More Than Just a Dream
In the last few days we have hiked along cliffs, seen so many waterfalls that sometimes we just drive on by, and seen the youngest island in the world, formed from 1963-1967 by underwater volcanic eruptions.
Just to update, everyone but myself has now tried fermented, rotten shark, also known as Hákarl. We stopped at a farm that is the largest producer of fermented, rotten shark in the country (and likely the world). They no longer fish for shark, but get the Greenland’s sharks that are accidentally caught by commercial fishing boats. They process about 70 huge sharks a year. and by the way, they no longer bury it in dirt for 3 months—they just lay it in a piled up crate. Then hang it in an open shed-like structure, and voila! A unique and protein-packed treat that gets fed to kindergarteners at the schools. I wonder if they have a kindergarten dropout problem.
Yesterday we toured the Golden Circle, which is a sampler plate of many of the things Iceland has to offer. It also includes Þingvellir National Park, which was where the parliament of the country met for centuries. It includes the rift between the tectonic plates I’ve mentioned before in a much more dramatic way. Then we continued on to another waterfall, a place where geysers and mud pots bubble, another hot spring to swim in, and a crater lake.
Today we took the ferry to the Westman Islands, where a volcano led to an evacuation of the island and the destruction of much of its city. Eldheimar, a volcano museum, has an actual house filled with lava, just as it was found after the eruption. Then we experienced one of the highlights of the trip, a tour of the islands in a high-speed, Zodiac-style boat, basically a cross between a glorified dinghy and a roller coaster, complete with blaring pop music. We donned water suits that would keep us dry and also help us float in case of falling overboard, which they assured us never happens. We flew over huge waves, while puffins and other birds flew alongside, a whale surfaced ahead of us, and seals poked curious heads up as they swam at the foot of volcanic islands as we passed by. It was amazing, a lifetime memory with our girls. I could only wished that Andrew could join us too.
The people of these islands are far hardier than I am—not only do they survive winter here and summers that feel like a cold spring, they also entertain themselves by climbing the high volcanic cliffs of the deserted islands around them. There is a hunting cabins on every uninhabited island, where people go to hunt puffins one week a year or to hunt for birds eggs. They also install saunas there and have weddings at some of them. Let me repeat, these are high cliffs they are climbing to get to a wedding, anywhere from 50-200 ft of sheer rock face, by our estimate. I would never survive. Natalie thinks she has found where she belongs. Our young Thoreau.
One thing I keep learning about traveling, we remain ourselves wherever we go. Natalie is always seeing the magical, finding trolls and dragons in the lava formations, while her college girl, I-am-an-adult defiance rears its head a few times a day. Allison gasps over every woolly white lamb we pass, and she harbors guilt about the way we are hurting our planet, the glaciers and the animals. Brian is eternally content with whatever we have chosen, considering every step of the way the best yet. He also is the only one with decent cell service, and he is checking in with work frequently.
And there is me. My senses are heightened and alive with the new experiences; at the same time I tense about schedules and reservations. I’m still thinking about groceries—more than at home, actually, because stores close early here, and we don’t always have a refrigerator so I have to plan ahead. Brian and I took an hour out tonight to sit at a nearby hotel lobby, which Allison strongly encouraged because I need to “relax and calm down a little.”
We are having a fabulous time, but the kids still sass us and fight with each other, and we still bicker. If you have a chance, look up the YouTube clip of Adam Sandler’s recent mock ad from SNL for the “realistic tour company”, Romano Tours. In it, he tries to downplay the expectations of travelers so they won’t be disappointed. It’s the perfect antidote to the “Eat, Pray, Love” syndrome. They can take you on a hike, but they can’t make you like hiking. They can take you to the Italian Riviera but can’t make you comfortable in a swimsuit. “If you are sad at home, you will still be the same sad you in Italy.”
This is all so true. There are little discomforts all along the way—we have stayed in a camping pod with shared bathrooms and in a youth hostel full of young, adventuring Russian men who go to bed loud and late and get up loud and early, also with shared bathrooms. Iceland hot springs require that you shower without your swimsuit before entering, in communal showers. Totally outside my comfort zone. But the payoff is worth it. Tonight is the stop I planned for halfway, a nice place with laundry facilities. Much more in my sweet spot.
This place is magical, a land of fairy tales. Waterfalls are so commonplace we don’t even bother to stop sometimes. Iceland has a lot of roadside pull-offs and plaques, which helps each area feel rich. Every place is looking to pull in the tourists. Many of the businesses we’ve encountered see m like family ventures.
