Today is "Family Day" as decided last year by our very religious, read, right wing provincial government. Meh. The down side is we get no mail.
Anyway, here is a wee list of some good travel sites to get anyone in the mood for some serious travel/and the other fun part, the planning.
http://www.womentraveltips.com/
http://www.bootsnall.com/
http://www.flightnetwork.com/
http://www.women-on-the-road.com/
http://backpackerdays.com/default.aspx
For me, one of the most exciting parts of a trip is searching for that great ticket.
The one that you can hardly believe you got, like the one I got to Iceland. It was an amazing ticket for a few reasons. 1) It was the cheapest of the 2 other companies I talked to 2) My travel agent specialized in Caribbean spots, not northern Europe,
3) To make everything that much sweeter, my travel agent gave me a voucher for 2 nights at a beautiful hostel, in the capital, and a shuttle bus from the airport to the capital all for free. It was pretty incredible to be honest, because between the hostel and the bus ride I would have spent well over $150, easy. 4) Lastly, he could see how the decision to go was gnawing at me so he said I could talk to a college of his who had been, I thought that was sweet, seeing as they really only focused on sunny vacations. I wasn't even planning on heading to Reykjavik initially. So, it was all so bountifully fortuitous, and the Universe provided me with courage, strength and an amazing trip!
Near the Old Man of Storr, Scotland I took this in 2004
Monday, February 16, 2009
Friday, February 13, 2009
The Isle of Skye
Howdy, day 2 of back to blogging. Happy Friday the 13th to you, wherever you roam! The picture above is my little Scottish(couldn't you tell?) guide:)
The weather we've been having lately has put me in mind of the misty hills of Scotland. So that is where our journey will take us today.
I've travelled to Scotland twice, the second time I travelled around the highlands and ended up on the beautiful and perfectly remote Isle of Skye.
Before leaving I actually decided to splurge and plan, a bit. Something I am normally totally opposed to. I prefer to wing it. Though, I figured a guide book about hostels all over the U.K: indispensable genius! Yes well, it may have been had I not forgotten here, at home. However, I digress. While perusing through, I started getting excited about the places I'd love to visit and laughing at all the funny place names. Then I came upon a page devoted to the Isle of Skye, and it sounded incredible; wild, and remote were the words used to describe it.
So, there I am, I had just arrived in Scotland, not a guide book in sight, no plans, just moi. So, I decided to put myself on a tour, a jump-on-jump-off, and found myself in Inverness, and the next stop was this elusive Isle; Skye.
When I heard the name mentioned it didn't ring even the slightest of bells for me, nothing at all. 2 boys I met who were from Nova Scotia said they were heading to Skye, and they wanted to know if I was planning on heading. "An island?", I thought. Wow! A remote, highland island. Sure, I was game.
The only caveat I placed on anything was that I planned to stay no more than 2 days so as I could keep moving along.
Mhhm, 2 days came and went as did an additional 12 and I was still quite happily mired in the drama that was my home-away-from-home, aka: the hostel!
I couldn't believe it, 2 weeks after the fact I was only then thinking, "maybe I need to keep going" cuz really apart from drinking like , like, ? well like backpackers , and, gathering in the lounge every evening to drink, after a night of being at the pub and drinking, we'd all settle in and read a stupid dictionary, yes that's right, a dictionary of Scottish/English in the lounge every night, around the warm glow of the fire...ahhh, travelling.
The strangest part was the day I arrived. The driver of the bus I was on from my "tour", was ready to kick me off the bus cuz after he told us a vaguely political story about the British anthem, I couldn't get it out of my head, so I started humming it, he got very serious, and said, " Look, I'm not anti English, I'm just pro Scottish." Followed by, did I want to walk?
Ok. Also, he was a larger man, in a kilt. And he had a few issues.
There was no reason for me to piss him off.
So apart from my humming, the other point of contention for him was good ole prince charlie, and all things English.Though, for the life of me I couldn't figure out why he was talking about The Prince for. "Weird", I thought.
He drove us over to where we would take the local transportation into town to the island. I got on and all the locals were buzzing about was The Prince. Pretty strange.
I reached my hostel, finally, and the moment I saw it, I felt like I was home.
It was such a powerful feeling, I knew this place was gonna be something amazing.
Even from the get-go it was good. I got to stay, cuz I asked, in their caravan, alone and it was much cheaper, and so damn cozy...save for the busted window. Thankfully I'd watched enough episodes of Macgyver..and felt as intrepid as he. I found a thin yoga-mat style foam and some string and managed to tightly secure the window so cozily well that I was actually a little too warm in there:)
So, I got my self organized, and made my way into the kitchen to prepare my lunch. I took out my beet roots, that travel surprisingly well. They are sold, whole, peeled and cooked, in shrink wrap plastic, juice in tact.
