Being in New York City tends to bring out my inner Nell.

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At the very center of a compass is a diagram representing the four major winds and the 32 points where those winds cross paths. The diagram is over 700 years old, created by some of the world’s first cartographers who named the diagram “the compass rose.” The name, the diagram and the human desire to find our place in the crosswinds and paths haven’t changed. We still see the compass rose at the heart of modern compasses, even if the tools themselves have become more tricked-out.

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In researching artist residencies in Iceland, I found an irresistible call to participate in one of them, the N1 Artist Residency, which I could attend in more than 100 locations throughout the country. The N1 Residency Program requires no application and is free and open to the public. Residents have access to wifi, snacks, worktables, bathrooms, electrical outlets, almost anything but an actual residency to crash at. But the N1 Residency takes place over no set period of time, thus the resident is able to create for as little or as long as needed.

The N1 Residency takes place in one of Iceland’s chain of 115 N1 gas stations.

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If you’ve ever lived in a college town, the drinking norms and social practices of going out in Reykjavik will seem familiar. For one, all of your action will take place within an eight-block bubble in the 101 area of downtown, though downtown is a loaded word to use in what is, essentially, a village pretending to be a city.

Your crowd will be equal parts dressed to the nines or rocking the uniform lopapeysa wool sweater and, after a few days, you’ll begin to see the same faces crop up everywhere. You’ll see the same guy at a café that you saw at the supermarket that you saw at a bar and all of the sudden, by sheer observation, you know he’s a vegan, speaks German, and is writing a book. Everyone here is writing a book.

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You hear Saturday night at Reykjavik’s Lebowski Bar before you see it. It’s a theme bar in honor of the Coen brothers’ 1998 cult film The Big Lebowski, so being tasteful wouldn’t necessarily be appropriate. The bar leaks a steady stream of 1960s pop-rock onto the sidewalk; then you hone in on the neon sign, the black awning spotted with bowling pins. It’s either shameless pandering to Reykjavik’s burgeoning tourism industry or a shrine beckoning Dudeists worldwide to come in and abide.

This is about the most unhip bar in one of the hippest cities on its hippest street.

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Moreland isn’t intimidated by solitude or shy about challenging her physical limits. She once spent two days in backcountry Yosemite avoiding avalanches that were falling around her almost every 30 seconds. She is brazen; her bright blonde hair and blue eyes seem to electrify when she talks about adventure. She’s got a strong build indicative of a life lived outdoors. On the journey, she’s eating fruits and nuts and dried, pre-packaged meals. She prepared it all before leaving her home in Columbia, Missouri, for Montana. It was the first road trip Moreland and her 23-year-old daughter Haley took together since they left California when Haley was 4.

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