Iceland brings out the best in its tourists, the best in its people and entrepreneurs. In the end, we are all just people with our own strong suits and idiosyncrasies. It’s good to be reminded that I’m not that different from anyone else.
Just to update, everyone but myself has now tried fermented, rotten shark, also known as Hákarl. We stopped at a farm that is the largest producer of fermented, rotten shark in the country (and likely the world). They no longer fish for shark, but get the Greenland’s sharks that are accidentally caught by commercial fishing boats. They process about 70 huge sharks a year. and by the way, they no longer bury it in dirt for 3 months—they just lay it in a piled up crate. Then hang it in an open shed-like structure, and voila! A unique and protein-packed treat that gets fed to kindergarteners at the schools. I wonder if they have a kindergarten dropout problem.
Yesterday we toured the Golden Circle, which is a sampler plate of many of the things Iceland has to offer. It also includes Þingvellir National Park, which was where the parliament of the country met for centuries. It includes the rift between the tectonic plates I’ve mentioned before in a much more dramatic way. Then we continued on to another waterfall, a place where geysers and mud pots bubble, another hot spring to swim in, and a crater lake.
Today we took the ferry to the Westman Islands, where a volcano led to an evacuation of the island and the destruction of much of its city. Eldheimar, a volcano museum, has an actual house filled with lava, just as it was found after the eruption. Then we experienced one of the highlights of the trip, a tour of the islands in a high-speed, Zodiac-style boat, basically a cross between a glorified dinghy and a roller coaster, complete with blaring pop music. We donned water suits that would keep us dry and also help us float in case of falling overboard, which they assured us never happens. We flew over huge waves, while puffins and other birds flew alongside, a whale surfaced ahead of us, and seals poked curious heads up as they swam at the foot of volcanic islands as we passed by. It was amazing, a lifetime memory with our girls. I could only wished that Andrew could join us too.
The people of these islands are far hardier than I am—not only do they survive winter here and summers that feel like a cold spring, they also entertain themselves by climbing the high volcanic cliffs of the deserted islands around them. There is a hunting cabins on every uninhabited island, where people go to hunt puffins one week a year or to hunt for birds eggs. They also install saunas there and have weddings at some of them. Let me repeat, these are high cliffs they are climbing to get to a wedding, anywhere from 50-200 ft of sheer rock face, by our estimate. I would never survive. Natalie thinks she has found where she belongs. Our young Thoreau.
One thing I keep learning about traveling, we remain ourselves wherever we go. Natalie is always seeing the magical, finding trolls and dragons in the lava formations, while her college girl, I-am-an-adult defiance rears its head a few times a day. Allison gasps over every woolly white lamb we pass, and she harbors guilt about the way we are hurting our planet, the glaciers and the animals. Brian is eternally content with whatever we have chosen, considering every step of the way the best yet. He also is the only one with decent cell service, and he is checking in with work frequently.
And there is me. My senses are heightened and alive with the new experiences; at the same time I tense about schedules and reservations. I’m still thinking about groceries—more than at home, actually, because stores close early here, and we don’t always have a refrigerator so I have to plan ahead. Brian and I took an hour out tonight to sit at a nearby hotel lobby, which Allison strongly encouraged because I need to “relax and calm down a little.”
We are having a fabulous time, but the kids still sass us and fight with each other, and we still bicker. If you have a chance, look up the YouTube clip of Adam Sandler’s recent mock ad from SNL for the “realistic tour company”, Romano Tours. In it, he tries to downplay the expectations of travelers so they won’t be disappointed. It’s the perfect antidote to the “Eat, Pray, Love” syndrome. They can take you on a hike, but they can’t make you like hiking. They can take you to the Italian Riviera but can’t make you comfortable in a swimsuit. “If you are sad at home, you will still be the same sad you in Italy.”
This is all so true. There are little discomforts all along the way—we have stayed in a camping pod with shared bathrooms and in a youth hostel full of young, adventuring Russian men who go to bed loud and late and get up loud and early, also with shared bathrooms. Iceland hot springs require that you shower without your swimsuit before entering, in communal showers. Totally outside my comfort zone. But the payoff is worth it. Tonight is the stop I planned for halfway, a nice place with laundry facilities. Much more in my sweet spot.
This place is magical, a land of fairy tales. Waterfalls are so commonplace we don’t even bother to stop sometimes. Iceland has a lot of roadside pull-offs and plaques, which helps each area feel rich. Every place is looking to pull in the tourists. Many of the businesses we’ve encountered see m like family ventures.
Iceland brings out the best in its tourists, the best in its people and entrepreneurs. In the end, we are all just people with our own strong suits and idiosyncrasies. It’s good to be reminded that I’m not that different from anyone else.
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