The power of the winter scarf...

It was my last full day in Iceland, and after my unfortunate flirtation with spontaneity I wanted nothing more than to stay put in Reykjavik. But I convinced myself that there was so much more to see, and not to worry, today could not be any more disastrous than yesterday. I was wrong.

My goal today was to see the black sand beaches of Vik – and so I drove, 2 hours out of Reykjavik in a bizarre torrential rainstorm while the sun blazed just off to my right, it was very much like I was a cartoon character and the rain cloud was following me along. Well I made it to Vik, despite the weather, and the guide books didn’t lie - the beaches were a very bizarre black sand colour.

Vik is also known for a collection of fingerlike rock formations that extend out of the ocean…kind of creepy actually. The west end of the beach is home to cliffs that would make any birder randy. I as a future birder took great delight on them as well until I realized the imminent danger. In the summer months, these cliffs are a fantastic location to spot puffins, in the winter there seemed to be some type of angry gull nesting there.

I have a neighbor with an infant, and there is no doubt in my mind that she would murder in cold blood anyone that went near her little girl (I even see her eying me up if I hold her too tight), so I know the crazed look of a mother. When I got close enough to the cliff wall I was faced with a thousand birds, all with that crazy mother look in their eyes...I slowly backed away until the dive bombing started. Then I ran. Stupid birds – it’s not even nesting season!

Deciding that my time on the beach was done, I visited the other “attraction” of Vik, the church. Now the church isn’t listed anywhere as an attraction but I like the significance behind it, so I decided it was worth a visit. On a regular basis the 300 inhabitants of Vik regularly practice an evacuation routine in case of volcano eruption – they all run to the church on the hill to avoid the floods from the melting glacier. Plus, it’s a pretty church with a great view.

After a few more snaps I decided that I had tempted fate enough and decided to head back to Reykjavik. I am not going to fully tell you the next part because 1) it is still under investigation by the insurance company and 2) it makes me look like an idiot.
To sum up, there was a large rock and it damaged the car.

After the encounter I was driving down the highway, a little shaken up, when I started to smell something burning and hearing an unfamiliar sound. Panicking a little, I kept driving while trying to figure out what the problem could be. The car wasn’t pulling to the side so that eliminated a tire. The car hadn’t caught on fire, so I ruled out gas tank issue. And then I was out of things that could be wrong with a car.

It took a few more kilometers before I convinced myself to pull over...where I discovered the source of burning and the noise – part of the car’s trim had become unhinged from the frame after it was bent significantly upwards. I tried to snap the dragging piece in place, to no avail and then deduced, through basic physics that if I drove fast the piece would fly up off the ground! So I piled back into the no injured Mazada and took off down the National Icelandic Highway at no less than 120km/hr. It worked sort of…but even I realized that this could only be a temporary solution…there were several roundabouts in my near future, plus a treacherous mountain pass…120km/hr certainly couldn’t last forever.

Right then I had a flashback to my childhood…my younger brother and I took our newborn baby brother out of his cradle and tied him to our Old English Sheepdog with WINTER SCARVES! Gadzooks!! Winter scarves could fix anything. (On a side note – yes we did catch a lot of hell for that, even though our intent was pure and to this day we have not been properly thanked for giving him an amazing ride)

So I pulled over Mazada, and using my souvenir NZ National Rugby Team – All Black scarf (the scarf has to be tough, look who it’s the namesake for…), I hoisted up the dragging car piece in a sling, pried the back door open, fed the scarf through and then with all my might slammed the door shut again over the warped frame. I don’t mind telling you, I felt a little bit like a genius at that moment (definitely more so then when I damaged the car in the first place).

To conclude, I limped back into town, contacted the insurance company, got drunk at the hotel bar and didn’t drive again until it was time to go to the airport the next day. While regaling the story to the Thrifty car man, he cocked his head, looked at me and advised, “please, next time, you take bus”.

Bless, bless Iceland (bless, bless = bye, bye)
Takk for reading!

Do you have anything on the menu that is not endangered? (posting from the road)

Whoa - before you come after me with pitchforks - kidding - nothing I ate was endangered.

It is no secret that I could stand to lose a few pounds...and I thought Iceland, with it's menus littered with seafood and creatures that I have never deemed edible, would be an ideal spot to jump start a diet. After a dreadful first day of eating cornflakes and some type of cafeteria curried pork dish I decided to take the culinary leap of a lifetime (and that is saying something after my taranchula dining endevours in S.E. Asia) and dine Icelandic style.

