Sitting in the pub I concentrate on the hand in front of me. It’s neither promising nor unpromising and I pause for a moment to look out at the shower of heavy summer rain pouring down outside. A minute ago it was sharp warm, sunlight. Typical London summer.

I sigh, look back at the cards and after a moment I lay one down. Then it’s a swig of some New Zealand beer I’ve never heard of before today while I wait for my opponent to lay down her card. The fate of the game lying in balance again. I turn to look at the rain again. It reminds me of Reykjavik, I think, letting out another sigh.

I often get these moments after coming from somewhere that’s made an impact. Something will trigger a memory or evoke the feeling of the place I’ve been. Just like Reykjavik and the rain. But today there added layers of meaning.

The trip to Iceland was the first long trip I’ve been on with this travelling companion. And it was to somewhere very different to those places I’ve travelled before. Cool where they were hot, empty where they were teeming, beautiful in a very different way. And this difference, the newness, meant a lot.

I’m already missing the clear air of serenity (not to mention the ubiquitous WiFi) and the open, friendly way Icelanders approach most things. Not stoicism, but a cheerful acceptance of life as it comes. Maybe that’s what you get when you live in somewhere so extreme in terms of environment, and relatively unpopulated. It makes a change from the slightly harried feeling you get in London, the distant look in people’s eyes and the feeling of rush and chasing after something. A dream, the next job, gold paved streets?