Iceland: Living the Dream, Days 6 & 7

DAY 6

Finally! Both of us got a decent night's sleep - plus, there was the bonus afternoon nap on the previous day- and Viola! We both felt well-rested! We slept in, even, and we were the last guests there to leave our Stong lodging. Our breakfast was the usual, minus Nutella, plus farm-made goat pate that I wasn't brave enough to try. Oh, and the juice was like really poorly mixed Tang. The food here failed to impress all-around.

We explored the nearby Lake Myvatn on yet another soggy day socked in by clouds. My mission was to find a cozy coffee shop with Internet access. We found it in the form of The Cowshed, a coffee shop I had read about where twice a day you can watch the cows get milked through an adjoining window. In between milkings, you can also watch them hang out and chew their food (cud?). The Internet cost us 200 IKR (about $2 USD) for 30 minutes, but we figured it was worth it. We both had cappuccinos to keep us company.

We traveled on through Lake Myvatn. The landscape was other-worldly, to say the least. in fact, we compared it to being on another planet. The clouds, fog, and rain added to the effect. Mountains of colorful minerals and sediments from volcanic activity, boiling mud pits, steaming rock formations, what looked like splats of dried alien blood in some places, craters partially shrouded by clouds, and the garish futuristic metal of the hydrothermal plants juxtaposed with the landscape.... It was wild. It was also annoyingly rainy, so much of our ventures to explore sights outside of the car were brief.

Scenes from Lake Myvatn

Driving on, we headed to our next sight-seeing spot: Godafoss waterfall, among the most impressive and beautiful waterfalls. No shortage of "foss" around this island...Multiple streams of water flow from the falls. It is something beautiful to behold, even in the rain. We again were amazed at how you could just walk all around the rocks on the ledge of the falls or throw yourself off easily, if you so wished.

Of course, like all other interesting natural landforms, there is a legend or two surrounding this waterfall - one that involves the gods, a Viking king, and/or elves or trolls. A law speaker threw all of the pagan idols into the water along with deciding everyone should convert to Christianity around 1000. You know someone means business when he gives his idols a burial at sea...

Godafoss

Next, we drove through a beautiful valley area on our way to the "Capital of the North," Akureyri. En route, I did my usual hang-out-the-side-of-the-window to get photos of our surroundings along the way and tried to avoid saturating our fancy new camera.

Akureyri, the other big city in Iceland (besides Reykjavik), from across the water.

We checked out the Akureyri Visitor's Center for a while, trying to figure out what we could do with ourselves whilst here. Not much sounded good, given the rain and chill in the air...Horse back riding? Nah. Whale watching? Not a great day to be on the water. Hikes? No thanks. Walk around the town? It was downright cold outside, so maybe not. Make the best of the weather, go inside somewhere, and play like it's the most wonderful time of the year? Sure, okay!

So what we ended up doing was visiting the Christmas Shop, just outside of town. There are some wild (from our perspective, anyway) traditions and folklore in Iceland. There are the 13 Yule Lads (all of whom resembled our Santa Claus except with more casual Santa-wear) who visit at Christmas time and bring gifts, and the terrible mother (a witch-like figure - how sweet. Sorry, Jesus...), and also something about a Christmas Cat. The place was cozy, in spite of the horrific folklore. Smells of Christmas spices, a fire going in the entrance fire place, lots of families with children, warmth and Christmas clutter...The visit there seemed wholly appropriate on such a dreary, cold day. We debated about gifts to buy for others or an ornament for our own family, but in the end, the task was overwhelming, and we left empty-handed...But with warm memories in our heart. (Of course....Ha!)

Really, what Christmas story (and Christmas shopping destination) is complete without an evil mother who eats children if they are naughty!? Move over, Elf-upon-the-Shelf! She's hard to see here, but she can be seen within that crack in the wall.