My advice to anyone taking this leap is to view it survivor style...you are trapped on this island in the North Atalantic...there is not a McDonald's in site for 1000 miles...better dig in and dine like the locals. (There is a chain called "American Style" restaurant complete with photos of Byddy Holly - but I just couldn't do it.) I watched the average Icelander, they seemed to be faring quite well eating these unusual foods - so I gave it a go.

Over the past few days I have had the opportunity to sample almost every traditional Icelandic dish that is not fish - pesky allergy (Whale is a mammal so my fish allergy did not apply here - before I get e-mails...Crystal). Full disclosure - I did not try Ram's testicles or sheep inards either - mainly because they were not on any of the menus in Reykjavik...but I hear good things.

A traditional Tim Horton's breakfast alternative is the Kleina - dough that is knotted and deep fried in mutton fat. It's good...I mean you read the part about being deep fried...but there is this aftertaste...I confess, I would take a TH double chocolate over it anyday.

Last year I read the book, "Whale Warriors" (which I understand is no a Animal Planet TV show) detailing some activists battle against Japanese Whalers in the Southern Ocean. I had images of the Sea Shepard attacking me in the night as I dined on what turned out to be rather delicious Minke Whale. Cooked simlar to beef and seasoned with a fantastic sweet soy glaze, the whale was a little chewy before it gave way and just melted in your mouth. (Interesting note -the countries that still participate in whaling in some form are: Norway, Japan, Iceland, Canada, Indonesia, Faroe Islands, Greenland and the United States - so think twice before sending me that nasty e-mail...)

I have never met a bird that I didn't like and puffin is no exception. I had to break a cardinal rule to not eat really, really cute things in order to down this iconic Icelandic symbol. The puffin was actually part of trio tour around the island and was accompanied by goose (I hope it was that one that attacked me - who's laughing now?) and reindeer. This particular reindeer was prepared almost like some sort of fritter - deep fried - so crispy on the outside but raw on the inside...okay...unusual.

I did give the reindeer another go of it and dove in to a delicious reindeer burger with a red onion jam and cranberry topping - much better this time. I wonder if you can make any animal a burger and it would taste good?

The most popular resturant in Rekjavik is actually a hot dog stand. The line up of locals and tourists streches around the block a peak times. Shawn was brave and ordered his with "the works", which included; battered and deep fried onions, mysterious creamy white sauce and mysterious creamy brown sauce. I opted to forgoe unknown creamy things and just have the onions - either way we both agreed that there was a distinct after taste that lingered way longer than it should...

Anthony Bourdain said that the most disgusting thing that he has ever smelt or eaten was in Iceland - the fermented shark. Luckily my fish allergy saved me from having to partake in this ritual but Shawn and Doug (different traveller we met) needed to experience it. To clarify - I have never met an Icelander that enjoys eating this dish, rumour has it that only old crusty fisherman will east such a thing. From the moment that the boys removed the lids from their jars, and the smell of rotting shark flesh wafted out...well it was all I could to to keep from vomitting. To their credit, the boys were successful in consuming the fermented carcass and chased it with the mandatory shot that is served with the dish. For those who asked - I will NOT be bringing any of that home with me...I am not sure if customs would let it and and I think the world will be a better place if we can keep this dish isolated to one island.

And I saved the best for last...want to discover the most amazing dish...ask the waiters. Every staff memeber we spoke to at the restaurants stated that 'foal' was their favourite. Foal as in baby horse??? "Yes, it is mouthwateringly delicious". I thought back to my pet horses, Dan and Buster for a moment before relenting and ordering a foal steak. So delicious...unable to describe it - meat far better than beef (and I LOVE beef)...melts in you mouth, amazing taste. I am not sure if all horse tastes this good or if it was good beacuse we were eating a baby - kind of a veal sort of thing - but a creature that delicious was certainly destined to be devoured at some time.

Don't persecute me too much - there is a chance you too may have eaten horse. According to a local, because of the over population of horses on the island, many times the export 'beef' to foreign lands with the consumer none the wiser. A waitress confessed that when many of the restaurants in Reykjavik run out of beef, they simply substitute foal - and the diners rave about the food. Think back now to the best steak you have ever had...hmmm....

Screwed by spontaneity in Stykkisholmur on Snæfellsnes Peninsula (posting from the road)

I have been criticized before for over planning a vacation...there was a time when I used to make "Adventure Manuals" for my travel companions that had a complete tabbed dividers that marked the itinerary, emergency situational information and pertinent history to the area (Kirsi, Jolie and Barry can surely all vouch for this). And in my defence, I have gotten better...but I decided this time to be completely spontan
eous...just go where the wind takes me. Well the wind took me to an abandoned fishing village on the a remote peninsula in Iceland - apparently I have offended the wind.

