Icelandic Fever: a Southern Saga

Laxness Anniversary

2009-12-10T08:19:00.001-05:00

The Honour of the House, by Halldór Laxness. Translated by Kenneth G. Chapman. 2nd editon. Reykjavík: Helgafell, 1985. 131 pgs. Originally published in Icelandic in 1933.

Professor Batty traveled all the way to Iceland this October to discover and purchase another Laxness novel--one that we didn't even know was available in English. Way to go, Batty! Today is the 54th anniversary of the day Halldór Laxness received the Nobel Prize for Literature, and we are celebrating that occasion by publishing tandem reviews of our latest discovery.

This novel tells the tale of an Important Family in a small town in (it appears) east coastal Iceland. The Deacon father and and his wife have two children, both girls. Each travels abroad to Denmark in her twenties to experience the wider world.

Similar circumstances, but different personalities. Thurithur, the eldest, is gone for two years. She is impetuous, temperamental and beautiful, and her father worries that she might get into trouble. No, says her mother, her character will protect her, as

... in a well-bred young girl self-respect and beauty were to be found in the proper proportions.

Thurithur returns, more tempermental and more beautiful, but still virtuous.

Rannveig, the younger sister, is a homebody, who excells in the hand arts and doesn't desire to travel. She has a calm, reliable disposition, and has the deepest care and love for poor people or those in trouble.

A peculiar trait of hers was this: that she should not only be incapable of living at odds with anyone but rather need to spread her love over all.

Rannveig goes to Denmark as well, but returns early. She inexplicably begins to put on weight round her waist.

The chapters in the book show Laxness in his typical fashion, seducing the reader with lyricism and beauty, then forcing the reader to acknowledge that alongside beauty lies pain, loss, and death.

The first chapter, "A Day in Late Summer" talks of shimmering mirages, resplendent castles, warmth, desire, benevolence, beauty. Chapter two, The Good Land, invites the reader to see Denmark from the eyes of the protagonist, with luxury, culture, and good taste , castles, parks, and the arts. Chapter three, The Wedding, begins with veiled irony (there is no wedding), and we begin to see Rannveig from the eyes of her neighbors. All's well ... , chapter six, brings irony to the forefront as we see that all does not end well, even though a marriage might have legitimized Rannveig's situation. The very last chapter, The Norn Father's Feast, moves the story from a particular situation, family and geographic location to the realm of myth and legend.

This book really captured my interest. The characters and the plot are revealed quickly, which served to draw me into the story. Just as I was feeling comfortable with the characters and the pace of the story, it seemed as if the lens of my reader's eye zoomed out, and I was looking at the characters from a more impersonal distance. I found that frustrating.

As I pondered why Laxness chose to put me--and his readers--in this position, I concluded that his story shows how honor and pride can dehumanize and separate people. People become symbols rather than individuals, and intellectual constructs become more important than human feelings. This is a lesson worth keeping in mind and learning anew each day, for me, for anyone.

Our Laxness novel rankings are here and here.
Thanks to Bridgewater College, Va, for the interlibrary loan!

Halldór Laxness Day

2007-12-10T00:10:00.008-05:00

52 years ago today, Halldór Laxness was awarded the Nobel Prize in Literature. Today is the day that Professor Batty and I chose for posting our personal rankings of our favorite Laxness novels. You, our reading audience, can be assured that we have not collaborated on or discussed these rankings ahead of time...I will be as surprised as you when I read PB's post tomorrow!

Here is my list:

1. The Fish Can Sing (1957)
Álfgrímur's coming of age. Iceland's greatest singer. A house called Brekkukot in Reykjavík at the beginning of the 20th century. My favorite book ever.

2. Independent People (1934)
Sheep, and the frustratingly stubborn Bjartur of Summerhouses.

3. Iceland's Bell (1943-46)
The Loveliest Woman in Iceland and an irascible criminal.

4. World Light (1937-40)
The Poet, Ólafur Kárason of Ljósavík.

5. Under the Glacier (1968)
The Emisary of the Bishop (Embi) investigates strange things at Snaefells.

6. Salka Valka (1931-32)
A poor fisher girl who is big, strong, and very generous.

7. Paradise Reclaimed (1960)
Steinar gives his white pony Krapi, the finest horse in Iceland, to the King of Denmark, and goes to live with the Mormons.

8. Great Weaver From Kashmir (1927)
Steinn’s quest for perfection, and his desire to avoid the sins of the flesh. Humanity and Divinity. The nature of redemption.

9. Happy Warriors (1952)
Sworn brothers Þormódur Bessason and Þorgeir Hávarsson have the souls of saga warriors. But they are misfits in their world, and don’t even realize it.

10. Atom Station (1948)
A girl from the north country encounters city ways, and learns about human values. Another Strong Woman steals our hearts.

11. The Honour of the House (1933)
Honour and pride, and what it does to a family.

I think it's interesting that many of Laxness' novels were published in separate volumes and parts over the course of several years. I also think it's interesting (although I don't expect anyone else to) that Laxness was awarded the Nobel Prize the same year I was born. His acceptance speech (audio and text) can be found at the Nobel site.

I'd love to hear from other Laxness fans about their favorites. If you'll send me your personal ranking I'll be glad to post it! And don't forget to check out Professor Batty at Flippism is the Key to see what he has to say about our favorite Icelandic Author.

To conclude, an excerpt from my Iceland diary, July 19, 2006:

Today we are going to visit Gljufrasteinn, the home and museum of author Halldór Laxness. Thingvellir, Gljufrasteinn, and Drangey Island are the top three personal shrines on my Iceland list.

Halldór Laxness (1902-1998) won the Nobel prize in 1955, in part for his book Independent People. In an introduction to this book Brad Leithauser says:

When I tell people I meet that my favorite book by a living novelist is Halldor Laxness's Independent People and am asked what it's about, my reply is, "Sheep."

...My reply is actually less facetious than might first appear, for while the book does keep large issues constantly in mind (the largest: mortality and memory and love and duty), it is also very much about...[sheep].

My New T-shirt

2009-12-03T22:10:00.001-05:00

The Godwin Marching Band rocks! This fall their theme is "Legends," and they designed a wonderful Viking ship complete with musical iconography. Our Band Director was kind enough to present me with my very own Viking shirt, which will look great with my jeans each Friday. (Besides, I've had a secret desire for some time to be a marching band member.)

Helping others, or, Coalescence

2009-08-12T09:31:00.011-04:00

Eunice Kennedy Shriver has died, leaving an admirable legacy. She founded the Special Olympics, and accomplished so much for people with intellectual disabilities.

As often happens, this event coincides with several things in my life.

My sister-in-law Jen works for the Special Olympics, and we spent some time talking about her job during my recent visit to Long Beach.

Yesterday I began reading volume I of Kristin Lavransdatter*, a book by Sig rid Undset. Undset, a Norwegian who won the Nobel Prize for Literature in 1928, donated all of the proceeds of her prize to help others. A large portion of it was designated to help families of mentally retarded children--Undset had personally experienced the challenges of raising a mentally retarded child with limited financial resources. During World War II Unset had to flee Norway, and she sold her gold Nobel Prize medal to give the money to the relief effort for Finnish children.

Sigrid Undset

*discovered due to the Mount TBR posts/conversations. Thanks, all!

Wild Bear in Iceland

2009-11-02T23:23:00.004-05:00

... or, a latter-day Lord Dufferin?

My son Gabe alerted me to the Man vs. Wild series, specifically the one shot in Iceland. Of course the rest of the world discovered this series back in 2006 when it first aired. Since we avoid reality TV, and TV in general, we wait for everything to come out in Netflix. Sometimes we wait longer than that.

So in keeping with the philosophy "better late than never," here's my superficial take on the macho Bear Grylls, British Special Forces Soldier Extraordinaire. Keep in mind that my assessment is based on just two shows. Two was enough.

Thoughts on Bear in Iceland. First, it's a stitch hearing him pronounce glaciers "glassy-ears." Second, what's not to like about a guy who makes the sign of the cross before hurling himself out of an airplane at 4,000 feet, to parachute down to a glassy-ear. Second part b, what's not to like about a guy who names one son Huckleberry, and another Marmaduke? Third, what's with the lack of a hat in sub-zero temperatures? (Of course we know the answer to that: so TV audiences can eat up his craggy looks). Hey, the scenery is awesome and scary, Bear jumps into a glacial melt river because he is confident that he can make it to the steaming hotpots in the distance without a) freezing, and b) boiling himself like a lobster once he gets there. You get to watch him get undressed and you get to watch him get dressed. Go Bear!

Vote for the most macho.

Thoughts on Bear in general. The formula for the shows is simple: Bear is catapulted into an extremely inhospitable environment, somewhere far from all civilization (except for cameramen), and by thinking quickly he manages to stay alive until the next time. In the two shows I've seen (hence all of his shows, in my world view) Bear suffers under the delusion that he is being pursued. Like the Special Forces guy he is, or was, or whatever, he is always running while in a crouched position, looking over his shoulder (try doing that at home). Along the way Bear tells us fun facts (an average of 3 people per day are rescued in Iceland; 60 people needed to be rescued last year in the Scottish Highlands, ...), and shows how to trap, skin, and eat wild animals. Or, dead animals left by the locals for the purpose of demonstration. Sure some of it's staged. Seriously, though, you learn a couple of useful facts in each show, both about the country he's up against, and about survival skills in general.

Check out the Bear. He's got an entertaining website too. Fun fact: Bear once "rowed naked for 22 miles in a homemade bathtub ... " (Wikipedia)

The Fire Next Time

2009-10-24T23:22:00.011-04:00

Jonathan Vassar & the Speckled Bird celebrated their newest release, The Fire Next Time, at a concert at The Camel last Saturday. It was a high energy event with a large and appreciative crowd, and featured individual sets by Josh Quarles and Chris Edwards.

