RIP

When I got to my studio, the place was bare except for the table, chair and bed I had rented from Stúdentgarðer. We arrived in Kevaflik at 7 am and within a few hours we had bought a local SIM card, made our way to the University Housing office, gotten the keys, found the apartment after walking past it twice, put away our bags, got bus tickets, and made our way to Ikea. Hitting the ground running has always been my forte; sticking around and maintaining that momentum- not so much. 

But the before we left to go shopping for furniture to assemble, I noticed a spider's web on the lower window near the glass back door. The door, by the way, is completely glass and possibly the least secure entrance I have ever seen. The lack of security is a testament to how safe Iceland is. It is something I am happily getting used to. I had been told there were "no bugs" in Iceland and that seemed confirmed by the lack of screens, but the presence of the spider refuted that. She had put her web below the only window that opened no doubt because the light and heat from my apartment would attract bugs, who would then attempt to get in to be even closer to the electronic flames. I am using that metaphor even though I have not seen a single moth, I just enjoy the metaphor. 

Every time I looked the spider was there, mending the web, wrapping up a snack, hanging on while the Arctic winds attempted to blow the whole thing away. I was amazed that she was able to keep it going despite the punishing weather. After a long day of rain I decided to use the weather to my advantage, sprayed down the glass with vinegar and squeegeed it off taking care not to spray or disturb the web. One time after a windstorm I almost forgot about her when I was brushing dust of the exterior glass and sills. When hand brush touched the web, the tension let me know I had caught something and I was able to release it in time without harming the web or the spider. The strands were remarkably tough. 

At night I would check to see if she was still there while I was trying to figure out the basics of the Icelandic language-and she was, usually swaying in the breeze. This morning I noticed less activity on the web. There were no bugs, only a spider's carcass with one or two detached legs nearby on the web. I don't suppose anyone else will move in and I wonder how long the web can remain on its own unattended. Will bugs still get stuck in it and have to die on their own? How long before her body disintegrates? Where do the spiders go when darkness comes and when do they return? What about her eggs? For some reason I feel I shouldn't brush it away.

I am fascinated by spiders in urban settings. In Montreal the exterior of the glass and steel high rise we stayed in was spider central. I called them the spiders from Mars after the Bowie song. They were brown-black and had enormous bulb-like bodies. I was highly allergic to them, a single bite left a scar on my left cheek for a year. I am pretty sure I bitten while doing yoga in the living room. Generally spiders stay clear of humans unless we invade their space, then they will confront us in self defense. Namaste. After the bite I switched to Pilates because it has less face-on-the-floor time. I gave them a wide birth when I hung out on our balcony at sunset and never wore short out there or sat on the chairs without a blanket. I wondered how long, generationally speaking, it took the spiders from Mars to climb up to the 50th floor where we staying. They were even on the balcony of the Sky Lounge at the very top of the tallest building in the city. What a life. The living was easy as the floor-to-ceiling windows provided them with plenty of light for attracting bugs at night. I tried many times to find out any information on them, but either no one noticed or cared or maybe the kind of people who live in those kinds of fancy buildings don't bother to post about them.