After a morning soak at the Blue Lagoon Clinic, I reluctantly left in search of spontaneous adventure. The Snæfellsnes Peninsula had come highly recommended by some travellers that I met in the lagoon, so I elected to point my rental car in that direction. I made a nice, leisurely drive of it...stopping every now and then to photograph mountains or Icelandic ponies (all for you Tia)...no rush. The only nerve-wracking part of the drive came while driving through a 5.4 km tunnel that extended 164 metres under a fjord - in a seismically unstable country do you really want to be 164 metres/540 feet beneath water?

It was late afternoon when I arrived in Stykkisholmur, the largest town on the peninsula. I followed signs to what apparently was the only hotel in town. I arrived at a very nice hotel, fantastic views and presented myself at the front desk to secure a room...I had it all worked out...spontaneity triumphed...find a room, wander the quaint town and take photos and then sit down to a lovely meal. Spontaneity was then foiled by an unhelpful desk clerk - "I think we're closed". WHAT??!?! She called someone, said two Icelandic words and then turned to me and confirmed here earlier thoughts. I calmly enquired as to the nearest location of the next hotel - other than Reykjavik (not close) she suggested I try a Homestay.

I am not a huge fan of the Homestays (see the Cambodian posting "Hotter than Hell" if you are wondering why)...but considering my predicament I tried to follow her advice. Armed with a brochure map in Icelandic and some stars marked by the desk clerk I set out to try and find a couch to borrow. The first three stops...no one home - or they didn't want to answer the door. Determined, and tired, I visited another star on the map - this did not go well.

It rapidly became another one of those "what forks in the road of life brought me to this" moments. As obviously upset, hairy man came to the door - it was quite clear from his attire and attitude that I had just roused him from a deep slumber. I stood there while he yelled at me in Icelandic and when he paused to catch his breath I thrust my 'Homestay brochure' at him...I can't even blame him for his reaction. Imagine you are sound asleep, after I assume was a hard night shift somewhere, and a foreigner comes to your door complete with camera around neck and map in hand and then tries to sleep in your couch.

I don't speak much Icelandic, so the exact translation is lost on me but I can tell you it was NOT "please come in, make yourself at home - cup of tea perhaps..." I could tell that from the force that was behind the rapidly closing door - but then I am pretty astute.

Fully rejected by the town of Stykkisholmur, I slowly made my way back to Reykjavik...all the while thinking that if I had one of my "Adventure Manuals" with me I could just turn to the section on emergency housing...curses on you spontaneity.

I became the creature from the Blue Lagoon...posting from the road

By the end of my time at Iceland's biggest tour attraction, I did look like a creature; a big pruney, flushed, waterlogged, silica covered monster.

The formation of the lagoon is a bizarre story. An environmentally friendly geothermal power company has been extracting water heated by magma from 2 km into the earth to help power their factory. When the water cooled, it was discarded in to a field of 'evil' lava that had been formed by a 1226 eruption. Workers from the plant began to soak their weary bones in the lagoon and voila - a spa was born. It was actually one of these workers, who suffered psoriasis, that discovered the healing powers of the water. Today people from all over the world flock to the hazy turquoise pools in Southwest Iceland - and I was thrilled to be one of them.

As I soaked in the healing waters, I could feel the stress leaving my body, aches and pains vanished; the few cocktails (swim up bar!) and extreme heat of the pools certainly helped the process. Shawn and I spent the afternoon lounging, drinking, enjoying waterfall massages, giving ourselves silica mud facials and chatting with fellow travellers. The brisk air of the November afternoon made the lagoon seem heavenly (remember running into the sauna after playing in the snow) but sadly all good things must come to an end...for Shawn...I was staying at the lagoon! (Don't feel bad for him, he was leaving to go to Paris).

My hours of relentless Internet surfing have paid off, and I managed to find a fantastic off-season deal to stay right at the lagoon. My accommodation was in an ultra chic, almost Frank Lloyd Right-like in its design, 'clinic'. Not a hotel, a 'clinic' - complete with sleek furniture, private patios on the lava field and a private lagoon pool to use in the AM and PM. And that is exactly where I spend my time...

