Island in the Snow

“The simple willingness to improvise is more vital, in the long run, than research.”

-Rold Potts, Vagabonding

Sleeping in a car really isn’t so bad, but you don’t exactly get to sleep late the next morning on account of cars not having blinds to block the sun.  And then there are all the other cars around you leaving for work, probably wondering about the foggy Yaris with two conspicuously homeless passengers parked in front of their house.  The hostel still wasn’t open when we woke up, so we drove around until locating a bakery and then back to the hostel, only to find out that they were full–no beds.  Bummer.  At this point, I felt a strong desire for a place to call my own, not so much in a question of where am I going to sleep but rather where am I going to shower.  We agreed that Akureyri was worth staying a night in (Iceland’s 2nd biggest city!  Not to be missed!), and took the very friendly lady at the hostel’s advice for a not too expensive guesthouse in town.

Aside from the main road that takes you in and out of town, the streets of Akureyri in winter are a virtual skating rink, but no one seems to mind.  Didn’t see an especially high number of all terrain 4-wheel drive vehicles, and it didn’t seem to have a pronounced effect on traffic volume….not that I’m familiar with the baseline Icelandic traffic numbers.

Upon confirming we wouldn’t have to spend another night in Chateau d’Yaris…we got right back in the Yaris.  Akureyri is the jumping ground for a number of possible day trips and we still hadn’t seen a geyser.  A couple of hours later we landed in a field of geysers and mud pots.  For those of you familiar with The Labyrinth, imagine the Bog of Eternal Stench (Ludo smell bad!) and you’ve pretty much got it: hot burbling sulphury mudpits.  Mmmm.  Iceland is what you see, but it is far from all you get.  A few years ago, the world got a reminder that it’s called the Land of Fire and Ice for a reason when a volcano blew enough ash into the air to affect air traffic across Europe for weeks.  Heck, the place was formed entirely by volcanos, which is what makes the geology and topography so amazing and provides those nice thermal baths everyone’s so crazy about–if the earth were a little teapot, here is it’s spout.  Standing in a geyser field, watching the active geyser sites spew constant scalding steam gives one a real sense of what mighty and perilous forces are at work just below our feet, the seemingly static earthen crust.  Unfortunately, we didn’t get to see any of the geysers erupt, but it was definitely enough to give you a heightened appreciation for the dynamic, very much alive, and stinking macro-organism that is our world.  Seriously.  It reeks.

That evening to cut back costs, we went grocery shopping and Vinny whipped up a really nice stir-fry.  Who knew!?  We’d decided it was a good idea to plan ahead for once and book a place for the next night in Davlik, a small fishing village to the north.  I spoke to a woman who ran the hostel, but she said they were full and only had cottages remaining…however she would give us a discount because the only cottage left had a “broken door issue and no shower” but we were free to use the village geothermal pool.  What a steal!  We drove up the following afternoon and met the woman at the only gas station in town.  She informed us that her husband had double booked the cottage so we would have to stay at a ski lodge, which would be given at a discount off what we’d agreed to pay for the cottage because they messed up.  So after 4:30 when the skiers left, we would have an entire ski lodge to ourselves.  That.  Is awesome.

The geothermal pools, by the way, are also awesome.  But who doesn’t love a good hot tub in the winter?  The pool in Davlik had different temperatures in different tubs, separate lanes for swimming laps, and a SLIDE, which I was really into until children took over.  Something that was made clearer for me during this trip and in the course of traveling with another person (an odd pastime for me), it is just how stubborn and curmudgeonly I can be.  In the last few months I’ve traveled more with others, and I am starting to come to grips with the fact that a sizable part of why I engage in solo travel is to gain distance from and lessen responsibility to other humans- not because they are distasteful, but because during the course of my normal life around people I’m socially accountable to, my surliness is all but completely repressed.  On my own, I can just sort of bask in the wretchedness of my inner grouch without offending people I have to see the week after.  Ever felt that way?  You might be an introvert.

That evening we were the only two patrons in the only bar in town, strangely enough run by a Polish man.  Eventually we headed back to the lodge, but instead of going inside, I headed directly up the mountain behind it, following the general course of the ski lift on foot.  Vin seemed concerned.  Do you ever create arbitrary goals or put obstacles in your own path simply for the sake of testing yourself?  I know, I know, life provides ample variety of that already.  I hear you.  But when you are the one setting the parameters, it provides an excellent opportunity to know yourself better and get some practice/strength training in for when the real thing comes to town.  For some reason, a Chinese proverb comes to mind:  “If you must play, decide on three things at the start:  the rules of the game, the stakes, and the quitting time.”  Keeping in mind that you are not always asked, decide to play and it will feel more like a game and less like a complete ass trouncing.  Challenge yourself.  It’s an odd hobby, but I’m into it.

And so’s Vinny apparently.  He asked how far up I was planning to go and when I said, “until I can’t go any further” he seemed satisfied with this and climbed alongside me.  Ok, ahead of me.  He was faster, alright?  My shoes were falling apart.  The difficulty of the climb had very little to do with incline.  It was the fact that the surface of the snow had been trampled, melted slightly, and re-frozen so it was very icy and difficult to gain footing.  My best ascension tactic was kicking the worn away heels of my boots into the ice, trying to make footholds as I went.  There was a lot of falling, a lot of sliding down a few feet and a little sliding down a lot of feet….at which times one actually hopes to catch an outcropped rock and be stopped rather than continuing down and picking up momentum.  The view was amazing.  It was a perfectly clear sky with a half moon that shone bright enough to pass for full.  The northern lights were out to play again, and from where I was standing, I could see the entire town of Davlik, nestled in the surrounding mountains.  Eventually I reached a satisfactory altitude, “satisfactory” determined mostly by the estimated difficulty of decent based on slope and iced-overness.  And I called it just in time, getting down was not easy.  My method was to lower my center of gravity and increase the surface area in contact with the ice for added traction.  In other words:  I crab walked down a mountain.  And I must have looked to be a very angry crab because I incorporated the whole kick down, heel digging thing.  Vinny, who was some distance away on the other side of the slope and walking like a normal person, later told me that against the backdrop of the moon, I looked like that girl from the exorcist.

The next day, it was back to Reykjavik.  We checked in a hostel and promptly returned to the whiskey bar, where we ran into the locals we’d met the first night.  That’s what locals do, right?  I was tired and didn’t really want to drink, so I eventually left Vinny with his new friends and went back to the hostel.  At some point, Vin came back into the room–a dorm room with 16 beds–stumbling and excited.  “I gave my shirt away!!”  And indeed he had.  “This girl drew me a picture and I gave her my shirt.”
“Shhhh!” came the response from one of the other beds.  Undaunted, he removed his hat and flung himself onto his mattress and into dreamland, boots on.  In the morning it was revealed that I’d parked in a lot that was metered and we incurred a ticket.  It came to a whopping $9, which can be paid at any local bank.  Good look, Iceland.

And that was pretty much it for Iceland, which is to the earth what Roosevelt Island is to New York City:  weird. But quiet and with a lovely view of the bigger picture.  And I’m not knocking things that are unusual.  Participation in otherness produces one of the things I love most–surprises.