Tales from the Crib...and Beyond: Living the Dream, Day 3

Tales from the Crib...and Beyond: Living the Dream, Day 3: DAY 3 I slept well, but Greg did not.... Something about a rooster making a lot of noise. Oh, yeah.... Welcome to the farm . We ate a quiet...

Living the Dream, Day 3

DAY 3

I slept well, but Greg did not.... Something about a rooster making a lot of noise. Oh, yeah....Welcome to the farm. We ate a quiet breakfast (insert breakfast protocol fare), all too aware that our hosts seemed pissed off at our late arrival the night before. The same woman who showed us to our room seemed to be having a better morning, and greeted us cheerfully. After we ate, we walked around the farm, getting pictures of scenery and animals before heading on our way.

It's hard out there for a dog.

I just wanna cuddle this little one!

The farm that appreciates people who observe the check-in hours. I suppose that's a fair request.

We stopped back in Vik i Myrdal, where we had eaten dinner last night. This was a southern coastal town, and there were some beautiful places to check out the ocean. One of those places was conveniently located near our N1 station stop. It was called "Troll Rocks," and I am certain there is a legend involving trolls, faeries, or gnomes that goes along with it. Troll Rocks had the advantage of being on a beautiful beach shore. Greg had read that it was apparently rated as one of the Top 10 beaches at some point, even though it was tiny and secluded and not a warm beach destination by any stretch. Amidst all of this tranquility, in a lot next to the beach, there was some sort of track meet going on, with a PA system blaring. I got a record-breaking two (!) cups of coffee from the N1 station; I had lost my good-sleep momentum.

Troll Rocks

More scenes of Vik i Myrdal. A close-up front door view of this church is the cover of the Frommer's edition for Iceland.

Greg pulled over at one point to find an area of land he had been reading about, Hjörleifshöfði. It was a nondescript entrance, in spite of being the home of one of two of the first settlers on the whole darn island. We couldn't believer that the historic site did not even have a t-shirt shack, because from where we hail, someone would fervently be trying to capitalize on such history. Plus, the area of land and cliffs on the land overlooking the ocean were allegedly haunted! Where was the ghost tour or the hiking tour? Imagine the "I survived Hjörleifshöfði !" t-shirt possibilities!

Hjörleifshöfði. Say that five times fast! Or say it accurately just once.

Waterfall at Hjörleifshöfði.

Anyway, while there, we drove through dark, ash-colored gravel to the shore, off-roading it in our little VW. We saw three other people, apparently from the other car that was also parked there. These folks were leaning over a box, but we couldn't see for sure what they were doing. Greg proposed that maybe they were either geocaching or scattering someone's ashes. I liked the first theory, myself. I voted him family spokesperson, and he asked them what they were doing. Sadly, it was nothing nearly as exciting as what we had conjured up; they were trying to start the grill to cook food for a picnic. How boring and tame...
Our drive today included fewer official places to stop and get out for walks. We drove through areas that had been flooded out during volcanic eruptions in recent history; dried up lava fields. Kind of a wasteland, kind of monotonous, but still quite interesting. Different from what we are accustomed, for sure. There was overall a lack of trees in Iceland, it appears, so trees were something that we weren't seeing along our drive. We also saw the rise of mountains increase around us on our left or to the west as we headed north. We had seen glaciers the day before, but we were now passing through a greater region of glaciers, which were amazing once I got over the fact that yeah, they just sit there, those glaciers! Kinda beautiful in their simplicity. They peeked out from between mountains like the frozen ooze that they are.

More glacier views.

We made a couple of stops along the way. One was to admire gnarled bridge remnants from a bridge that was once flooded out from a volcanic eruption. Then we stopped at a park station to make our lunch and take a break. We checked out the 10-minute video there of the 1996 eruption and its effects. In the video, we could actually see lightning in the fire, the power of the eruption was so forceful! Take that, CGI!




Volcanic-eruption-mangled bridge remnants, plus Greg.


Today would be different: We were determined to make it to our lodging earlier after feeling scorned upon our late arrival on the previous night. On the way there, we got to admire the icebergs that had broken from the glacier. These icebergs got a cameo in part of the opening scenes of a James Bond movie - or so I was told, since I am not a huge Bond watcher. Parts of the bergs are black from the ashes of erupted volcanoes these days, though. Not shockingly, there was an incredibly cold breeze coming off of those bergs. We could have taken an amphibious boat ride tour of the glaciers, but after standing around in the frigid breeze, we had no desire to be even colder from the wind shear of the boat ride. We put our camera tripod to good use and played photographers.