The crowd, photographed by performer Chris Edwards: HAVING FUN!

Then the Speckled Bird played through all seven songs from their new EP.This recording features lots of instruments that work well with the songs: guitar, harmonica, mandolin, banjo, glockenspiel, cello, clarinet, slide guitar, accordion, and more. The sound recording and mixing are excellent, and the packaging of the EP is very attractive. I love the fact that it has all the lyrics, so I can enjoy the poetry of each song to the fullest. The musicality of the individual band members is evident, yet all parts contribute to a very fulfilling whole.

The t-shirt is pretty cool too!

Gabe as Centerfold Idol

2006-07-26T15:41:00.001-04:00

Time to hit the slopes! The slopes of Snaefellsjokull, to be exact. That would be the same glacial mountain that Jules Verne used for the basis of Journey to the Center of the Earth, as well playing a prominent part in Laxness' Under the Glacier. Snaefellsjokull is also considered a holy place, or a "power center," and New Age folks congregate in its vicinity.

Unfortunately the weather today is cloudy, and the cloud cover is low: we can't see the peak of the glacier at all. Nonetheless, Gabe and Peter are ready to go snowmobiling to the summit of the glacier--with a group, of course. Not a good idea to go straying off the trail in the fog, and descend through a crevasse into...the center of the earth!

We drive quite a ways up an unpaved road until we reach the snow line. Here are the other tourists, the guide, and a fleet of snowmobiles. Also a trailer with jumpsuits, helmets, and other manly gear. Gear for females, too; ones with a stronger desire for adventure than me.

Riding off to the peak of Snaefellsjokull

Gabe as Centerfold Idol

Luckily I have company while the boys are tearing up the glacier. John and I wave them off, and then go for a hike on the mountain, through spongy moss, lots of lava rock, and up the side of one of many volcanic craters.

When we go back to retrieve the guys I ask Gabe if the ride was long enough, and if it was worthwhile (since they didn't get any views from the top of the glacier due to the low clouds). He says the ride was about two hours too short! So I guess they had a good time. On our way down the glacier we stop at Songhellir, where a collapsed crater has created a series of lava caves. This happened some time ago, as graffiti from the 18th century can be found within. Our cave exploration is somewhat limited due to a lack of torches. John and the boys speak with the dwarfs that live in the cave and whose voices can be heard singing. They do not relate the subject of the conversation to me.

We stop in a nearby village, Hellnar, to eat lunch at Fjoruhusid, a tiny cafe that once was a fish salting shed. It is right on the water, next to craggy cliffs teeming with birds. You can sit indoors or out. Either way the view is lovely. The building is very simple, but lovely in a French country sort of way, with whitewashed walls, long windows and a gable. The walls are hung with prints by an artist called Adalheidur Skarphedinsdottir, and we really like her art. Her work has a magical, folkloric feel to it--the closest thing I can think of are Chagall paintings. We pick up one of her flyers, in hopes that we can contact her or visit her gallery later on.

The location, building and art are all lovely. The food is even better. This is one of the best meals we've had in Iceland (have I said that before?!). We enjoy fish soup, delicious homemade bread, wonderful quiche, excellent coffee and hot chocolate, and fabulous chocolate cake!

We drive around the penninsula and Snaefellsjokull, but it is still too cloudy to see the glacier peak from below, just as it was too cloudy to see "below" from the top this morning. We stop at a market to get groceries for dinner, and John selects some sausage that is a deep orange/red in color. I ask him what kind of sausage it is, and pointing at the label he says, "Stoth." When pressed, John confesses that he doesn't know what that means. I suggest that he ask the clerk, and when he does he discovers that it is horsemeat! Now, there is nothing wrong with eating horsemeat. But apparently John doesn't want to...he buys another kind of sausage, which he first clears with the clerk.

After circling Snaefellsjokull we come to a hot springs pool that I have been longing to visit. It is Lysuhollslaug, located at a school. There are nice changing facilities, and once we venture outside we find a large swimming pool and a small "hot pot." Unfortunately, the hot pot is so hot that I can't even get in--I would feel like a lobster being readied for dinner. Gabe is the only one of our group that finds the pain pleasurable. There are a few other hardy souls who join him, but most people are like me: they stick their feet in, try to get accustomed to the temperature, and quickly give up. The large pool has clumps of algae floating around in it, but that doesn't bother us. And...the water is naturally sparkling/effervescent. It is a lovely day at the pool: mist falls down on us as we swim in the warm, fizzy water.

As we leave I ask whether we can purchase spring water to drink. We are given directions to a family farm, and begin an epic journey in search of this farm. After several visits to farms that don't have spring water, we finally end up in the right place. Olkelda has two spring pumps, and Onnur, a girl who attends school at the place where we swam, shows us how to get the water. We fill all of our water bottles, and I'm pretty excited about scoring all of this healthy, sparkling spring water. We say thanks and wave goodbye to Onnur, and then begin drinking our water....aughh! It has high sulfer content! It tastes terrible! But we know it must be very healthy.

Our next stay is at Snorrastadir Horse Farm. Looking at the map I realize that it is just 5 km from Litla Hruan (where the book Summer at Little Lava takes place). I would love to see Little Lava in person but the only way to get there is to walk or ride horses across the tidal flats; there is no road.

We have a large, lovely two-bedroom cabin, with every inside surface finished in smooth pine, a hot tub on the deck and beautiful views. When we check in I talk to Disa and Emma (who sports a "Viva los Zapatistas" tee shirt, and snake tattoos) about horseback riding tomorrow.

We receive a visit from Trin, a man from Amsterdam who is staying at the cabin next to us. He graciously gives us technical assistance on operating the hot tub. He tells me he hasn't read the sagas because they haven't been translated into Dutch (!). He is vacationing in Iceland for the third year in a row, each time concentrating on a different area in depth. That's what I'd like to do next!

Views of Snaefellsjokull

2006-07-27T23:11:00.001-04:00

Trying not to think about this being our next-to-last day in Iceland. But...we can see the elusive peak of Snaefellsjokull today; surely that must be good karma. That must mean we're coming back!

On the good karma scale: the weather has cleared up, and no rain means we can go horseback riding; we have only lost one thing this entire trip (Pete's swim suit got left behind at the hot springs pool yesterday); we all are in possession of our passports.

On the bad karma scale: horseback riding here costs a lot more than on Heimaey; our guides are a little more cautious for our safety, which means a slower pace; we can't visit Litla Hruan/Little Lava. Oh, and John is about to lose his wallet.

It's a great day for a two-and-a-half hour horseback ride. This is Peter's second horseback ride in his life! It is cloudy and cool but the cloud cover isn't low, which means we can also see the Eldborg volcano and lots of other interesting sights. I have a horse that is "go-ey," a term that means active. Our guides are Emma (whom I met yesterday) and Sara. Emma is a horsewoman from France, and Sara is an Icelandic college student; both of them are working here for the summer. I ask Emma if she misses French wine, and she replies no, that she doesn't drink. I ask her how she enjoys Icelandic food, but unfortunately she doesn't enjoy much of it: she's vegetarian. Hmm, not eating fish leaves you with few options in Iceland. I ride next to Emma and learn a lot about Icelandic horses and their unique gaits, dressage, and all kinds of things pertaining to horses.

Pete, Sara, Emma and horses

Back at the cabin we enjoy the steamy hot tub. All of our muscles are relaxing in the heat, except John's. John's muscles are not relaxed. John's muscles are very tense. While John was tolting around the Icelandic lava fields his wallet s-l-o-w-l-y worked it's way o-u-t of his pocket! John doesn't admit defeat easily, let me tell you. He goes to look for his wallet, conscripting Pete and Gabe to help him. They end up retracing the entire horseback ride, on foot. When I see that they have returned 1) without smiles, and 2) without the wallet, I refrain from asking them if they tolted all the way.

Quote from John:

There was something out there. I don't know what it was. Maybe it was trolls who stole my wallet. I'll have to find out and write a saga of my own.

Oooh ooooh! Sounds like...another trip to Iceland! A discovery trip! John finds out if huldafolk have his wallet, and that he must bargain with them to get it back! Will he sell his soul? His wife? A hint: in the upcoming series, John bargains with the huldafolk by promising them...his two cats and his joint-custody dog Foo! Uh oh, is divorce on the horizon? Will Darien permit family members to be sold off in this callous manner? Tune in...

We drive back to Reykjavik, after a stop at a police station in Bogarnes to report the missing wallet (they weren't too interested...they also weren't wearing policeman uniforms...definetly the casual look in Iceland). Three Sisters has room for us again tonight! It feels like coming home to be chatting with Thor and Sonja, and back in our "old" room. We haven't had many meals out lately, so we treat ourselves to a very special meal for our last night in Reykjavik. The restaurant we select is near Wincie's cathedral, in the old part of town.

Vid Tjornin is a charming place (Tjornin is the name of the small lake in the center of Reykjavik, nearby), and has a casually elegant charm: floral wallpaper, lots of vintage china, old photos, a nice view from the windows. Peter says he has never eaten in such a fancy place, and that he is glad his job at Bottega has taught him how to! Tonight is a record for the trip: $275. USD--that is with three entrees for four people, and two desserts shared among four. No wine. It is worth it though (especially since we are under budget for the trip).

The table next to us has a mix of people from Iceland and visitors from various European countries. The hosts treat one of the men to hakarl (putrefied shark, aged for 5 months or so), washed down with Brennevin (liquor made with potatoes and caraway). Gabe, Pete and I are very eager to treat John to this national delicacy, but he declines our offer. Darn, now that would have been entertaining.

