Notes On a Birthday Alone [but not lonely]

Blue Lagoon

For my round-the-world backpacking trip last year I pre-booked plane tickets between continents and left everything else unplanned. I knew exactly which day I would leave Asia for Europe, Europe for America etc, but my movements within the continents were left open to spontaneity. A nice mixture of structure and freedom. Planning these flight dates, I realized I would be spending my first birthday on my own; and as a present to myself decided it would be spent somewhere mysterious, exciting, alien. How about Iceland as a week-long stopover between Europe and America.

Viking Cemetery in Reykjavik

Stone cairns at Gullfoss, glacier behind

I didn't know anything about Iceland.

I didn't know anyone who had been to Iceland.

Looking at a map, it's pretty much the furthest away from home I could be! This was an allure. I had grown up with wonderful family and friends who always spoilt me on my birthday. But I wanted to be the kind of girl who spends a birthday alone, adventuring, in Iceland. My heart pumped harder whenever I thought about it.

American continental plate

People looked at me with pity when I told them yes, I was travelling solo, and yes, I would have a birthday alone. Yes, I chose this for myself. I was excited. I felt like I was running a private little social experiment: what happens if you have a birthday without anyone knowing? If no-one knows it’s your birthday, do you still get older? I wasn’t worried at all. Solo travel isn’t lonely; I made friends everywhere I went. I never got homesick. My birthday would be a mystery adventure... who would I meet and what would I see?

"I guess not many people would choose to have a birthday on their own," I remarked to Christine, an elderly family friend who put me up in London, the night before flying to Iceland. I knew it was weird, this desire my brain had. But she —longtime solo traveller after her husband died— got me. "Well, lots of people have never done anything alone." she said. "It's good for your soul."

Blue Lagoon

And so. The sun rose on the morning of September 22, 2010, just like any other day. But I'd been away from home for five months already, and I was on my own in a bunk bed in the most northerly capital city in the world. I snuck downstairs early, before anyone else woke up, to sign into the Skype date I'd set up with my parents. It was something like 6.15am in Reykjavik, 4.15pm in Melbourne, Australia. They'd already had my birthday without me.

Skype wasn't working; the Internet was down. Strangely, I began feeling a bit wobbly. I gritted my teeth, kept re-starting the modem and signing in and out. Finally Mum's name was in the 'on-line' list. I almost cried at her reliability and familiarity. She was there for me. Then something went wrong with the sound. They could hear me, but I couldn't hear them, so they had to type.

My throat choked up with the frustration. I didn't know I was going to be this emotional. Tears welled dangerously when Dad meticulously typed, "You look a bit tired, or are you feeling sad?" I wanted to be home with them, not sitting at a computer in an empty lobby before it was even light outside. My little cousins all came into the screen and I felt awkward talking to myself, silence ringing in my headphones. A lag meant that I could see them laughing mutely a good couple of seconds after I'd stopped talking. I felt so far away. I couldn't wait to sign out.

Then, Boyfriend-At-The-Time failed to sign in at the agreed hour. I was shaky and miserable and homesick for the first time and just wanted to hear his voice. He finally signed in and Skyped my iPhone three minutes before I had to leave on a bus. No video, but at least the sound worked. "Sorry babe!" he said. "Have an awesome birthday!" I kicked myself for even being tempted to stay and talk to him rather than hop on the tour bus. I was sad, and mad at him for not being online earlier, and confused at my own emotions.

Rift Valley

"This is what you wanted, this is where you wanted to be" I repeated to myself over and over until the incredible landscapes swallowed up my sadness and I was filled with that travelling feeling that the world is truly magical and weird and amazing, and here I am in it.

I made friends with two English girls from my hostel on the tour, but didn't tell them it was my birthday straight away. It dawned on me that there must be some sort of etiquette. I felt like if I said, “Oh hey, it's my birthday and I'm all alone and now I'm friends with you” then it would be like I was imposing some responsibility on them to celebrate with me, or do something for me. Maybe I was over-thinking it. But I told them eventually, because they had wondered why I got up so early from our dorm. They cracked genuine smiles, said “Oh really! Happy birthday!” and gave me a squeeze. They asked about my age, my travels. They were both on their way home from an internship abroad in New York. We were mesmerised together by the bubbling hot water pools, the lava fields, the spouting geysers. Alone but not lonely; I was grateful for them.

Gullfoss

Standing at a waterfall called Gullfoss I had a mini-revelation. The girls had retreated to the bus because of the cold, but I was high on the energy of the place and felt on top of the world. Below me the raging waterfall crashed down two rocky drops, and rainbows spurted out of the canyon. To my left was a flat white horizon of crawling glacier; straight ahead stood snowy, craggy mountains; and to my right looked like a scene out of a Wild Western: dry desert, wild horses, strange rock formations. The cold, clean air meant I could see for miles. I felt like I was on a farm, in the Grand Canyon, on the moon.

This was my birthday. I would always keep this memory, untainted by changing relationships, as my own. No matter what happened in my life, I would always have turned 22 in Iceland, in this dreamscape, with messages of love from home buzzing in my pocket.

Wild horses

Later that evening I got chatting with an American guy in the kitchen, and instead of dragging strangers out on the town for a birthday drink I decided to go driving with him into the country to look for Northern Lights. I had thought that September was too early to hope to see the lights, but apparently they had been out in force recently! This had been on my bucket list since I read His Dark Materials in high school, and I couldn't contain my excitement. Imagine seeing the Aurora on my birthday!

It was 0 degrees Celsius when we drove out of the city lights and into an eerie fantasy movie. A full moon and clear sky showed the stars in warped positions at this strange latitude. Lakes gleamed silver, mountains loomed in the darkness, and solitary triangular cottages dotted the empty lava fields. The landscape played tricks on the eye, and especially on my rampant imagination. Rock formations, shadows, holes and hills turned into creatures running beside the car; no wonder their mythology is full of elves and trolls and witches.

I thought the moon was too bright for the Lights to be seen, but at one moment a misty white streak appeared; so subtle that it could have been a trick of the eye. "This is it!" he said. We just had to wait to see if it would suddenly burn green or purple. Instead, it dissolved. I wasn't even disappointed. I was inspired and excited and exhausted: I'd stretched my birthday out from the ten Australian hours before I woke up (when friends wrote messages of love and support on my Facebook wall), to midnight Iceland time out here in the fantastic darkness.

For the first time on a birthday I actually felt older, but in a good way.

Bright moon and Jupiter

Twenty birthdays in Spring in the Southern Hemisphere. Two birthdays in Autumn (I turned 16 in France.) One birthday alone. I know how it feels now and I never need to do it again, but I think it was good for me. Now I can really appreciate having loved ones around me on my special day. And while I’ve forgotten how I’ve spent most of my birthdays (in restaurants and movies and bars) I know that despite having no presents, no cake, and no singing; this one I’ll remember for the rest of my life.

How about you? Have you ever spent a birthday alone?