We left the Akureyri area and headed on toward our night's lodging through more beautiful countryside. Our farm lodging was different in that we stayed in the main family home, and the place was decorated with family pictures, books, and nick nacks. It truly felt "homey." it also seemed to accommodate fewer patrons, which now made me feel a bit squirmy - I had quickly grown accustomed to sharing space and similar situations with other traveler,s and now I felt a bit naked at the thought of being without them...Even if we didn't interact except for brief meal time conversations, hallway greetings, and negotiating use of the bathroom if it so happened that we needed to go at the same time.

Good thing I'm not one to steal things...except for souls (via camera).

Instead of napping, today we went driving further on to check out a historic site - an early church - that Greg was keen on visiting. He threw in the idea of looking for Icelandic horses, and one that appealed to me. They're so little and cute and very friendly, I had heard. Plus, I was getting "into" playing the role National Geographic photographer, even if the natives were farm animals. So we did some of that, and I said a silent prayer that the farmers didn't mind me stealing the souls of their livestock. I expected to be asked to leave at any moment; there was something that felt oddly wrong or guilt-provoking about taking pictures of someone's property without their permission in this day and age...Or maybe that is just my twisted and paranoid interpretation. And Greg, for his part, had fun checking out the site of a historic church, though the adjoining museum was unfortunately closed for the day.

"...My little ponies, pretty ponies..."

We returned to the township of Blonduos, where I wondered in bad-joke form if everyone in town was blonde or a blonde duo? Uh, no... As always, I took my job as Guidebook Reader very seriously in order to find good dinner options. I am a bit proud that we have yet resorted to eating at a gas station for lunch or dinner. Though in fairness, it is more accepted to eat at a petrol station here compared to the States.


We ate at a restaurant called "The Pot and Pan" (titled in Icelandic, though). According to my guidebook, in addition to decent fish, burgers, and other usual dinner fare, there was a portion of the menu devoted to Indian food. Well, call me Tandoori and sign me up for that! The Indian fare, complete with yogurt sauce and a sweet chutney, was fantastic! Greg was surprised that his trout came with the skin still on, which probably led to his indigestion shortly thereafter. Or maybe it was the heaping portions of unusual salad bar ingredients that he downed.

After dinner, went back to our place. In spite of the chill in the air, I roamed around a little, taking pictures of scenic and sometimes dramatic landscapes. I also troubled the farm's horses to pose for some pictures for me as well, from the comfortable distance of my zoom lens.

Scenes from the farm stay residence, Day 6.

DAY 7

After a night of getting my internet fix (thanks to an unexpected open and working network available at the farm), and being pretty much wired from a great night of sleep the previous night, plus waking up multiple times in the night when anyone opened and closed any door (since we now apparently had guests in the neighboring rooms)... I backslid into my previously exhausted state.

This day marked the last day of our tour, and then it was back to the metropolitan life of Iceland's capital, Reykjavik. I was kind of relieved and excited at the though of getting back to the city. Greg and I had also discovered that we had one extra day of car rental by some error, and this made our planning a bit more convenient; we would have a car at our disposal for another day, and there was no rush to get it back to the rental agency.

We ate breakfast with four other travel mates of German nationality in the cozy kitchen (who had arrived sometime in the previous evening while we were out having dinner), more or less smooshed around the kitchen table. Greg took on his role as the unofficially-designated conversation starter, as usual. These two couples had been through Iceland's interior, the Highlands. On this morning, they were very excited about going to some island (nearby-ish, we gathered) to see animal life - seals, maybe puffins, and other creatures - in wild, uninhabited terrain. One man insisted on showing us a map of the place of which he spoke, and he became determined that we should visit it, also. Greg, ever polite, listened and responded enthusiastically and then tried to dig ourselves out by saying we didn't know if we would have time today.