I call Gunnella and her Dad Thor and make dates for tomorrow. The "boys" hang out until 3 or 4 am, meeting up with various groups of young people and perfecting the Icelandic words Ja and Nei.

Meanwhile, John and I walk around the city until late in the evening looking for Skarphedinsdottir's gallery, but it has moved. We hear live music several places: good jazz, and blues in Icelandic, which is kind of weird. Late night, good weather, people young and old wandering all over the city. Too bad the evening has to end!

My Sadness at Saying Bless

2006-07-28T21:12:00.001-04:00

Our last day; so sad. Early this morning the boys receive an email sent to the hotel from some Icelanders/Minnesotans they met last night(!). Bright and early, John and I walk into town to do a few errands and a little bit of shopping. We purchase: some Icelandic playing cards, two wool hats, and a book. My gift to myself: a cool bumper sticker.

We spend a lot of time in the jewelry shop of Mariella--by far my favorite jewelry designer in Reykjavik. Maria Langenbacher's designs feature Icelandic stones, horsehair, lava, pearls. Her designs are very unique, and she is happy to explain the inspiration for each piece, and where she discovered many of the stones and items she works into her creations. Her shop is at Skólavörðustígur 12--check it out!

Then we meet Thor Lawrence on Laugavegur for talk, and coffee, and talk. I give him a replacement map for the one he lent me, that we wore out. As usual he has great ideas. One was to purchase a book for me. The bookstore was out of that title, but as it happens, I have read the book and it is one of my favorites--he knows me well already. Thor shows us where to find a birthday present for Peter--a silver representation of...Thor! It is really nice.

John heads off to the Culture House (the Old Library) to see Saga manuscripts. Can you believe it--one of the few museum stops this entire trip. Another reason to return.

Much as I'd love to see the Saga manuscripts it's my last chance to spend time with Thor and Gunnella, whom we meet for lunch at a great pizza place. Somehow I never expected to have really good pizza in Iceland. So we "sandwich" pizza in between yet more talk. My sadness at saying goodbye is mitigated somewhat by Thor inviting us back, and Gunnella promising to visit us when she visits the U.S. in '08 for a folklore conference. (Well, she practically promised.)

I have never liked saying goodbye. John will tell you, as his eyeballs roll around in his head, that I have difficulty saying goodbye to people that I will be seeing again tomorrow. This disability of mine can be inconvenient for my family. AND SAD, for me!

Back to Three Sisters, where Gabe and Pete have returned from a downtown trip of their own, without the shopper's success we had. We pile the guys and the luggage in the car, Bye Sonja and Thor we'll miss you!, and off to the airport.

Quiet Keflavik airport is CRAZY! People in long lines everywhere! Too many tourists, not enough worker-people. I had hoped to purchase my last gifts at the duty-free shop, simply because I wanted to shop at the airport, when there is nothing better to do, rather than in town, where there are people to see and things to do. I had in mind smoked trout, salted lamb, and other treats. Mistake! We fear we might miss our plane, and I have a crucial decision to make. Dash into Duty Free and purchase Brennevin ("The Black Death") for my friend Linda, and risk missing the plane, or...

Linda wins. Linda traveled to Iceland two years ago, and helped me a great deal with my planning. Maps, travel books, what to pack: Linda gave me excellent advice. Thanks in large part to her I had realistic expectations of the weather and the costs. So I get Linda's Brennevin, and a tiny bottle for John and I. Tiny should be more than enough :-) We never tried it here in Iceland; we'll try it at home.

We board the plane sweating and stressed, but thankful not to have missed it. Then we wait another hour before leaving. Hmmm.

My last glimpse of Iceland through the plane window is brief, as there is a lot of cloud cover. But we have spectacular views of Greenland's glaciers, peaks, fjords and lakes. We arrive an hour late to Baltimore, but customs is a breeze. They don't even glance at our luggage. John implored me not to press our luck by bringing in possibly illegal Iceland rocks. But I did tuck 3 or 4 tiny lava rocks from special places we visited, such as Drangey, into my purse. Yea!

We are all so tired that we have to alternate drivers on the way home. We are also very hungry. Dinner consists of salads purchased at Starbucks. But what salads! These salads are huge, monstrous even, fresh, full of lovely green vegetables! We marvel aloud at such huge plates of fresh greens. The other customers marvel at what weirdos we are.

Our house seems unfamiliar. The next evening I fall asleep on the couch, and wake up with no idea where I am. I look around and finally recognize some of the furnishings from our family room, but can't understand why they are in Iceland! After quite some time it dawns on me that the furniture isn't in Iceland--and I am not in Iceland either.

I hope to be there again, someday.

All worn out

John's Farewell to Iceland

2006-07-29T00:11:00.001-04:00

The Challenge

2006-07-15T11:18:00.001-04:00

We were challenged to each do a drawing a day while in Iceland. All four of us plan to keep a journal...but who will meet the Challenge? John gets off to an excellent start in the Richmond airport and en route to Reykjavik:

Meeting Iceland

2006-07-16T09:00:00.001-04:00

Note: You can click on any of the pictures to enlarge them!

6 a.m., and I see Iceland for the first time. As we descend through the low cloud cover I can see the outline of the coast through the fog. It's an emotional moment for me, and not because of the golf course (which you can barely see at the bottom of the picture).

The trip from the airport, in our rental car, takes us across a huge lava field with outlandish lava formations that seem even stranger in the fog. It takes us 45 minutes to reach the capital city of Reykjavik, which contains about 200,000 people (two-thirds of the total population of Iceland).

Reykjavik is situated on a large bay, and features many hills. Our overwhelming impression is of color: vibrant houses in intense, saturated hues, metal roofs of dark red or green, blue sky and sea, lots of flowers (which seem to be on steroids: I've never seen such large dandelions or lupines). Even when it is raining, Reykjavik never appears dull. The city offers a lot of visual texture, with corrugated iron siding complementing wood board and batten siding, roof lines of many shapes, and all kinds of architectural details.

But enough about Reykjavik! What about us, the Icelandic Neophytes? Over the next two weeks we will never see John without his daypack, which conveniently has a pocket for his notebook, pen and pencils.

Click on picture to enlarge:

During the course of the day we investigate a variety of coffee shops. The theme for the day is rain, rain, rain and coffee, coffee, coffee! Fortunately the rain seldom lasts for long, but it ingrains in us a habit that will last the entire trip: we never go anywhere without either wearing our rain jackets, or having them tucked into our daypacks.

We return to Three Sisters Guesthouse where, we had been told: "We, and Iceland, will take care of you." Sonja and Thor show us to a comfortable room slightly below street level with lots of windows, room for 4, its own bath, and best of all a kitchen! We wake Peter up and move in. Three Sisters is right in City Centre, the historical part of town. You can walk everywhere, and the picture shows how close we are to the harbor.

We spend our first day getting acclimated. We buy food at the grocery store and walk all over town. We find the Tourist Office, the banks, the bookstore, and the landmark Hotel Borg (like a trip back to the 1930's with its art decco designs).

Peter meets up with some Icelanders and finds that hacky sack is an international language.

Late in the evening John, Gabe and I walk along the shore that borders the city. We encounter some women who tell us about an art exhibit they have just installed in a lighthouse offshore that can only be reached during low tide.

Light extends the day--night and darkness never come--and it is difficult to go to bed with the late evening light beckoning. These two pictures were taken at about 11:00 in the evening:

Iceland High Today: 52°F
Low 46°F

The Center of Iceland

2006-07-17T14:18:00.001-04:00

Where is the center of Iceland? Not the geographical center. The center of Icelandic consciousness, culture and history must surely be Thingvellir. It is located just 45 minutes northeast of Reykjavik, yet it has the feel of another place and another time.

What is Thingvellir? The idea that first comes to mind is the birth of government in Iceland. Around the year 930 the Althingi, or general assembly, first met at Thingvellir. Members of the assembly traveled from all over Iceland to this location, which was peculiarly suited to the purpose for a number of reasons. Thingvellir is the site of Iceland's largest natural lake, and its wide plain made it a practical place for large numbers of people to congregate.

I anticipate that visiting the hangout of founders, lawmakers, heroes and outlaws of Icelandic history will be stirring. But I am taken aback by the compelling physical nature of Thingvellir. The high ridge that runs along its edge is a very imposing, dramatic backdrop to the Law Rock. Waterfalls spill down the side of the ledge, and plant life is varied and abundant.

Geologists, too, find their Mecca at Thingvellir. It is here that the American and Eurasian tectonic plates meet, and here that the earth's crust is slowly pulling apart. In fact, John notices two small, brass knobs embedded high in the ledges that appear to be markers, indicating the extent of this movement over time. Hey, 70 meters over 10,000 years may not seem like much to you, but to a geologist...

We trek all around the huge, fantastically formed gorge, ledges, and the lovely plain with its small church. Gabe is curious about something on the map of the area. Skogarkot, the receptionist informs him, was an old farm that had been in use from ancient times until the 1930's. We decide to take a hike there, through the lava fields. Moss beds masquerade as lava: it's hard to tell whether your foot will sink inches into deep moss or strike hard rock until you actually step. I find places where the moss is so thick that it makes a delightful mattress when I lay down in it. Tall rock piles mark the trail with worrying frequency: they are so close together that we ask ourselves if lava-sandstorms, fog or snow make it necessary to mark the trail with such closely placed markers. We add our rock offerings to the tall rock piles as we pass by. Despite having left our picnic lunch in the car, and it is now long past lunch time, the hike is well worth it. We find the old homefield, with a rock fence delineating it and rock cellars marking the old farmhouse.