In the kitchen, I began chopping up my beet roots, when a person who was working at the hostel came in to the kitchen and finding I was the only guest about,( there were also very few people there, period. Another reason to love the place) ,she asked if I wanted to meet the prince of Wales. "What? Was she kidding?", I wondered.
"No", she said, she wasn't kidding. He had come to visit a boat builder next door to our hostel. I figured, "why not", and promptly headed outside.
When I got outside, looked down and realized, my hands were covered in beet root juice..great, first impression I'd make, but where, prey, was this "Prince"?
It was starting to rain, which, was obviously less than not a big deal, it was Scotland for Pete's sake. However, I was getting wet, and thought, " If this guy does show up, I might at least get a picture." I went to get my raincoat and camera and returned to the very small crowd of people, some islanders, others hostlers, the rest MI5. "Hold on, MI5?" , I thought. This was turning out to be a fairly big deal. The security were as covert as possible on an island village of 500. There was a helicopter flying overhead, nuff security in the carpark behind us and the ones among us who were not hard to distinguish. I amazingly managed to get one picture of Charlie, the amazing part was that it was my last picture on the roll..and I had had no idea.
Check it out!
Ok, below is charlie, if you're able to enlarge, it'll be best, and the second is the view from the Skye Bridge..pretty magical:)
Wednesday, February 11, 2009
Things done change
As I sit here, the beginnings of thought awakening, I can see the mist that has surrounded and blanketed my city, or at least my nook of it, this morning.
I haven't travelled in such a time that I dream about it all the time.
I pick a place I've never been and imagine what it may or might be like, with such relish...
I'm waiting for inspiration to take hold of me and help me decide which path to follow, as it stands I only have past memories and hopes of new ones to quench me.
Before I go and travel, I wait for the place to call to me, like a lost child. It becomes a deep yearning to find that place, to go, to see, to connect for reasons I have never been able to fathom at the time of the calling.
For as long as I can remember, I have wanted to go to Ghana. The Ghanaians I have met are always lovely, but maybe it's also my bias, could be? I happen to think that as an over arching rule, people from African nations have an amazing kindness and love that other continental groups don't share with the same gusto.
I re-memebered just yesterday, in fact that Ghana was the place where people who were to become slaves were taken. They were held in what is known as The Middle Passage, before they left their continent forever, along with stories, languages, dances, songs, mothers, fathers, grandmothers, grandfathers, aunties and uncles, foods, the land that birthed them, and the sky that held them.
I now have an image of the scene from the book Roots, by Alex Haley, in my head. The scene where we learn of all the conditions on that ship. The people chained below deck, dying or dead.
I also can hear Bob Marley, sing Buffalo Soldier, as I conjure up these images,
"Buffalo soldier, dreadlock rasta:
There was a buffalo soldier in the heart of America,
Stolen from Africa, brought to America,
Fighting on arrival, fighting for survival.
I mean it, when I analyze the stench -
To me it makes a lot of sense:
How the dreadlock rasta was the buffalo soldier,
And he was taken from Africa, brought to America,
Fighting on arrival, fighting for survival."(I got this from lyricsfreak.com, but they words africa and america weren't capitalized, so the capitals, mine.)
www.buffalosoldiers.com--this is just a wee bit of info about who the Buffalo Soldiers were.
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=HIgxZtL_3Ws
I hope this link works it's an amazing history in photos of the Buffalo Soldiers, with accompanying music sung by Neville Dennis.
otherwise there's Bob Marley's version, check it: http://www.youtube.com/results?search_type=&search_query=buffalo+soldier&aq=0&oq=buffalo+
While we're on the subject of dissecting culture, history and politics , I strongly recommend that you, whoever you may be, read Zakes Mda, an amazing writer from South Africa. He writes about the horrors of hate , in such a poignant way. One such masterpiece of his is called Ways of Dying, about modern S.A, "post" apartheid. I put post in quotes, because it's clear to anyone that apartheid is still very much alive and torturing, even now, in 2009. http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Zakes_Mda
My mother was in S.A not less than 5 years ago, and saw children with no shoes,with no pencils or paper to write with.
It's easy to take so much for granted, when we never have to wonder about our instant comfort; our feet being kept safe in shoes, our bellies being kept satiated by our full fridges and cupboards.
And the title of this post is my homage to Biggie, cuz slowly but surely we shall and will overcome.
