I visited my Japan

I know the title sounds a little confusing, but stay with me on this one and it will make sense.

You know how everyone has that one place they desperately want to visit? The place they want to completely immerse themselves in, the one they have mentally planned down to the smallest detail, and where actually going is mostly just a matter of finding the right time, the money, and the occasion?

For one of my closest friends, that place is Japan.

I, on the other hand, have plenty of places I would love to visit. I have favourites, bucket-list destinations, places I have imagined myself seeing for years, and places whose food and culture I have already immersed myself in from afar. Places I keep revisiting and a list of places that I can imagine myself in and places that are just Iceland belongs to that list too, but somehow, it was always a little different.

Iceland is where I wanted to experience the edges of the world.

I wanted to see the rawness of what the universe has to offer. Landscapes that feel almost untouched. Nature at its most ruthless and beautiful. Places vast enough to remind me just how insignificant I am as a human being.

Not insignificant in a depressing way, but in that strangely comforting way that comes from realising how enormous the world is, and how tiny a space I occupy within it.

So when I suddenly pitched the idea of going to Iceland this year, I was asked why.

Why Iceland? Why now? What did it mean to me?

And somehow, the only answer that felt right was:

“Well… this is my Japan.”

The circumstances around the trip made it feel as though this was simply the moment I had to go. Not someday. Not when everything aligned perfectly. Now. Even if I was constrained by budget and time.

And… that explanation made sense. Apparently, it was all that was needed.

Since then, the phrase has stuck. Even among our mutual friends, Iceland is still referred to as my Japan.

And now, I can finally say that I visited it.

What actually started this domino effect? I honestly don’t know.

I don’t know when Iceland first appeared on my radar or what exactly made it become this place that always felt special to me. I think it was probably a culmination of incremental exposure over the years. Maybe National Geographic? Maybe the hype around being able to walk behind a waterfall? Maybe the idea of standing between two tectonic plates? Or perhaps it was simply the promise of dramatic landscapes and loads of pensive moments.

I had been mentally planning to go there “someday” for about three years.

What I do know is that at the beginning of this year, I was recommended The Secret Life of Walter Mitty. I remember being so captivated by the movie that it stayed with me long after it ended.

And somewhere between the end of that movie and the general passage of life, something shifted.

I went from “I want to go to Iceland someday” to “I think this is the year I am going to Iceland.”

And eventually, I booked the tickets.

What followed was days of driving through highland roads, through fog and rain, and around the country on Route 1. Chasing auroras like a mad person. Stopping at as many places as possible because I wanted to witness everything the country had to offer. Trying the local food. Renting a trottinette in Reykjavík. Camping in different places. And, on a few nights, simply sleeping in the car.

I am back home now, and honestly, I am still processing everything I experienced.

One of the first things that struck me was how much it felt like the terrain controlled how you existed within it, rather than you controlling the terrain.

If that makes sense.

In most cities and places we live in, we reshape the land around us. We build roads through it, flatten things, redirect things, and generally make the environment work around us.

Iceland somehow felt like the opposite.

There were clouds sitting ridiculously low over the landscape. Roads that seemed to disappear into mountains, fog, and emptiness. The sea was almost always somewhere nearby, constantly reminding you that it too was shaping the land. And then there were reminders of volcanic activity everywhere…in lava fields, black rock formations, geothermal areas, and entire stretches of terrain that looked like they belonged to another planet.

You never really forgot that the landscape was alive.

And then there was the light.

As night fell, the sky turned dark ever so slowly.

I knew the theory, of course. I knew how far north Iceland was. I knew the days would be long in August.

But somehow I hadn’t fully understood it until I actually stood there and watched it happen.

The sun would set, but the colours refused to completely disappear. Even close to midnight, there were still traces of sunset sitting on the horizon.

And that was probably when it properly hit me just how far north I actually was.

There are some things you can understand perfectly well on paper and still not really comprehend until you stand there and see them for yourself.

Iceland, for me, was full of those moments.

Throughout the trip, I kept catching myself taking these long, deep breaths-half sighing, half trying to take everything in. So many times, I found myself on the verge of crying out of sheer happiness, with just one thought running through my head: Damn. I really am here.

The contrast in the landscapes is difficult to explain without sounding dramatic. You really do have to be there to understand what I mean. One moment, you are surrounded by black volcanic earth; the next, impossibly green mountains, glaciers, waterfalls, lava fields, or stretches of land that look like they belong on another planet. Even the air felt distinctly Icelandic a strange mix of volcanic dust, sulphur, and crisp freshness all at once. And then there were the sheep, wandering around as though the entire island existed primarily for them. Main-character energy, honestly.

After all, how often does someone casually get to say that they stood between two tectonic plates drifting apart…or discovered a tiny mall in some town somewhere that somehow made this geological absurdity feel completely ordinary?

I think I am getting a sense of figuring out what my quintessence is. Are you?

Before this blog turns into me fanpersoning over Iceland, I will leave you with the one dialogue that has stuck with me from the movie “The secret life of Walter Mitty”:

“To see the world, things dangerous to come to, to see behind walls, draw closer, to find each other, and to feel. That is the purpose of life.”