We leave the magical, evocative valley, and head off through countryside in the direction of a waterfall. We got off to a late start from Reykjavik today: in addition to other errands we stopped by Arctic Rafting, a company that provides guided outdoor adventures. We promised to call or stop by their office by 8:30 pm tonight to find out if enough people signed up for the trip and to confirm tomorrow's plans. The problem is, no cell phone coverage in this area, and it's getting close to 8. Must we skip the waterfall, after driving so far, in order to arrange our plans for tomorrow? Although we are told that there aren't pay phones at the gas stations, we decide to pull in one anyway, and ask.

As we pull into the Esso parking lot, about 45 minutes away from Reykjavik, John asks, "isn't that the Arctic Rafting van?" It is! It has pulled in right ahead of us! I go into the convenience store, and accost people until I find the employee from Arctic Rafting. He obliges by "phoning home" to the office, and all the arrangements fall into place. Love those cosmic coincidences!

On our way to the falls, Gabe asks about a plume of "smoke" that he sees far in the distance. I confess to knowledge of a geyser in the area, and it is clear that we have found it. "Geysir"--the big one--decided to go on an extended vacation years ago and no longer discharges. But "Strokkur" is very impressive, and we stay much longer than we intended to watch him perform over and over again, every 10 minutes.

We reach the waterfall, the famous Gullfoss, when it should be dark. But it isn't, it's misty and dusky, and a lovely light in which to view the falls. You can get as close as you like...no danger signs and fences. I don't like to get too close...but other people in our party do. The cafe at the falls is still open, so we can have a late dinner. The view even includes a glacier in the distance. We buy an Icelandic bumper sticker and patches for our backpacks, and drive back along a route dotted with steam rising from geothermal pockets, marveling at the good fortune we've had throughout the day...especially when the Arctic Rafting van materialized right before our eyes. What a day! Home at 11:30; still light. High 54°F Low 42°F

Photo reprise

2006-07-17T22:46:00.001-04:00

We need more photo documentation! At least until I get some slideshows set up. So, to meet customer demand, here we have: The Magnificent Three, Peter feeding the Troll a rock, Strokkur Ready to Blow, Moss Fields Forever,Strokkur, Gullfoss.

Gates of Hell

2006-07-18T12:49:00.001-04:00

The Reykjavik Social Club

2006-07-18T14:38:00.001-04:00

Who is going ice climbing on a glacier today? And who is staying behind to socialize in Reykjavik? The guys are going ice climbing...even the one who is old enough to know better. The gal has other plans...plans to stay alive, warm and dry.

Arctic Rafting Nordic Icemeister Jon, my three guys, and Linda and Tony (a dentist and a doctor from Australia) head off to a finger of the Myrdalsjokull Glacier for a testosterone-filled day. Pete and Gabe have done some rock climbing, but this version of the sport entails spike crampons (on your shoes), helmets (take a wild guess), a harness, ice picks, and long underwear (not a legal requirement). After conquering the basics of ice-picking, rappelling, and then putting the various skills together, our Newbie Icemeisters are let down a large rim and allowed to claw their way back up. Way to go! Peter's trip evaluation: "It wasn't fun, but it was a rush."

On the way back they reward themselves with pastries and a stop at Skogafoss, where they have a New Age experience involving the waterfall and being encircled in a--yes, circular--rainbow. Far out.

Little do they know that when they return to Reykjavik they will find our guesthouse room occupied by someone else, that I have moved out, and that I haven't told them where I, or their things, have gone! But more about that later...

Today I get to spend time with some friends. I have made arrangements to meet Wincie for lunch at Hornith--an Italian cafe with delicious seafood soup. Wincie sings in the Reykjavik Cathedral Choir, and I got to know her through Bill Holm's stories. She is one of two friends who alerted me that Bill was reading one of his stories on Prairie Home Companion when it broadcast from Reykjavik last month--and the story Bill read was a funny and very poignant story about the Cathedral Choir. So I get to meet the delightful Wincie in person. We talk about literature, religion, politics, travel, music. I give her two CDs featuring the choir at St. James's Episcopal Church in Richmond: Jazz Mass, and the recording of their performance in Gloucester. John and I didn't get to hear Wincie's choir when we stopped by the Cathedral on Sunday, for they take a break during the summer. First reason to return to Iceland: to hear Wincie and her choir sing at the Cathedral.

During the afternoon I have an hour or two to spend getting to know Reykjavik a little better. I am able to identify the house where Halldor Laxness was born, as well as the one where Magnus Magnusson lived (see review of Dreaming of Iceland, April 20), each just a block apart.

Next I find the coffee shop where I am to meet Gunnella. She has recently returned from living in Edinburgh, and is getting ready to move to Tokyo for a year and a half. No one could be easier to talk to than Gunnella, and there is so much to talk about. The afternoon passes quickly, and soon her Dad, Thor, comes to the coffee shop to meet us. We discuss dinner plans, and wonder whether we should wait for the ice climbers to return. I have the bright idea of inviting them over to see if the guys have returned. Plus, I want them to see our lovely "flat": this morning I was asked by Thor and Sonja (of the guesthouse) if I would mind changing rooms, as another family was arriving that needed our quarters for a week. So, could we move a few doors down for our last night? I agreed as soon as I saw the lovely, two-storey flat, remodeled in Scandinavian modern. So much room! So, I left a note on our "old" room door, which John didn't see, and moved out.

Thor and Gunnella want me to experience dried fish and Brennivin, so we stop and pick up some of the fish, and walk up the hill to our flat. (The liquor store is closed so I am off the hook for trying Brennivin, or "the Black Death--sledgehammer schnapps" made from potatoes and caraway.) It is exciting to host friends in my new flat in Reykjavik, even if it is for just a half hour, in a flat I am to inhabit for a mere 24 hours! Still, it feels like home. When we leave, it smells like a pretty fishy home.

We are hungry and tired of waiting so Gunnella, Thor and I walk back downtown to dine at Einar Ben, a venerable establishment. Thor selects the wine, and the food is delicious, although we don't do it much justice as we are more engrossed with talking than with eating. Thor has a dry sense of humor, and Gunnella and her Dad relate memories in an endearing way, interrupting each other to finish stories ("sorry, but..."), and generally showing every sign of being on a very close bandwidth. John and Peter find us, and we all spend some time at Thor's house after dinner. Thor had travelled the Ring Road in May, so we look at his map and pictures, download pictures we have taken, and have a wonderful evening. Gunnella gives me a CD of our pictures, Thor gives me his map of Iceland, and I give Gunnella a copy I've brought her of Believer magazine. We walk home through the pre-twilight night of Reykjavik, and marvel at the day we've had.
High 54°F Low 48°F

Top Three

2006-07-19T23:28:00.003-04:00

Happy Birthday to Antonia (#24) back in the States, and Happy Anniversary to Antonia and Jonathan (#2)!

Gabe and Pete are sleeping, so John and I head out of town, down the same road we took two days ago to Thingvellir. It's our last day in Reykjavik, unless we decide to return on the day before we leave Iceland. We don't want to waste time: already we are faced with the unfortunate fact of not having visited one museum in Reykjavik! (A good wintertime activity? Reasons for returning to Iceland #2 and #3: Reykjavik museums and the Northern Lights.)

So today we are going to visit Gljufrasteinn, the home and museum of author Halldor Laxness. Thingvellir, Gljufrasteinn, and Drangey Island are the top three personal shrines on my Iceland list.

Halldor Laxness (1902-1998) won the Nobel prize in 1955, in part for his book Independent People. In an introduction to this book Brad Leithauser says:

When I tell people I meet that my favorite book by a living novelist is Halldor Laxness's Independent People and am asked what it's about, my reply is, "Sheep."

...My reply is actually less facetious than might first appear, for while the book does keep large issues constantly in mind (the largest: mortality and memory and love and duty), it is also very much about...[sheep].

We come close to hitting a herd of sheep on the road, one at a time. In case you're curious, sheep are not too smart. They exhibit that irritating characteristic common to squirrels and deer: it's impossible to predict which way they will dash when they panic--or they might just freeze. It's safer not to honk the horn, and just wait for them to amble off.

Gljúfrasteinn is nestled in a large, lovely valley with imposing mountains nearby, across the road from Laxnes horse farm. Laxness's name, a pseudonym he took in 1923, means "of Laxnes."

First we walk around through the gardens to the back of the house, and have our picnic lunch on a bench in an alcove shaded by small birches and wildflowers. The nearby stream tumbles over smooth boulders and forms myriad small waterfalls.

The house itself is elegantly plain: medium sized, white plaster with lots of windows. It isn't a showplace; it's a house meant to be lived in. The orginal furnishings, art, music and books are still in place, so it's very easy to imagine Laxness and his family living here. The audio tour is excellent: it is less obtrusive than a tour guide, and the recording includes the voices of Laxness and his wife. You can stand in his study, see the desk he stood at to write, look out the window at the very view that he saw daily. You can enter his bedroom, and see the art and objects he kept close to him. You can see his Steinway piano--the very same one that Bill Holm has played. When I see the grandfather clock in the hallway--ticking et-ERN-it-Y---(the one that the clock in The Fish Can Sing was modeled on) my throat closes up and I choke back tears.

We have an interesting talk with a man who works in the visitors center about our favorite Laxness books, and about movie versions of them. They have many copies of his books for sale, in a variety of languages. I would next like to read: Salka Valka, The Atom Station, and the story about Mosfellskirkja.

As we drive back to Reykjavik, we see (for the first time) the snow-covered mountain Snaefellsjokull in the far distance. You can't always see this from Reykjavik, but it's a beautiful sight. This is the glacier that Jules Verne used for the setting of Journey to the Centre of the Earth, and it is believed to be one of the world's most powerful and spiritual places.