We managed to get out of there with our original day's plan in tact, and after a coffee and gas stop, we were on our way, meandering our way back to Reykjavik. Again, in spite of the Reykjavik forecast of nothin' but sunshine and blue skies, we were trudging forward in misty rain and grey skies. Four days now of this sort of weather confirmed that I could never live in the Northwest U.S. I had begun resorting the day before to taking pictures from the car of patches of blue sky, when these made a rare appearance. It was getting desperate!

Upon Greg's request, we made our way to a place where Leif Ericson (son of Eric the Red; also the first European man to discover America, pre-dating even Chris Columbus) lived as a child. When we read about it in brochures and guidebooks, it sounded like the Colonial Williamsburg version of a place, complete with costume-wearing, sword-brandishing characters. I kid not...This was not an idea of a fun time for me, but what the hell? Greg had been driving us everywhere, and marriage is about compromise. Oh, yeah...and he's the one who actually suggested that we should travel here after hearing of my persistent dreams. I figured I should throw him one or two along the way.

We made our way through the hills and valleys surrounded by mountains (or the kind that they have around the exterior of Iceland; the kind that look flattened, like their peaks have been cut off or worn down into flattened nubs). After a couple of hours, we made it to a dirt road that was occupied by a scatter of small farm homes. There was one, um, "dwelling" I guess you could call it - a crude house, more like a mound of dirt with a door, next to a parking area that was deserted (but with WC facilities, yay!). We also stopped by to read the information sign (of which there are many along the roads we traveled); this one telling the story about Eric the Red and Leif Ericson. I was thinking we weren't yet at the "fun" historical site for which we were aiming. We stopped to admire a statue of Leif Ericson and then the little hut-home. I attempted to enter, but Greg noted that we probably couldn't go in because we hadn't bought tickets, and he wasn't planning on buying tickets. And then we realized....this was it: We were looking at all there was to this historic site. No costumed characters, no museum, not even other cars in the lot. Maybe we hadn't gotten the memo that this place was closed on Tuesdays? Who knows. It was anti-climactic and (shortly thereafter) pretty funny as well, the more we think about it. So much fuss over a mound of dirt, a sign, and a statue. I guess we missed the party!

Behold the grandeur! Leif Ericson's childhood Iceland home.

A little gnomen-culture... Gnomes on the country roadside.

We continued our journey down the west coast toward Reykjavik to a lunch destination I had scoped out in the tour guide. It was described as an experience that visitors "would remember for long," (I suppose that means "a long...time?") involving music and a movie called "Acoustic Iceland." (I confess: I can't remember for the life of me what the name of it was, but if anyone ever wants to go there, I'll look harder.) It was challenging to find. We almost gave up and turned around, except that a local map I got from a restaurant actuallly had the place on the map, though the bartender with whom I spoke had never heard of it.

It was a pretty amazing place, once we made it. It was located on a glorified camp ground; maybe that's why locals didn't seem to know about it. There was a little shop when you walked in (this is not the amazing part - this was common), and then there was a cafe that overlooked a river with small but picturesque falls that tumbled down under a bridge view, as well as the incredible view of the mountain panorama. Inside the cafe, there was a large stereo system with a record player, and two walls that held shelves for hundreds and hundreds of albums. Also, gold records of (what I presume was) Icelandic bands or artists and pictures of the albums hung on the walls.

Funsies! I could spend a few days here.

The food that went along with the inner and outer view wasn't bad, either. Greg had stew, and I had a burger, and we each had a piece of cake. (Thank God there's an appreciation for cake in Iceland!) After enjoying the food and scenery, Greg and I ventured outside. There were lots of unique games and things to do...A life-sized chess set (kind of reminiscent of the first Harry Potter movie), shuffle board, bowling with wood pins and all. Most importantly, of course, there was a Troll Walk -- a path with troll sculptures and excerpts from a book that appears to be popular from an Icelandic artist. We clowned around, taking pictures and playing the games/activities that accompanied information about trolls and excerpts from the books. It was freezing outside (well, probably not really, but to speak in hyperbole) and a damp drizzle often fell, but we made the most out of it.