Ashen icebergs. Fire and ice.

Brrrrrrrrrrrrrrrr!

Ice, ice baby. (Couldn't resist.)

Indeed, we made it to the farm lodging much earlier on this day. Our weather for the past two days as quite bipolar: sometimes sunny and lovely, sometimes hail, rain, and wind. This could change in a matter of seconds. It did allow me to get a great picture of a rainbow, though sometimes photographs can't do reality justice.

Rainbow! Knowing Iceland, I bet a troll put it there.

Our farm was quaint, and the grandfatherly gentleman who sat at Reception was sweet. Our room was small but had a sink this time (bonus)! We were still sharing a bathroom, and I gathered this wasn't likely to change. So I just pretended to be cool and European as I waited my turn for the WC and listened to others tinkle through our shared, thin wall. Isn't sharing a joy? On the other hand, the little farm in the middle of nowhere had wifi (really a sad commentary on my addiction to the interweb), and this offset having to share a bathroom.

The goat that greeted us at the farm's entrance.

Horses outside of our bedroom window. Makes it hard to miss a street view!

We ate dinner in Hofn, at a log cabin restaurant that also displayed and sold local art. Love that!...Greg and I had burgers "glacier-style," and we are still scratching our heads as to what that actually means. Greg thinks it is the onion fries on the burgers, and my guess is the mayo that came on it, much to my great disgust. There's a great way to ruin a perfectly good burger. Otherwise, not too shabby a meal.

Tales from the Crib...and Beyond: Living the Dream, Day 2

Living the Dream, Day 2: The next morning, we ate the complimentary breakfast at the guesthouse. There is definitely a breakfast food protocol at the guestho...

Living the Dream, Day 2

DAY 2

The next morning, we ate the complimentary breakfast at the guesthouse. There is definitely a breakfast food protocol at the guesthouses in Iceland, as we would come to find. It went very much like this: Three cereals, one of which was muesli; plus toast, a couple of jellies, and butter. To drink, there was orange juice, apple juice and coffee. Then there was a tray of meats and cheeses and a tray of veggies (sliced cucumber and sliced tomatoes). Sometimes there was yogurt and/or granola. If I was lucky, there was hazelnut spread. That's the sign of a good day if I ever saw one.

So our plan for the day was to get our rental car and get started on our tour around Iceland. There is one main road that circles the country, aptly named the "Ring Road." (There are other roads that lead into the mountainous interior, called the "Highlands," but trying to be budget travelers, we didn't allow ourselves to rent the grade of car we needed to traverse this territory, so we kept to the main roads.) While reading my travel guides, I came across the option of using Icelandic Farm Holidays. This company maps out different self-driving itineraries, based on what sort of trip you want and how many days of travel you can swing. There is a network of farms that has space on its grounds (either in the main farm house or in a separate building) for lodging. This is a clever way to help farmers make a livelihood beyond their crops and livestock. So our car rental, travel itinerary, and lodging for our trip around Iceland was literally all mapped out and waiting for us. For a fee, of course.

After breakfast, we waited out front for our pick-up service to take us to the car rental place. It was chilly, but tolerable when we stood in the sun. A young twenty-something was our driver. He told us that he was going on his first trip to New York City with his girlfriend soon, primarily to go shopping. On his shopping list was Nikes, which are apparently much cheaper in the U.S. than they are once they are imported to Iceland. He also told us about a friend who goes to New York every so often. The guy first throws away all of the clothes in his closet, and then he brings back an entire new wardrobe when he returns.

We got the rental car rundown at Europcar, including a vouchers for three free cups of coffee if we should get tired. I was about to learn that N1 petrol stations were my friend, and would be quite beloved on our journey. After getting turned around a couple of times, getting acquainted with our VW Polo (which was stick shift, and that meant I'd never be driving), and stopping for my first N1 cup of coffee, we were on our way and off to a late start.

My view to the left for most of the trip. Good thing I like him.

We spent the better part of the day touring the Golden Circle route, a very popular day tour for travelers, seeing Geysir (which is, yes, a geyser, like Old Faithful in Yellowstone) and the Gulfoss waterfall. I bought yet another wool hat (my second), much to Greg's chagrin ("Didn't you just buy a hat!?"). I rationalized it by noting that I wouldn't be buying a $200 Icelandic wool sweater, the fair isle style that was in all of the stores. Of course, now I really want one.

at Geysir - Or the nearby geysir that actually has some activity these days.