Back to town, it's time to each lunch and pack up. We go with Gabe and Peter down to the harbor to eat at Tommy Burger. I have an absolutely delicious veggie burger accompanied by a coffee milkshake. What makes the veggie burger so good is that they use a mix similar to what is used for felafels, and it really works. Try it yourself!

It's a sunny day in Reykjavik which means that, even though the temperature is only about 60°F, many of the natives are walking around in shorts and sandals, eager to soak up the sun. We find a large, four-masted schooner docked in the harbor, and as we approach it we find that it is a Russian training vessel, the shipmates are offering tours, and the tours are free! We take one.

Leaving Reykjavik we have a 45-minute drive to catch the ferry for the Westmann Islands, where we will be staying on Heimaey. Our ferry trip is almost 3 hours. We admire features of our ferry, Herjolfur. First, we observe a stack of containers that look like large chinese take-out boxes. We suspect that these are conveniently provided for when the seas aren't so smooth as they are today. Convenient! Plus, we discover original art hung throughout the ship: oils, watercolors, photographs. Many of them feature Icelandic landscapes, and are quite good.

As we approach the fourteen Westmann Islands, they emerge as unique, odd shapes on the horizon that become steadily more bizarre as we approach. Like Iceland, these are volcanic islands, and our destination, Heimaey, is the only one that is inhabitated, unless you count sheep. Count sheep? We're not even tired yet!

The sheer black/green cliffs of Heimaey are beautiful, with birds everywhere as we come in to the harbor at 10:45 p.m. We disembark and walk through the quiet town until we find Guesthouse Hrithrith, and meet the German owner Ruth, who gives tours to the volcano and bakes bread there in the hot lava. (She is a full-time baker in the winter.) We have interesting midnight conversations in the guesthouse kitchen with a geologist from Scotland and a Chinese translator and his friend from the UK.

John and Gabe go for separate midnight walks on Heimaey. John walks by the cemetary without incident, and then to the lava area. Back at the guesthouse, the boys and I compare the cool features of our different sleeping bags. Gabe wins, with his "Penguin" bag. (That's not the name of the bag, but just that he looks like a penguin in it due to the color design. We offer to get him an orange bill and feet so we can rename it the Puffin bag.)

High 60°F Low 48°F

Atop a Volcano

2006-07-20T23:46:00.002-04:00

Out of the house at 8 a.m., a record for this holiday so far! We walk a few blocks to the Kokuhus bakery and sample 6 different pastries for breakfast. This is a great place! We determine to come back and buy sandwiches for our return trip on the ferry late this afternoon.

As I write in my little journal I am seated on lava at the top of Mt. Eldfell, 725' high. It is a perfect day: warm, slight breeze, cloudless, and I have a 360° view of all the islands, the mainland, the glaciers, and the sparkling ocean. This is heaven, as long as I don't allow myself to think of the scary hike back down. The "boys" (all three) are exploring the summit. They find a puffin colony below, and Ruth's "bread oven."

The story behind this volcano and its eruption is fascinating. John McPhee creates a dramatic cliffhanger in The Control of Nature (1989)--a book about "places in the world where people have been engaged in all-out battles with nature." A large section of the book describes the 1973 eruption on Heimaey and the ensuing campaign to save the island's all-important harbor. A six-month battle took place in which sea water was pumped, with hand-held hoses and by boat, in an effort to cool and direct the lava. Not only was the harbor saved and the future of the island guaranteed, but the harbor was actually improved and made more secure by the extended lava flow. John's drawing shows the view west from Eldfell.

We hike back down to the guesthouse, and speculate that the temperature must be close to 75°F. Later we find that it was only 61°--are we becoming acclimated to Iceland? Whatever the temperature, we spend some quiet moments enjoying the flowers in Ruth's garden before we embark on our next adventure, which is...Peter's first horseback ride!

Ruth's daughter Sudrun ("Sunray") accompanies us to the horsefarm, and acts as a co-guide. The other guide is Fannay (possibly spelled differently), the new school principal for the island. Since Icelanders use first names almost exclusively, we ask Fannay what the students will call her when school begins. She replies that they will address her by her first name, of course--"we want to be friends."

They take us on spirited, surefooted Icelandic horses, which are the size of ponies. We ride English-style, and get to experience the famed tolt, or 5th gait of the Icelandic horse. We find the tolt to be somewhat between a fast walk and trot, and incredibly smooth. Fannay takes us down country roads, across fields, along the black sand beach, and to steep cliffs where sheep graze and puffins fly. (The sheep come in many colors, and apparently the genuine Icelandic sweather need use no artificial dyes.) The horses are comfortable moving at a tolt through rough, rocky terrain. We are able to see a lot of the island, for Fannay keeps us at a quick pace. Unlike the sluggish walk that trail horses in the U.S. are encouraged to maintain (by guides who probably want to ensure the riders' safety at the expense of their pleasure) Fannay frequently breaks us into a tolt or canter, glancing mischieviously over her shoulder to assess our progress and our enjoyment. This is exhilarating fun on a lovely, hot sunny day: the still ocean is spread out before us, with grassy-topped islands in crazy shapes scattered about.

Fannay and Sudrun deliver us back to town with just enough time to spare so that we can pack, pay for our room, get to the bakery, and race over to the ferry--at a human trot, rather than a tolt. Just in time, we board the ferry, select our seats, eat our late lunch, and lay down on comfortable couches inside, or stretched out on benches outside, for some serious naps.

Back on the mainland we pile back into our car and drive east, counterclockwise along the Ring Road, with Heimaey visible offshore. We stop in Selfoss for groceries and a Thai meal, where our waitress enlightens us to the fact that people don't tip in restaurants in Iceland. News to us! Later I scour my three guidebooks and find absolutely no mention of this key fact: key, because food prices are extremely high even without tipping!

We stop at Skogafoss so that I can see the lovely falls at twlight. You may recall that John, Gabe and Pete saw them on their ice-climbing expedition...so, we have retraced their journey of two days ago, and are now going beyond the point where they traveled. We hike to the top of the falls, in the lovely light of 10:30 in the evening, and Peter steps close to the falls to take pictures, probably enjoying John's discomfort. I look the other way, for on this trip I have already discovered that teenage boys on steep cliffs are best ignored if one requires peace of mind.

Our lodging consists of a quaint cabin in Vik (pronounced "week") and is surely one of the best places in town, situated at the base of a huge, rocky overhang where noisy fulmars nest. A waterfall runs next to our cabin, "Sumarhusid Hotturinn." We have a kitchen, living area, loft and bath. In the guestbook we discover a fine drawing by a previous guest, showing a family cozily inside the cottage while behind, deep in the rocky cliff, a troll in a cave stirs a great pot of human limbs! I really want to steal this drawing. I refrain. We sleep very well in this idyllic, troll-infested setting.
High 61°F Low 51°F

Big Books. Lots of Big Books.

2006-07-21T22:39:00.001-04:00

We wash a load of laundry at the adjoining campground, but there is no way to dry it--the dryer is out of order. We drive in to Vik for groceries and a visit to the bank. The bank features something we had admired on our ferry ride: original art! I count nine pieces of art...watercolors, screen prints, oils...not including the photographs, or additional artwork that might be hiding in offices. Way to go, Iceland! Support those artists!

The Brydebud General Store/Museum, which was once the site of the regional cooperative, is an interesting stop. The store was built on Heimaey in 1831, taken apart, then moved here to Vik and reassembled. Lots of old pictures and historical items are on display here.

Next we spend some time enjoying the black sand beaches of Vik, and admiring the two trolls who were in the process of stealing a three masted ship when they were caught, and frozen, by the rising sun. They are still there in the harbor looking like a rock formation, strangely enough, and called Reynisdrangar.

We were excited to see puffins at a distance on Heimaey; today at Vik we see them much closer, and find we can now identify their unique flight. Poor puffins...they have stubby bodies and short wings, so they aren't very aerodynamic. They have to flap their wings continuously and fast, 400 times per minute, and they are unable to glide. They work hard to fly! They swoop around the cliffs, float on the ocean, and dive down for fish, staying underwater for up to a minute. On the cliffs they can be seen with several small fish drooping from their bright orange beaks like little moustaches. They average 10 fish per trip, but have been known to carry 62 fish at once! Puffins live more than 20 years, and usually mate for life. Click here for the answers to 26 questions about puffins!

We tear ourselves away from birdwatching and sketching, and drive along the coast to the next big glacier where we take a scenic detour at Skaftafell National Park. Well, it would be scenic if it weren't raining so hard. It's foggy as well-- what will turn out to be one of the few "bad weather" days of our trip. We spend more time inside the park's information center than we do outside, because we get a drenching just coming in. Lunch is a picnic inside the car, with steamed up windows.

Now we drive along the edge of the giant glacier Vatnajokull, third largest in the world. It's hard to imagine how massive and huge it is; you can't see all of it at once, except from the air. The road changes from paved to gravel and back, and many bridges are one-laned, with small pull asides on the longer ones so that cars can pass. We go by the twisted steel remains of a huge bridge, mishappen from glacial flooding that followed a volcanic eruption. We reach Jokulsarlon late in the day, and John relates in his journal:

Jokulsarlon, the frigid lagoon with blocks of ice in shades of blue, floating silently. An occassional seal's head breaks the surface. We are encountering more people with less command of English--the waitress has to refer us to someone else so we can be understood. The large Icelander tells us there are no more boat tours [on the lagoon] today because they lost electricity. We should come back tomorrow. "Look to someone wearing a yellow lifewest and that be me!" Driving away from Jokulsarlon we drive through thousands of sea terns, swarming like gnats in the summer.

