room to close the window, the storm was forcing the door against its frame. I started worrying about my stuff. The container, many tons in weight, was shaking. The noise from the wind was so loud that I could not watch my TV show, even with headphones on. My excitement slowly gave way to fear. This was a lot worse than what I had expected. I started googling recommended behaviours. Should I go sit under a table? Wait for an opportunity to go over to the main house, which was made of stones and risk being blown over/away on the way there? Should I call the boss and ask him to come and get me? Am I overreacting? How old am I, 5? Fear gave way to panic. I simultaneously skyped Frankenspouse for moral support and texted the roommate to see if he was on his way home yet. No answer. He's Icelandic and his presence would have definitely reassured me. Frankenspouse did his best to calm me down, dried the odd tear or two over Skype and recommended that I do indeed call the boss if I was scared. I was too proud to do that. Or not scared enough just yet, take your pick. Eventually, after what felt like hours in the loneliest place on the planet, the roommate came home with a big smile on his face. I thanked Frankenspouse for his moral support and told him I'd be OK now. The roommate reported that driving had been a bit shaky, but let me in on how to drive in conditions like that (depending on where the wind is coming from, you drive on the opposite side of the road to avoid being turned upside down) and he seemed unimpressed by what was going on outside. His calmness helped me get my panic under control. He went to the main house and back without being blown away. He also forced the door to my room open and managed to close my window. All my stuff was still there. Together with an additional 5 pounds of dirt. We camped in the living room that night, neither of us able to sleep with the deafening noise.
This was only my first of many Arctic storms. But the next time, I knew what to expect. Over time, stormy nights became more of a nuisance than panic-inducing events, because the deafening noise would not let me sleep. Over time, I also became calm enough to enjoy the sight of clouds racing by.
And I made sure to exchange some of my cockiness for humility.
I haven't experienced any thunderstorms in Iceland; I'm told that they are really rare. However, there are other kinds of storms and Iceland gets more than its fair share of those. When I received my first storm warning a few weeks into my sabbatical, I was super excited and fully intended to enjoy the heck out of it. I all but got popcorn for the event. I intended to settle down in my living room with my favourite TV show and current knitting project and listen to the wind blowing outside. We spend the day preparing for its arrival, tying down the roof of our container, turning the noses of all company cars into the direction of the wind, wedging buses and trailers between buildings, lest they topple over, etc. Needless to say the people around me were slightly taken aback with my excitement. People die in these storms. The potential damage to assets and property can be severe. When evening came around, my roommate left to go to the cinema 25 km away. The road is open; there are no wind breakers, even I, in my childish excitement didn't think that was a good idea.
So here I was, alone in my container, about a kilometer away from the next human soul. In up to 25 m/s winds. In a conservative estimate, this equals 41-47 knots, a 9 on the Beaufort scale and 75-88 km/h. A few minutes into it, the wind pushed my window open. I was in the living room at the time, and I could not open the door to my room to close the window, the storm was forcing the door against its frame. I started worrying about my stuff. The container, many tons in weight, was shaking. The noise from the wind was so loud that I could not watch my TV show, even with headphones on. My excitement slowly gave way to fear. This was a lot worse than what I had expected. I started googling recommended behaviours. Should I go sit under a table? Wait for an opportunity to go over to the main house, which was made of stones and risk being blown over/away on the way there? Should I call the boss and ask him to come and get me? Am I overreacting? How old am I, 5? Fear gave way to panic. I simultaneously skyped Frankenspouse for moral support and texted the roommate to see if he was on his way home yet. No answer. He's Icelandic and his presence would have definitely reassured me. Frankenspouse did his best to calm me down, dried the odd tear or two over Skype and recommended that I do indeed call the boss if I was scared. I was too proud to do that. Or not scared enough just yet, take your pick. Eventually, after what felt like hours in the loneliest place on the planet, the roommate came home with a big smile on his face. I thanked Frankenspouse for his moral support and told him I'd be OK now. The roommate reported that driving had been a bit shaky, but let me in on how to drive in conditions like that (depending on where the wind is coming from, you drive on the opposite side of the road to avoid being turned upside down) and he seemed unimpressed by what was going on outside. His calmness helped me get my panic under control. He went to the main house and back without being blown away. He also forced the door to my room open and managed to close my window. All my stuff was still there. Together with an additional 5 pounds of dirt. We camped in the living room that night, neither of us able to sleep with the deafening noise.
This was only my first of many Arctic storms. But the next time, I knew what to expect. Over time, stormy nights became more of a nuisance than panic-inducing events, because the deafening noise would not let me sleep. Over time, I also became calm enough to enjoy the sight of clouds racing by.
And I made sure to exchange some of my cockiness for humility.
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