Gulfoss waterfall

We also checked out the site of Iceland's first government meet-up, Thingvellir (loosely spelled, since like most words in the native Icelandic language, it contains letters that don't exist in English). This is the part where I admit the unfortunate -- especially since I live in steps away from Colonial Williamsburg, of all places: I am NOT a history person. Greg still laughs about how he and I went on an audio car tour of the Gettysburg battlefields with his parents, and I slept soundly throughout the whole tour...Even the "exciting parts." (In my defense, it was the perfect sleep sabotage: We had just eaten a diner-style breakfast and it was cold outside, but the car was so comfortably warm...) So I got as excited about this sort of thing as I could get. If nothing else, it was pretty, scenic, and had some interesting geography going on, so picture-taking made it worth the trip.

Thingvellir thingie thing thingerton.

More of the same Thing(vellir.)

We stopped at a number of waterfalls on the way to our farm lodging. These served as nice breaks to stretch our legs and check the temperature. It was not warm, and it was not un-cold, so that made it "pleasantly not cold," an endearing term Icelanders apparently use to describe summer weather.

...Just stretching my legs. And arms.

We accidentally passed by our farm stay lodging and went on to the next town, Vik i Myrdal, where our travel guidebook promised restaurants. And then we had trouble finding the restaurant we were looking for, in spite of the town being extremely small. We thought we found it, but we ended up eating at the town's other restaurant next door. It was tasty, even at the wrong place. I had cod fried in a delicious sauce, a darn good salad, and roasted new potatoes. I was corrected on my pronunciation of "Viking" when I ordered the popular brand of beer (and a popular brand of people, around these parts); apparently it should be "VICK-eeng." As in, the short /i/ vowel, I think. I love that the waitress who corrected me wasn't from Iceland, either. Double-whammy.

Our first glacier sighting!

We arrived late to our farm. Way-late, apparently, but this whole sun-out-at-all-hours issue makes it confusing to comprehend what time it is. (Why, it's sun o'clock, still!) We were greeted by a grandmotherly woman, and we were most apologetic about our tardiness. Grandma seemed okay or at least outwardly polite about it, but the younger woman who showed us to our room was giving off some vibes that she was annoyed with us and our late-arriving selves. We sensed hostility.

We did some mingling with our housemates (Greg's idea; I would have been content to keep to ourselves. Plus, I was seriously tired and, thus, the weak link in the conversation.) We chatted up the other European travelers staying with us, and one man tried to convince us that Albania is a surprisingly great travel destination. Not long after that, we excused ourselves and went to bed. In the daylight. Again. Still weird!

Living the Dream

BACK STORY 

In early 2010, well before any volcanic eruptions from Iceland began changing the flight plans of air transportation, I began dreaming of going to Iceland. This is a place to which I have no known connection, ancestry, or even a conscious interest. Sometimes in my dreams I would be navigating an airport, trying to make a flight, or on the plane (with Iceland natives using Americans as the butt of jokes). As I kept dreaming of Iceland, sometimes I even arrived to the country in my dreams (driving around in a Smart Car in one dream, or crusing around on a boat for a Eutopian tour of Iceland in another dream). Other odd - or perhaps unusually coincidental - things began happening: A promotional DVD for Iceland Tourism showed up next to my bag at a friend's house who knew nothing about my interest in this topic. A flier to run the first annual (local) Icelandic Seafood 8K was stuck on my windshield. Iceland started coming up in coversations with people who knew nothing of my dreams or my new interest in this place. Sure, it could be a series of coincidences and me being unconsciously aware of references to Iceland once I began dreaming about it, but it was something I couldn't seem to shake. In August 2010, my husband said, "I think we are supposed to go to Iceland," and in June 2011, we did. Maybe it was a tremendous leap of faith, maybe I was being "called" by unknown forces, or maybe it was just a very convenient excuse to get a vacation and see something new. I believe in time I will know what it is I am supposed to "take away" from this trip (other than taking away from our bank accounts!), but for now, I will relish the great memories.

I kept a journal and we took pictures all along the way. I seem to become inarticulate when someone asks me about our trip, so I thought I'd put it out there for all to see and read, and maybe to answer some questions you never knew you had. Feel free to travel vicariously!