We are staying at Gerdi tonight, to be close to the lagoon for tomorrow's visit. As we drive along the road we see HUGE BOOKS in the distance! Books as large as a one-story building, as tall as doors, an entire "shelf" of them lined up, the length of a house. All different colors and shapes, with titles on the spines! What on earth? The books are the turn-in to Gerdi, where we find our farmhouse accomodation. We check into an attractive building with lovely rooms. We have private rooms tonight, and we proceed to spread out our clean but wet laundry on the heat registers. We walk up hill, past the horse barns and farm equipment, to the BOOKS--which, it turns out, form the outer wall of a museum to a dead ancestor and writer who once lived at this farm. We hadn't heard of Thorbergur Thordarson, for of the dozens of books he wrote only one has been translated into English. At his museum we eat a small, overpriced dinner and are dumbfounded at the creative, elaborate displays that tell the story of this author's life. There are reconstructions of his house and study, old pictures, furniture and belongings...all of this, out in the middle of nowhere!

The most amazing item is a black and white photo of strong looking Icelandic men climbing the steep cliffs behind Gerdi to retrieve sheep that are stuck on the hillside, many hundreds of feet in the air. We discover that every face, ravine and crag of the huge mountain rising above us is named, so that the sheep farmers can communicate with each other as they climb different locations on the mountain to retrieve their sheep each year. These sheep wander higher and higher, as they summer in the grassy pastures, and can become stuck in inaccessible locations. Then, strong men with ropes go to fetch them. In order to believe this incredible story we pull out our binoculars and, sure enough, high up in the cliffs of the mountain sheep are scattered! During the rest of our trip we notice sheep in high mountain terrain, and we expect to see them tumbling down, but never do.

Fog and clouds roll in and out, and we get just a few glimpses of the towering mountain behind Gerdi; mostly it's obscured, and only a few peaks are visible.

High 53°F Low 52°F

Lagoon to Lagoon

2006-07-22T21:27:00.001-04:00

Today is another sunny day, all day, and starts with a rush of excitement. The huge mountain face behind our guesthouse is free of clouds, rising up grandly before us. We are off to an early start for Jokulsarlon, because we want to get on the first boat out on the lagoon. It's a short drive, and I can hardly wait.

We arrive early and find the man in the yellow "lifewest." Thus begins an adventure with many firsts: our first trip on an amphibious vehicle, first trip on a glacial lagoon, first time to eat glacial ice (which happens to be 1,000-1,500 years old).

What we encounter is a nearly 700-foot-deep lagoon with icebergs floating in it. These icebergs are calved, or broken off of the many fingers of the large glacier which meets the lagoon waters. Only one tenth of the icebergs can be seen, while the bulk of them float below the water line. The colors are mystical and beautiful: crystal blues, shimmering whites, black patterns on the ice caused by lava sand. The deepest-blue 'bergs are ones that have turned over. Seven years from now the largest of these icebergs will finally have melted.

A young man in an inflatable raft-boat with an outboard motor follows behind us. His role may be to help our larger craft find the safest route through the icebergs, to pick up any tourists that fall overboard while leaning out to take photos, or to practice trick maneuvers...possibly all of the above. Our guide hands us a chunk of glacial ice which the raft guy has retrieved for her. We pass it around, examining it, and then she hammers it into pieces for us to breakfast upon. The ice is incredibly dense and clear, with no air bubbles in it...move over, Culligan! The photo opportunities are overwhelming, both from the boat as well as walking alongside the lagoon. We imagine that our friend Gunnella would need an entire day here with her camera.

If you want to see this ethereal sight for yourself, check out one of these James Bond films: A View to Kill, or Die Another Day.

Gabe is already out of film and wishing he had brought more with him. He purchases some at the gift shop, and after much picture-taking we continue counter-clockwise along the Ring Road. We arrive at the town of Hofn, situated on a large harbor with a fabulous view beyond of 4 or 5 glacial fingers reaching down from the massive Vatnasjokull glacier. We get gas and groceries, then reward ourselves with pastries and coffee--a developing ritual.

Now we head up into the East Fjords and, impossibly, the scenery becomes even more spectacular. Each fjord has its own unique characteristics, featuring towering, jagged peaks, sun-sparkled water, deep tunnels through mountains and road surfaces that change from paved to gravel and back. When we stop the car to get out and admire a view, it's a feast for all the senses: mountains and water as far as you can see, birds calling, warm sunshine, and a slight or strong breeze bringing a crisp, clean, fresh smell that you want to breathe in forever. It's sensory overload of a huge, peaceful kind; it's religion; it's Iceland!

Lunch is an enjoyable interlude at Cafe Margret, a German restaurant/chalet/inn across from Breiddalsvik. The chalet is filled with paintings and drawings, antique furniture and china, and every surface, walls, ceiling, and floor, is smooth Finnish pine. Gabe and I share a dish of fresh cod with horseradish sauce, lime, potatoes and salad. It is very ample for the two of us, and is the best meal I've had in Iceland (so far). There are other discoveries here as well: a small inn upstairs, with cozy sitting rooms, overstuffed chairs, windows and skylights, balconies. A double room costs about $120. USD--I would love to return here and stay the night!

After lunch we investigate some of the outbuildings and discover the ultimate chicken house, complete with a boot functioning as a flower vase, a turf roof, and typical scandinavian wooden cross-bars (there must be a name for these) with chicken-head motifs. We take pictures so that Antonia can use the design as inspiration for her as-yet unbuilt chicken house.

Back in the car, many more fjords await us. We could eliminate a lot of snaking back and forth, and shorten the ride, but that would require traveling over large mountains with scary curves, no guardrails, and gravel surfaces. How can I enjoy the view if I'm so terrified that my eyes are closed? The occupants of the car indulge Mom and we take the long way.

The long way gives us the opportunity to see one very hot potato of a fjord, where divergent Icelandic political views focus on an Alcoa aluminum smelting plant. We can see the huge, sprawling plant across the fjord in the distance. What we can't see is what is being planned to power the plant: the damming of some of Iceland's wildest, largest, most pristine glacial rivers of the interior. This is a huge environmental controversy, and you can get a taste by looking at Saving Iceland.

Leaving the Alcoa site at Reydarfjördur we travel inland to Egilsstadir. We stop at a gas station adjacent to an outdoor soccer field that is ringed by rocks and...trees! We stop to enjoy an agressive game of soccer by two girls teams.

We continue our drive across the highlands, encountering lava deserts, sheep, fantastic rock formations, steep ravines and the unvaryingly spectacular scenery that you can't escape in Iceland. Our destination is Lake Myvatn, a favorite vacation spot.

Driving down to the lake we pass a plant where geothermal energy is harnessed to process diatomaceous earth that is dredged or excavated from the nearby lake. The word diatomite is familiar to us, but we are very surprised when we later look up the word and are reminded of its many uses! Check it out!

The diatomite plant is eerily beautiful at early dusk, with clouds of steam above aqua blue water ponds, in a stark landscape. We read in our guidebook that there is a hot springs lagoon area, part of the plant, where the public can bathe. We can't wait to go...before bed, tonight!

Lodging is a tiny cabin in a campground. Really tiny...nothing but bunks, a little table, and a little porch. We share the bathrooms, showers and kitchen facilities with the tent campers. Our cabinette is on the shores of the lake, the shores themselves being immense, ridged lava fields. After unpacking and having a picnic ("snack") dinner, we jump in the car, excited (some of us, anyway) about our upcoming mineral bath.

We don't know what to expect. The guidebook described how people used to bathe in geothermal ponds used by the diatomite plant, and how that was not necessarily very safe. Then the plant opened up an area specifically for the public to use. Would it be a pond in the middle of an empty lava field? Would other people be there? Would it be clothing optional? We figure that, worst case scenario, we could change into our swim suits in the car and wear our sandals to walk to the springs.

What we find is a small, not-very-commercial version of the Blue Lagoon. Although not nearly as large as its touristy cousin, this lagoon is still large, on a hill overlooking the lake. The bathing lagoon itself has the appearance of an "eternity pool" extending out to the skyline. There is an attractive, new building with a cafe, changing and shower facilities. It is a very chilly dash from the building to the lagoon, but the pool itself is hot enough to be nearly painful. Oh joy! From the surreal, steaming blue waters, perched on black lava rock seats we watch the sun dip past the lagoon, the lake, and the horizon as it approaches midnight. Sulphuric smells arise with the steam, and the water has an extremely soft, silky, alkaline feel to it--it is supposed to be very good for skin conditions. Gabriel is frustrated to be without his camera. He is willing to dash inside through the cold to retrieve it, and to risk ruining his 35mm antique (my Minolta from 1969) by taking it into the lagoon to document this event. Thank you, Gabe!

We sleep well in our mini-cabin, totally relaxed.
High 60° Low 46°

We meet Bill Holm

2006-07-23T22:52:00.001-04:00

Sunday: Part 2

Hosfos is small. We wander along the historic area, thinking to find our lodging. Crossing a bridge, we see a woman walking towards us, waving excitedly. "Hi!", I say, "are you looking for your little lost lambs?" [Gabe, Peter and John groan inwardly...but I'm thinking that this is the woman who is renting us lodging, that she was expecting us, and that she has found us!] The woman looks at me quizzically, and gently explains that she is greeting her friend--who is walking right behind us. Augggh.

Not having happened on our lodging, we decide to take a more scientific approach. We call the phone number, and are directed to a small shop where Solveig, the daughter of Gudrun and Valgeir (owners of the guesthouse), awaits us. She takes us to our lodging, which is an entire house, about 30 years old. It has a somewhat cheesy, '80's decor, and is very clean and comfortable, with 4 bedrooms, a bath, a large kitchen, and a sitting room. It is huge, by our recent standards, and less than what we paid for last night's tiny, bathroom-less cabin! It is about 9 pm so the market has closed--we'll get groceries tomorrow. In the meantime, laundry is a priority. Solveig shows us where we can do some laundry, at one of their other houses, and after we get our laundry underway I decide to go in search of Bill Holm.

