I almost ran over Bjork's dog...(posting from the road)

So good news...it turns out Shawn is not a serial killer. The bad thing...he's not a fantastic navigator. In his defense it was rush hour, pitch black, raining and once again all of the signs were in that pesky Icelandic. We anticipated some trouble getting out not the hour we spent lost on roundabouts only to end up back at the hotel.

After a few deep breaths we recouped and just a short time later arrived in our first destination...Pingvellir National Park. Here sits the home of the first Icelandic Parliament and the continental divide. Unlike much of the warm water that dots this land, this lake remains slightly above freezing year round. The area was picturesque and thanks to the off season, fairly desolate. There were just a few cars and one tour bus upon our arrival, virtually no one around as we explored - I tell you this mundane info to set the stage for a bizarre encounter.

Shawn and I were taking a few snapshots from one of the viewpoints and chatting about the history of the place when a cute old lady walks up and very politely inquired, in English, if we speak German. Confused as to this bizarre question, but concerned as the Grandma seems quite worried, we ask if she speaks either French or Spanish, two languages that perhaps the two of us could muddle through if it mean helping this stranded senior citizen. She sadly shakes her head, a completely devastated look on her face. I suggest that perhaps she try her question in English, as this is the language we have all been speaking for the past 2 minutes while trying to ascertain the best language to communicate in...

The stranded German women's face brightens at the suggestion, she then inquires, in perfect English I might add, if we might know the location of her tour bus - she feels she is quite lost. I quickly whip my head around to search out the location of some sort if Icelandic 'Candid Camera'...while Shawn calmly points to a massive white tour bus in the parking lot, directly in front of us. I mean this thing is huge. The lady states that she can't recall the colour of her bus...I suggest that maybe, considering we are in the middle of the barren Icelandic tundra and there is nothing else around that she give that bus a go, maybe it's hers. Happy to have some sort of direction, she wandered off...(maybe you had to be there but it was a surreal and yet hilarious moment in my day)

Next stop on our Golden Circle tour...the birthplace of the geyser name (after a brief stop in Laugarvatn in a grocery shop/diner for a truly horrible tasting bacon burger). It reminded me very much of the geothermic areas of New Zealand...steam vents spouting out of the earth on a pathway leading up to Strokkur, the most reliable geyser of them all. I stood their mystified as to the large spouts of sulfur smelling water that jetted into the sky every couple of minutes while some tourist next to me muttered, "Ol' Faithfuls better than that". Having never been to Yellow Stone, I was thoroughly impressed.

Our drive continued through either blinding sun or sheets of sleet, winding though desolate areas dotted with occasional Icelandic Ponies. The roads were in great condition, which is why I was not expecting the rock. The poor Citreon, which in all honestly had been alarming "Engine Too Hot" since I picked it up in Keflavik was never quite the same after the rock. It operated fine but made a very funny banging sound.
Citreon held together long enough to bring us to the jewel of the Golden Circle tour...Gullfoss Falls. Little tip for anyone making the trek...the falls are in deep gully that is in a field off to the left side of the road (as this is Iceland, a country that seems to detest signage) and are very easy to miss. In fact if the road just beyond them hadn't been deemed impassable and shut down I reckon I would still be searching for them.


But find them I did and they are quite spectacular - especially in the winter. The mist from the cascading water has made some mystical ice formations that looked like some sort of sci-fi movie creation. Unfortunately the cold season also created a slick sheet of ice on the pathway down to the falls themselves. Most people enjoyed the upper, boardwalk accessed viewing platforms that safely overlooked the falls but Shawn and I, outfitted with poor footwear, but adventurous spirits decided to brave the vertical skating rink. Down was easy and definitely worth it - up was a bit of a challenge.
I think the highlight of Shawn's day actually game on the drive home when we stumbled upon what we choose to believe was Bjork's country home. We know this because of a sign (figures that there are no sings to lead to the only major highway in this country but a sign pointing to the home of a pop star). After a drive though a field, in an area I am sure is not normally included on the Golden Circle tour we arrived a a cute little country house. We were contemplating getting out of the car and inquiring about a cup of tea - Shawn wanted to discuss some musical things with Bjork, I wanted to try on her infamous swan dress, when many large dogs ran out and surrounded our car. In my haste to dash away, in the ailing Citreon, I clipped one of the dogs...oops...at least it wasn't Bjork herself...