I have troll hands. My hand fits perfectly in the imprint. This explains so much...

Gryla, ready to stew up some naughty children.

Gryla's a real charmer.



Balance check = Point deduction. No Olympic Gold in gymnastics for me.



Greg wanted to check out a Settlement Museum in the nearby town, so we went on to see what it was all about. We took an audio-visual tour of an exhibit that covered the Icelandic Settlement, up until the time of the first Althing or government as formed. It was a nicely-done exhibit, and we blew through some dough in the gift shop. Troll books, anyone?

We took the scenic route around the peninsula, where the weather thankfully improved. Wow, what a difference the sun makes! I took loads of pictures with new eyes thanks to the re-emerging appearance of sunshine. It made the water we passed especially stunning.

Giant marshmallows? They're on every farm in Iceland, and they are actually bales of hay.

Fly-fishing.

Eventually, we did make it to our hotel...just as a tour group was pulling up to check in a bus load of visitors. It was mayhem, with the line of people spilling out of the lobby door. I had half a mind to just walk around and come back, but we stuck it out and eventually got checked into our room. I missed good ol' Hotel Floki, the first place we stayed on our first night in Reykavik. It was so cute and so close to the parts of town where we wanted to go. Other than that, I was so excited to have a private bathroom again, as was Greg. (Even the hardcore camper among us liked that luxury.) We also had small cooking quarters; nothing great, but totally useable. That pretty much aptly describes where we were staying - not fancy, but certainly practical and functional. The cost-savvy people in us were excited about saving money by making our own breakfast, lunch, and possibly even dinner.

Back in the city, checking out a block-long wall mural.

One place we won't be eating while here.

My first priority was to find a laundry facility and wash all of our well-worn clothes. Greg is way more laid-back about this issue of clean clothes, being a camper - and probably also due to being a guy. The options were quite limited in town to get your laundry done without going to a laundry service (a.k.a., dry cleaners). The solution was quite pleasing to me: Head over to the Laundromat Cafe, back in town. We had passed this hip place earlier during our first visit to Reykjavik, and I had pointed it out as a place where I'd like to visit upon our return, so wish fulfilled!... And there we went, dirty laundry in tow. We brought our big, rolling bag of dirty clothes inside and told them that we had "actual laundry" to do. The bar and restaurant were on the entry level, and the hostess got us our change for the machine and pointed us downstairs to the laundry area.

Not a clue...Guesses?

Downstairs, a small room off of a larger kiddie-play room (awesome idea!) housed three washers and three dryers. There was a guy down there speaking another language on his iphone, talking to another girl (pictured on his screen), who appeared to be helping him operate the machine via the video phone capabilities. Greg and I struggled greatly ourselves to make the machines work properly, and neither of us had a clue what the symbols on the machine meant. After getting assistance from the bartender/hostess yet again (for the third time, once more after I left our cup of laundry change on the bar - Oopsies!), we figured out the problem and got it working. We also chatted up a guy who was attempting to help us with the machines. He was going through a graduate program there in Reykjavik, and he also spoke German as a second (well, third) language. He laughed, saying that he always tried to speak in Icelandic but people often weren't patient enough to let him struggle though it all and tended to lapse into English. He also said that he spoke Icelandic with a German accent....Like his brain was now interpreting every other language through a German filter. Funny, and I can see how that would happen! I found myself wanting to speak in Spanish or even Italian at times, as though that would somehow be more comprehensible, since it is a different language from my native one.

Scenes from a pimped-out playroom...At a bar-staurant with a laundromat.

We had beers and split some nachos for dinner while we waited for our laundry. I also caught up on my email. Greg left briefly to buy more groceries, and I took a break to look for souvenirs from a book store. We headed home after that and called it a night.

Check out the book spines arranged by color. That tickles my inner aesthetics.

A little (?) gluttony at The Laundromat.