[Special laundry update: a number of times during this trip we asked where a laundromat might be. This was the wrong question. The question should have been, "why are there no laundromats in Iceland?" Entrepreneurs, this is your hot tip.]

Holm, you may remember, is the author of Eccentric Islands, Coming Home Crazy, and a number of other books I have enjoyed. It was Bill who sparked my interest in Iceland. He is a Minnesotan of Icelandic ancestry. As I read his essays that mentioned Iceland I thought I should familiarize myself with some Icelandic literature, never having read any. I started with the sagas and with Halldor Laxness, and was immediately hooked. Bill teaches two, one-week writers' workshops in Hofsos each year (along with other authors). He bought an old fisherman's cottage in Hofsos, and stays here most of the summer to write.

Solveig had pointed out Bill's cottage to me, so I head right up to the door and knock. No answer. It doesn't take much thinking to come to the conclusion that there is only one place that anyone could be in Hofsos at night, if they are not at home. I make an about face and walk a few yards to the Solvik Cafe...a lovely old building with a broad porch. I look in the door and sure enough, Bill is there dining with friends. How do I know it is him? Well, no one looks like Bill Holm but Bill Holm.

I don't want to interrupt his dinner, so I walk back to his cottage, and leave a note in the book I have brought him as a gift (Brighten the Corner Where You Are, by Fred Chappell). In the note I remind him of my phone call some 5 months before, tell him where we are staying, and say I'd love to meet him if he has time.

John and I go back to tend to the laundry, and by the time we return to our house guess who is standing in the driveway with Gabe, Peter, and an unfamiliar woman? Meanwhile a lot of confusion ensues regarding two women staying in a renovated garage on our property, a lack of hot water, and Bill trying to help them with his cell phone. It all gets straightened out, the woman returns to her cold shower, and we invite Bill into our kitchen.

It is fun talking to Bill, for I feel as if I know him already, having read so many of his thoughtful, funny, autobiographical essays. Gabe, Peter, John and I all sit around the kitchen table with Bill Holm as we chat about politics (the Alcoa plant, among other things), literature, and places to see in Iceland. Peter keeps Bill's water glass filled, in a most host-like fashion, that being all we have to offer. Only after Bill leaves does it occur to me that we could have offered him coffee! We find out that Bill is currently at work on two books, one of which will be called "Windows of Brimnes," the windows being those of his fisherman's cottage, Brimnes, here in Hofsos. I am really eager to read this book when it is published! Here is his "window":

Bill complains that the weather hasn't been good this summer, and that Hofsos has been foggy for weeks. Tonight, for example, you can't see across the fjord (Skagafjordur), and you can't even see Drangey Island. You can't see at all.

This comment, however, plants an idea in my mind...

I was really scared when we climbed Mt. Eldfell in Heimaey, and I have been worrying, increasingly, about climbing Drangey. The island consists of sheer cliffs that are nearly 700 feet high. I have seen pictures of the trail up the cliff, and it is daunting...terrifying, even. On the other hand, Wincie has climbed Drangey, Judith has climbed Drangey, Bill himself has climbed Drangey. When we asked our youthful hostess, Solveig, if she had climbed Drangey (remember, she has lived in Hofsos all her life), she replied that no, she is scared of heights...

As my worrying has increased, and as I have verbalized it more, John has started to worry as well. So the idea Bill plants is that possibly it will be too foggy to go out to Drangey Island. Granted, this is one of the top three things I longed to do while in Iceland. And I have already phoned "Farmer Jon" (who is the boat captain and honorary "Earl of Drangey") to place our reservation for the trip tomorrow. But, if it is too foggy for the boat to go out, then it is out of my hands...

After Bill Holm leaves, and a perfectly wonderful day comes to a close, I go to sleep asking myself, "do I feel lucky?"

Driving through northern Iceland

2006-07-23T18:04:00.001-04:00

Sunday: Part 1

We get going early--this campground isn't our favorite. Cabin too small and too expensive; bathrooms too far; campground too crowded; not convenient to food. John completes his "sketch of the day" before we leave. He is becoming more smug each day that he draws and we don't. We put up with this attitude because we love his drawings! (Just kidding, John.)

We take a dirt road to the waterfalls in Jokulsargljufur National Park, which includes Dettifoss, the largest waterfall in Europe. It is a very powerful waterfall, full of grey water with lots of sediment in it, roaring over rocks. We follow a rocky path alongside it, and see people on the far side of the river/waterfall, where the path is very green and grassy. The canyon has the feel of the Grand Canyon in many ways: the cliffs are full of light, shadow and color, the water below changes velocity, direction and color, the landscape is varied. We could spend several days here, hiking and exploring. Time is too short.

We travel farther up the river canyon to a horseshoe shaped valley. This valley, Asbyrgi, was created when Odin's eight-legged horse left his hoofprint here. I am guessing this was quite some time ago. The valley is enclosed by high, rocky cliffs, and in the valley itself are lots of low trees--birch and pine--as well as grass and wildflowers.Continuing on along the north coast, and heading west, we stop at some wonderful overlooks to enjoy the ocean stretching northwards on this sunny day; as usual, the birdlife is extremely varied. We arrive in Akureyri, the second largest city in Iceland, and walk around the downtown area before settling on a nice restaurant, Bautinn, for lunch. John says,

Gabe and I are adventuresome and order the whale. It is much different than I expected--deep red meat, a little stringy, a faint tast of fish and beef. It is quite good, and I may never have a chance to try it again.

At expensive restaurants we find that sharing a dish among two people works well, both for the budget and because of the ample portions. Today's lunch/dinner (no coffee, wine, or dessert) is $75. USD with four of us sharing two dishes! Of course we must sample a local coffee shop before leaving.

The weather today is cloudless and perfect--at least 70°F! (To see the actual temp., instead of what I thought it was, look at the end of the posting. I guess by this time I am getting well acclimated to Icelandic temperatures!)

The drive from Akureyri to Hofsos is stunning. A line of mountains to the west of Akureyri consists of 4 or 5 glaciers, so the snow-capped peaks rising up are really impressive. Huge peaks, huge shadows, sunlight behind them, snow...Today was a long driving day, about 7 hours total, made shorter by the lovely views around each bend in the road. Yesterday was an 8 hour driving day. We hope not to drive this many hours again in one day.

The fog is starting to settle in as we come in to Hofsos, one of my most-anticipated destinations of this trip. It is a lovely village that is special to me for several reasons: it is where one of my favorite authors, Bill Holm, spends his summers, and it is our base for the journey to Drangey Island. I have read a number of Bill's stories that feature Hofsos, and this is prime saga country, so it is thrilling to be here in person.

High 56°F Low 41°F

An Epic Climb

2006-07-24T18:25:00.004-04:00

Up early, with butterflies in my stomach. John and I go to buy groceries, and process some more laundry. While in Hofsos we wash 5 loads, driving the car back and forth from our house to the apartment with the laundry facilities. It would have been much more practical to have had the use of a bicycle for going back and forth...Hofsos is so small, and the locals must be hard pressed to think of an explanation for why these crazy foreigners could possibly need to made so many shorts trips in a car, right in town!

Still foggy. With a growing sense of relief I call Farmer Jon. (Why is he called Farmer Jon, when he is a boat captain? That's because he owns a farm on the fjord, an ancient one called Fagranes, where the body of Grettir is supposedly buried. Grettir's head is elsewhere.) Farmer Jon, his sons, and other assorted relatives man the boat when it goes out, in addition to farming. Similarly, Valgeir's daughter got us settled in our lodging because Valgeir and Gudrun, her parents, were out on their farm doing end-of-summer farm chores.

I ask Farmer Jon's son if our trip will be postphoned due to the fog. "We will go, absolutely," he says. We quickly pack our warm clothes and lunch, and drive around the fjord to the harbor, in such a rush that there isn't time to worry. We pull away from shore in a small boat with about 20 other people on board.

The trip is windy, cold and wet. Water splashes into the small craft; my jeans are soaked before we even arrive at Drangey. The trip takes a little more than an hour. I am feeling really keyed up, between excitement at seeing the sight I have longed to see the most in Iceland, and a great deal of nervousness regarding the dangerous climb ahead. Gabe and Pete compare notes along the way.

First we glimpse the tall escarpment next to Drangey, then Drangey itself rises majestically out of the mist. We hear an incredible din...the sound of millions of birds swooping and calling. The cliffs of Drangey are whitewashed in huge swatches. After sailing alongside a number of craggy inlets our boat pulls up to a dock, where we are dwarfed by the vertical cliff at our side.

Our guides up Drangey are Farmer Jon's son and his nephew. Jon himself is about 75 years old, and has made the climb thousands of times. He may be old enough to enjoy staying back on the boat this trip, but he is still "frisky," as Bill Holm describes him...after all, he has a son who is 20 years old. We thought Steinn was Jon's grandson but Holm enlightened us: "that's his son, the sly Fox!" Steinn and Ajalti shepherd us up the cliff, carefully providing assistance or confidence to those of us who are feeling less than heroic.

John describes the path:

...daunting, but not as frightening as we had feared. The slope is steep, and wooden boards are dug into the earth, or primitve stairs, switchback up. Ropes are fastened to poles a good way to give some security. An iron rod is driven into the cliff at one tight turn to grip. The last 40 or 50 feet take us up a steel pipe ladder that is vertical.

