Up Up Up

I tuck my chin toward my chest, burrowing into my woollen scarf, and trying to retreat entirely into the refuge of my fur-lined hood. Pellets of hail, small and infinite, drum in repetitive waves against my Thinsulate sanctuary. Hunched over the pram in front of me, I trudge up Skólavörðurstígur, cursing my decision to buy a home at one of the highest points in the city.
***
I crane my head upward in the unforgiving desert sun. Taking ten rapid steps at a time, I pause after each exhausting interval to see the minimal progress I’ve made. My bare feet sink into the sand as the sharp, hot wind hugging the ground blasts infinite grains against my shins in repetitive waves. Continuing my arduous 10-count, I inch up the Singing Dunes, motivated by what awaits me at the summit.
***
I study my distorted reflection in the patterned gold doors of the elevator as they shut in front of me, simultaneously reaching out to select the button for the 80th floor. My opulent compartment transports me to the peak of the World Summit Wing with a quiet whirring, the pressure in my ears building and releasing in repetitive waves. Drunk on love and champagne, I lean against the elevator wall, watching the numbers above the door tick ever closer to my destination.
***
Reaching level ground, I pull back my hood and glance behind me at the colourful homes of Reykjavík, my adopted home,

Collapsing in exhaustion on the crest of the dune, I wipe sweat from beneath my eyes and gape in awe at the Gobi’s ocean of golden sand laid out in front of me.

Stepping out of the elevator I claim a seat by a window, thanking no one in particular for the break in the smog that has provided a clear view over Beijing’s chaotic skyline.

I take pause to appreciate my surroundings. I take pause to marvel at the experience.

How did I end up here?