I just laid there, starfish floating in this massive how water pool, under a night sky...it was impossible to have a care in the world. I chatted with some lovely British folks - she went on to remark that she didn't feel guilty eating lobster anymore - especially if there last few minutes were like this.

The 66% salt water concentration of the pool, combined with my extended time in there...well I wasn't kidding in the title - when I finally extricated myself from the bliss I looked like a bright red, shrivelled tomato. Don't let that discourage you, I would gladly look like any creature if I meant I had to endure floating time in the Blue Lagoon to get there.

Images of Titanic kept coming to mind...(posting from the road)

Even as I sat soaked, shivering in the relentless rain, bopping along in a little zodiac with too really tall dutch women, a guy I met at an ATM and two boisterous Icelanders across a lagoon filled with curious seals and massive icebergs, contemplating which of my fingers was most likely to fall off first...I remember thinking...there is no where I would rather be.

Let me back up a bit. Day three of "adventure Iceland" began with a necessary rental car swap. The poor Citreon had never seemed to recover from that rock, plus I was still frequently getting the message to pull over before the engine overheated. Which I am fairly certain was just a false alarm but considering my luck and automotive knowledge I decided not to tempt fate. So outfitted with a shiny new Mazda, Shawn and I set forth to explore the southern area of this island nation.

Fact 6% of Icelanders believe in elves and an additional 54% will not deny the possibility that they exist. A fact that I find equally disturbing and enduring, but understandable after driving through their enchanting countryside...you could easily picture trolls, elves and gnomes residing in between the moss covered lava rock. Plus there are an extrodinary number of small houses built into the hillsides...not sure if these were made by or for the elves. Initially we stopped for every waterfall, trying to get that perfect shot despite the gloomy day. We then realized that with the frequency that they seemed to be appearing, it would take us to next Monday to reach our destination. Iceland is literally littered with waterfalls.

We did make a stop however to wander up to one of the 'tongues' of the Oraefajokull glacier. It may be cliche to say, but it is humbling to stand next to these massive rivers of ice - you can hear the cracking and calving as they age prematurely thanks to global warming. The shades of blue found in the glaciers are amazing...there really should be a Crayola crayon named 'glacial blue'.

Racing against daylight, despite the pounding rain, we made it to Jokulsarlon lagoon. Originally the Breidamerkurjokull tongue of the Vatnajokull glacier reached the surf of the North Atlantic. In fact in 1930, the lagoon that I enjoyed was not even there. However, salt water combined with global warming ate away at the glacier and the subsequent lagoon was formed. Today the lake/lagoon, which is over 700 feet deep, is home to an uncountable number of massive icebergs and seals (the icebergs are massive, not the seals - they are just regular size).

If the photos seem familiar to you at all, like so many breathtaking areas of the world, it has been featured by Hollywood. Notables include: 'Tomb Raider', 'Batman Begins', 'James Bond: A View to Kill' and most famously 'James Bond: Die Another Day'. The 2002 Bond film shot the car chase between the Jaguar and the Aston Martin on a frozen lagoon...wait, the lagoon isn't frozen...and shouldn't freeze given the constant flow of the salt water...ah...Hollywood at it's finest. It took 5 weeks, but by stopping the ocean from flowing into the lagoon, they were able to force freeze the lagoon and create thick enough ice to withstand the needs of the crew. (side note - 6 Aston Martin Vanquishes were destroyed in the making of this scene).

There was no Hollywood there today and being the off season the place was virtually abandoned. In the summer months, at peak tourist season there are amphibious watercraft that make their way into the lagoon and give tourists and up close look at the icebergs. Through an odd turn of events that I believe was directly related to the attractiveness of the 2 Dutch women, the workers agreed to take us out on the lagoon in a zodiac.

So despite the freezing rain and inappropriate attire we were wearing, Shawn and I readily accepted the invitation and hopped aboard. We zoomed around ice, over ice and into ice. The zodiac was a fantastic way to tour the lagoon as we were able to get right up and touch the icebergs, many were larger than houses. The colours and clarity...some of the icebergs looked like floating gemstones. Others were appeared striped thanks to sediment and volcanic ash.

The photos I took will absolutely not capture how awesome it was, partially because the lens constantly had raindrops on it and partially because my fingers were too frozen to push the shutter. If you really want to see the lagoon...and you should...turn to Hollywood.
(and yes - I did think of Titanic every time we drove over or smashed into an iceberg...but I figured everyone's got to go sometime...maybe they can make a movie of it...I think Julia Roberts should play me...not Kate Winslet...just wanted to put that out there...you know...in case)

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...