A short way into the climb we encounter a little alcove/altar in the rock, with a large bronze plaque that has the Lord's Prayer in Icelandic. One of our party is a baker from Reykjavik--the only supplier of natural sourdough bread in Iceland--and he drops to his knees and crosses himself as he prays (he has completed this climb previously, so presumably knows the need for divine intervention). I ask Steinn if it must be prayed in Icelandic and he reassures me: "I think He speaks many languages."

We arrive at a large meadow. All of the island is covered in lush green grass that you sink into up to your knees. Wildflowers and colorful mosses are everywhere. To our surprise, it isn't just one or two meadows atop the huge cliffs: it is one followed by another which you reach by climbing little hills. There are about five meadows in all, but in each one you can see just the one that you are in. I had thought that the best view of the day would be arriving back at the harbor alive, but I was wrong. The best views of the day are on Drangey!

The group of us wanders from meadow to meadow, and we gradually regroup in the grassy area that contains the rocky remains of outlaw Grettir's abode. A plaque informs us that here he lived, and died in the year 1037. We sit or lay down in the grass and listen to Steinn relate the story of Grettir.

Steinn is an art student who wears Buddy Holly-style glasses. (Cousin Ajalti is an appealing 15-year old, following in Steinn and Jon's footsteps--fast becoming a competent guide and storyteller himself.) Steinn's sense of humor is dry, and his descriptions are sometimes quaint. When he talks about Grettir's half-brother being put in prison, he calls it a "dirty basement." He refers to the bewitched log with runes that was Grettir's undoing as "bad wood." Steinn is competent in 4 or 5 languages, and easily switches from one to another as he tells the story in 2 languages, with asides and explanations in several others. I sit rapt at his feet. I know the story and anticipate each event as he relates it. It completely chokes me up to find myself here, in the place where Grettir once lived, hearing his story told in person by someone who grew up climbing these cliffs and hearing this story. Steinn does the tale perfect justice in his telling of it.

As we continue our walk along the periphery of the island I think that it would be impossible to be any happier than I am right now. The clouds are low, so that we can seldom see the water below. While it is unfortunate not to see the 360-degree views of the huge fjord, it is wonderful in a different way. The height isn't so scary, and we feel warm, cozy and enclosed in our own little world on the island.

We see Haering's Hlaup, and as we sit in the meadow to rest and eat, John sketches the Hlaup, or Leap, where Haering escaped Grettir and found death on the rocks below. Steinn compliments John's art. In return, we teach Steinn and Ajalti cool US slang such as "the Whole Steamboat" and "Boy Howdy!" No doubt these will come in useful for them when they want to impress female tourists.

At one point Steinn reaches in a little hummock where birds nest and pulls out a baby fulmar, all white. "He spits a vile-smelling vomit on you," he informs us. When we ask if the mother will return to the nest after he has handled the baby, he gives a philosophical "who knows" shrug.

Ajalti is spending the next week on the island with his father, puffin hunting (which they do with nets at the end of long poles, catching the birds as they fly). They will stay in a little hut on one of the meadows, which has several bunks, a kitchen and a loft. Everything must be hoisted to the top of the cliffs via a winch and long cable from the dock. There is a guest book, which we sign. We get much closer to puffins, here on Drangey, than we ever imagined that we might. They are everywhere here, by the hundreds of thousands.

The descent is worse than the ascent, but not by much. We see seals on our boat trip circling the island on the way back, and more birds.

When we get back to harbor in Saudarkrokur, we feel we can't miss the opportunity to drive 20 km up the coast to Grettir's Laug, or pool, which is a natural hot spring. It has been nicely fixed up with stone benches inside and out. It is right on the edge of the shore. After Gabe and Peter get steamed in the pool, they actually get into the ocean to cool off! (Not for long, though.) There are two sod roof cabins with bathrooms, kitchen, and changing areas as well. All this, out in the middle of nowhere!

We call back to Solvik restaurant in Hofsos, afraid that we will arrive too late to be able to dine there. They assure us they will stay open to await our arrival. We don't want to miss Bill Holm's recommendation of the best fresh trout around. We aren't disappointed: it IS the best fresh trout around, and probably one of the best meals we will have in Iceland.

A perfect day. The reason why I came to Iceland. Heaven!

Goodbye Hofsos and Holm

2006-07-25T22:29:00.001-04:00

John and I have an eventful morning while the boys sleep late. I had a great idea last night, just before I fell asleep. I was thinking about the hours Gabe and Pete have spent kicking rocks (acting like the rocks were hacky sacks or soccer balls). I figured that I could find a ball at the market, and it would be overpriced and poor qualilty, but it would get a lot of use. So John and I venture out, to the laundry, the bank, the post office and the market. Along with the obligatory pastries we buy a soccer ball! Just what you'd expect for the equivalent of $10. USD., but a very worthwhile investment-- by the end of the trip the soccer ball will be completely worn out!

After breakfast we walk along a little path down to huge basalt column stacks, hexagonal in shape, along the shore. John stops to sketch them, naturally.

We walk through town to the Icelandic Emigration Center museum, which is a wonderful place for kids and adults alike. It focuses on the Icelanders who emigrated to the U.S. and Canada, primarily at the end of the 19th century. What is so great about the museum is that it provides lots of personal histories with pictures, letters, newspaper clippings, and objects from people's daily lives. All of the exhibits are done in a very tasteful manner: not slick, but artistic and professional.

John notices Bill Holm outside talking to someone, so I go out to see him. I realized last night that during our previous conversation I never told him that his books were the impetus for my reading Icelandic literature, and that he was directly responsible both for my passion for Iceland, and our being here on this trip! I am able to convey my heartfelt thanks for the way in which his books have led me on a path to where I am right now. I confess to disappointment that I don't have his books along so that he can sign them (Antonia made me take them out during our "Take Out" packing party), and he tells me to send them to him in Minnesota to sign. Thank you, I will!

We talk some more about the book he is working on, Icelandic horses (his next chapter--I tell him about my Shih Tzu/tolt theory, and he is unable to confirm it), and he confesses amazement that we'd gone to Drangey yesterday in the fog! He is a little put out that Hofsos has been foggy every day for weeks. I am enjoying Hofsos anyway, but I can imagine how stunning the view must be when you can see across the fjord to Drangey and the snow-capped peaks beyond. Bill recomends that we visit Holar, Siglufjordur, the Icelandic Folk Music Museum and the Herring Museum--all places we want to go, but which will have to wait for our next trip. We have a hug and kiss goodbye; alas, John isn't around to take my picture with Bill Holm. I have great memories, though, of meeting the man whose words introduced me to Iceland.

We head back to our house, Karastigur, to eat lunch with the boys and pack up. Just as we sit down to eat there is a knock at the front door. Who can it be?

I open the door to discover a bank officer! There was a little misunderstanding at the bank when John signed over two traveller's checks (in the wrong place) resulting in this personal visit by the banker, who politely requests that we stop by to rectify the matter. Only in Iceland would a banker pay a house call!

We pack up and, after a phone call to the owners, we simply leave our payment on the table, door unlocked (we never had or needed a key). Outside of town we stop by the little turf church at Grof where Gunnella was baptised. The picture doesn't convey how little--it seats just 20 people, and those people had better be careful when they stand up! Even shorties like me will bump their heads on the low rafters.

Next stop is the Glaumbaer Folk Museum, which features a large complex of 7 or more turf houses once owned by a wealthy priest named Snorri. The adjacent church has flowers and bushes planted on top of the graves, and inside the church is an organ made entirely of pine--keys, pipes and all.

In Blonduos, where Gunnella once lived and taught school, we stop at an Information Center and we meet a very gregarious young man who tells us about his trip to Drangey: how his friend pushed him off Jon's boat into the water, and how he exacted revenge.

The rest of the drive to the Snaefellsness penninsula is through lovely, scenic areas where many of the saga stories took place. We arrive at Arnarstapi late--too late for dinner, due to an infestation of Danish tourists and the fact that it is so remote that there is no alternate place to eat. They agree to fix us sandwiches, however, so that we don't starve.

The dining area is a lovely turf roof building with clean, light pine walls and ceiling. The building we are lodging in, however, is the most institutional of any place that we have stayed, resembling dorm rooms. But there is a very pleasant common room with a remarkably well-equiped kitchen for all of us to use.

We follow our light dinner with a late evening walk in the longlasting twilight, a walk fraught with peril due to the kria. Kria are birds that are fiercely protective of their nests. Unfortunately, they are well equiped to defend with their long, curved, sharp beaks. The birds screech while dive-bombing any intruders. Their intimidation techniques are very effective: smart people steer clear of their nesting areas. As we walk out to the huge rock statue of Barthur, guardian of the area, we meet a mother who tells of being on a golf course where kria attacked her head and drew blood!

Enough excitement. Time for sleep.

Anticipation

2006-07-15T08:41:00.002-04:00

On time and ready! We are flying out of BWI (Baltimore) --one of our efforts to keep within our budget this trip. Will we? The suspense builds...

We are traveling "light." Each of us has one large backpack. Well, and a few extras: small backpacks, a large cooler that packs flat, a duffel bag. But for our family, this is much better than usual. I am particularly proud of having packed my hiking boots, sleeping bag, and ALL of my clothes in my backpack.

An odd coincidence occurs as our plane is ready to arrive at the gate. Peter finds out that his friend Josh is on it. Josh has taken Icelandair to and from Germany, with a short stopover in Reykjavik. He is on the same plane that will return to Iceland with us on board. Peter meets Josh at Customs to catch up before we leave.

Yes, we're flying Icelandair despite their not having recognized the excellence of my essay last spring, when they awarded their Spring Break trip to Someone Else. I am still trying to Get Over It.

My family graciously gives me the window seat, to afford me the earliest possible glimpse of Iceland. 8:45 pm and we're off!