DAY 1

The plane ride to Iceland took about 6 hours on a red-eye flight out of JFK. There was little if any sleep for me in spite of multiple airplane pillows, blankets, and impulse-purchase inflatable neck pillows. I had to face it: I just don't sleep on planes. My head bobs as I nod off, and then I am awake. Maybe for my next long flight, I should check out sleepy pills.

Delta's 757's are tricked out with individual tv, music stations, movies on demand, etc. So, really, there were no tears shed over not flying Jet Blue or Virgin Airlines, as I thought there might be. Another perk of international flying is that meals are still provided as part of the cost of your ticket. In this case, dinner and breakfast were served two hours apart. Also, beer and wine were on the house (plane?)! No wonder there was no chance of me sleeping on the plane!

We flew into the international airport in Keflavik, about 45 minutes away from Reykjavik. Prior to the trip, we booked a self-guided driving tour, and included with that was someone to drive us to our hotel when we arrived. Our driver stood amongst other drivers, only he was holding a sign with *our* name on it. (Yeah, that's right. We have a driver. We are important. Or so we'd like to pretend.) We nerdily took photos through the window of, well, not much. But it was new to us, so... On either side of the road, it was pretty much an ailen-looking dark grey terrain with these pretty purple flowers that were everywhere in Iceland (as we would learn). We also saw the Blue Lagoon's power station, or plumes of steam rising from it in the distance. Just as I was thinking to myself how calm and composed I was in spite of the excitement of the trip and the fatigue of no sleep, I had a panic attack and nearly threw up on the ride there. I managed to hold it off. Phew.

We checked in to our guesthouse, Hotel Floki. What should we see when we entered the foyer, but a massive, framed picture of Bjork in the hallway. No joke. Sadly for my weary mind and body, our room wasn't ready yet and we were early for check-in, seeing how it was noon and all. So we fought fatigue, stored our luggage, and went to walk around the city with our new maps.

Massive church of which I speak/write.

The ladies at the hotel front desk had pointed us to a popular (albeit tourist-oriented) downtown shopping area near the water. Greg and I walked up a hill to a massive church that we saw from miles away on the drive into the city. It was a short walk from where we were staying, as dumb luck (as in, blindly booking a hotel) would have it. We took lots of pictures, practicing with our new camera and its lenses. Greg became a photographic enthusiast at that very moment while I ate a smooshed muffin that I hoarded from the flight, since I had not been hungry for breakfast after having just had dinner.

Our journey continued on through the downtown shopping district. I bought some postcards. We checked out a small grocery store and confirmed that they carried skyr, something popular in Iceland that I had heard is something between yogurt and cheese. This was something that I had some interest in trying, unlike the other Icelandic delicacies of putrified shark or lamb's head.

Grafitti art.

There was also no shortage of what appeared to be "condoned graffiti" in the city streets and parks. Also, I spotted condoms and sexual pleasure items in the impulse isle at a grocery store. Then, we spied the Laundromat Cafe, a bar-staurant that posted a sign on a sandwich board outside, encouraging patrons to breastfeed if they so wish. (I am assuming they are encouraging mothers of babies to breastfeed, not everyone else.) WOW. How un-repressed! I want to live in a place that is unrepressed!

The Laundromat Cafe...So, so much to love there.

Greg and I finally checked in to our room once check-in time rolled around. I got a cat nap, and Greg read through brochures. We ventured out a little more into the shopping areas of the city. After souvenir shopping, window shopping, checking out restaurant options, learning that krap in Iceland translates to "slurpee" based on the sign in the store, we picked a gastropub for dinner. I spent most of the time being envious of Icelandic women's beauty. (All of the waitstaff and Icelandic folks in general are ridiculously beautiful, it seems. Sigh... What's that saying? "The hair is always fairer on the other side of the ocean?" Or something.)

This is krap! Really!

There was a store of some sort across the street from our lodging looked like a 7-11 from the outside, especially since it was next to a petrol station. Upon closer inspection, it was actually a fro-yo place like our hometown's Sweetfrog. We caught some dessert there and booked it back over to our guesthouse to meet Greg's friend's friend, Vithar, who is from Iceland and agreed to show us around.


Even Icelanders cannot resist the allure of self-serve frozen yogurt and toppings.


Vithar was a character, and apparently a socially progressive one, even by Icelandic standards. One of his time constraints, he explained, was that he had to drive his 16-year-old daughter to spend the night at her 16-year-old boyfriend's house. Also, he was happy to show us around, but he needed to stop into a grocery store because his wife called and reported a toilet paper emergency at their home. Oh, and he had to pick up a toothbrush (and "a good one,"as per his daughter's request), so that his daughter could take it to her boyfriend's place.

Vithar was certainly kind to take us on a car tour of the area. We rewarded him by inadvertently nodding off in the car...both of us, in fact. (Cringe.) I vaguely remember through the haze of heavy eyelids seeing the suburbs of Reykjavik and what Vithar described as the the closest thing they have to slums. These structures looked like regular apartments by comparison to our country's slums. In all, everyone in the Reykjavik area seemed to live in apartment or duplex-like homes, or at least in multiple-storied structures. We ended our driving tour by hanging out in the coffee shop of a bookstore and chatting a bit more. Vithar dropped us off at the guest house around 10:30 pm, and still looked like what we consider about 7:30 pm in terms of outside light. I was sure to make Greg take photos to prove it.

Yep. 11:00 p.m., and it's still light out.

Our mod/euro-style guesthouse room suited with bunk beds (I suspected Ikea-brand). Greg slept well, dropping off immediately. I had to shake him awake to have him roll over and stop snoring, since he didn't hear me calling his name. I woke up a couple of times and was confused at what time it was, given the amount of light outside. The time was 1:00 am. Unreal!

Our little room at Hotel Floki. I'm still captivated by that light fixture.

Summer: A User's Guide

When it's oppressively hot outside, it's easy to forget why summertime is my favorite season...Which is why I then refer to Suzanne Brown's book, "Summer: A User's Guide." The joy of summer comes rushing back to me, including nostalgia for things I never actually experienced. It's more of a reference guide with a very Real Simple layout and format, with clean lines and beautiful photography. Thanks to this book, I have a handy list of all of the 2-letter words that I can play in Scrabble. (Take note, all of my "Words with Friends" competitors! I've just revealed my secret weapon.) Besides that, I can brush up on my underwater handstand techniques, fill up a rainy afternoon with suggested movies,tie-dye a t-shirt, learn how to build a campfire in four easy (?) steps, and finally discover how to shape fabric into a sarong. Not to be missed are the food and beverage recipes the book includes (crab salad-stuffed tomatoes, anyone!?). It's a great beach or when-you-have-a-minute-here-and-there read, since most topics span about a page in length. Some might say this also makes it a great bathroom reader.

A Consumer Review in Haiku

Purex Complete 3-in-1 Laundry Sheets

Let me save you some time...If I can't say it in haiku-brevity, it's probably too wordy of a review.

Perfect for travels

Clean, dry clothes smell heavenly

Pricey cost per load

The End

Bye, Bye Baby (Clothes)

I've been going through my boys' old clothes to see what is consignable, what should be given/passed on to friends, what is donation-worthy, and what is an abomination in the name of clothed babies (i.e., the Category of  "Why did I keep the onesie with the massive poop stain that couldn't be Oxy-Cleaned out!?") It's a tough pill to swallow, parting with all of these itty bitty freakin' adorable duds. Alas, I checked etsy.com for an idea I thunk up to salvage the things that are really too dear to part with. I'd do it myself if I didn't have an irrational fear of taking my sewing machine out of it's box. http://www.etsy.com/listing/73430929/custom-orders-crib-size-quilt-made-from

Down-Dog and Corpse Poses

The "downward dog" pose in yoga is often considered a resting pose. I always thought that seemed like a bunch of crap, because keeping yourself suspended from head to toe like that is a lot of work if you are doing it the right way.

Parenthood gives me a whole new perspective on this pose. It makes me think of how the times that I am often working are my new "rest." Anything I do by myself - even if I'm busy being productive while I do it - suddenly counts as a kind of rest. Driving the car is meaningful in that it gets me there, but it is also relaxation (and when I'm alone, the volume can be full blast). Washing the dishes? A break for a moment to think. One-upping the washing of dishes is the washing of clothes, because I can close the door behind me and take even more of a break by leaving the kids inside, albeit momentarily. Going to work? My chance to get a break by feeling productive and cavort with other adults and leave behind the typical "one step forward, two steps back" that happens with the seeming endlessness of house chores and parenthood duties.

Speaking of yoga: I really pay $5 to $10 a class to be able to lay down with my eyes closed at the end for five minutes during Savasana and enjoy the peace. $10 is a small price to pay for guaranteed time to relax without being hounded by one of my children. :)