I haven't travelled in such a time that I dream about it all the time.
I pick a place I've never been and imagine what it may or might be like, with such relish...
I'm waiting for inspiration to take hold of me and help me decide which path to follow, as it stands I only have past memories and hopes of new ones to quench me.
Before I go and travel, I wait for the place to call to me, like a lost child. It becomes a deep yearning to find that place, to go, to see, to connect for reasons I have never been able to fathom at the time of the calling.
For as long as I can remember, I have wanted to go to Ghana. The Ghanaians I have met are always lovely, but maybe it's also my bias, could be? I happen to think that as an over arching rule, people from African nations have an amazing kindness and love that other continental groups don't share with the same gusto.
I re-memebered just yesterday, in fact that Ghana was the place where people who were to become slaves were taken. They were held in what is known as The Middle Passage, before they left their continent forever, along with stories, languages, dances, songs, mothers, fathers, grandmothers, grandfathers, aunties and uncles, foods, the land that birthed them, and the sky that held them.
I now have an image of the scene from the book Roots, by Alex Haley, in my head. The scene where we learn of all the conditions on that ship. The people chained below deck, dying or dead.
I also can hear Bob Marley, sing Buffalo Soldier, as I conjure up these images,
"Buffalo soldier, dreadlock rasta:
There was a buffalo soldier in the heart of America,
Stolen from Africa, brought to America,
Fighting on arrival, fighting for survival.
I mean it, when I analyze the stench -
To me it makes a lot of sense:
How the dreadlock rasta was the buffalo soldier,
And he was taken from Africa, brought to America,
Fighting on arrival, fighting for survival."(I got this from lyricsfreak.com, but they words africa and america weren't capitalized, so the capitals, mine.)
www.buffalosoldiers.com--this is just a wee bit of info about who the Buffalo Soldiers were.
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=HIgxZtL_3Ws
I hope this link works it's an amazing history in photos of the Buffalo Soldiers, with accompanying music sung by Neville Dennis.
otherwise there's Bob Marley's version, check it: http://www.youtube.com/results?search_type=&search_query=buffalo+soldier&aq=0&oq=buffalo+
While we're on the subject of dissecting culture, history and politics , I strongly recommend that you, whoever you may be, read Zakes Mda, an amazing writer from South Africa. He writes about the horrors of hate , in such a poignant way. One such masterpiece of his is called Ways of Dying, about modern S.A, "post" apartheid. I put post in quotes, because it's clear to anyone that apartheid is still very much alive and torturing, even now, in 2009. http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Zakes_Mda
My mother was in S.A not less than 5 years ago, and saw children with no shoes,with no pencils or paper to write with.
It's easy to take so much for granted, when we never have to wonder about our instant comfort; our feet being kept safe in shoes, our bellies being kept satiated by our full fridges and cupboards.
And the title of this post is my homage to Biggie, cuz slowly but surely we shall and will overcome.
Thursday, July 17, 2008
The end of the Saga
The part where we froze, again..
So, after seeing those amazing deep pink Northern Lights, there was really nothing that could've topped that. And nothing did. At the end of the party, some of the guests said that they would be heading down the road to the bar..and we, Helena and I decided after a while, to join them.
It was nearing 3, and there was a little table filled with familiar faces, so we sat down, Helena ordered a beer, and I wondered when the bar was shutting. A bar shutting in Iceland, yeah right?!
It was a strange event. The company at the table was very mixed. The Ghanaian woman and her 2 Icelandic male friends, and 1 Icelandic woman. One of the men was the website designer for the hostel. I said that's how I found the hostel. He was so excited. He asked me loads of questions about the site and other computery things, none of which I had any good answers for. What I tried to tell him though, was in truth I didn't come to Grundafjodur because of his fancy website, it was cuz it was THE only site for a place that sounded like what I wanted. He was deflated. The love was gone. Oh well, I helped Helena finish her beer so we could get out of there. The equivalent of a depressing Russian novel, only it was in Iceland, and it was real.
When we got out into the night air, it felt fresh, and pretty good, at first. So, we decided to meander for a while. The thing about Grundafjordur is you can't ever get lost. The church is always the directional marker. Except this time it wasn't. We had been walking along for a while when we heard someone behind us, not too far away. We both freaked out, and started devising plans...and lots of what ifs...in the end, he was more then likely a drunk guy just walking. to clear his head, well this is what we told each ourselves..but by the time we realized he was gone, we also realized that nothing looked familiar! How was this possible?
There was no church steeple to be seen, no Kirkjufell, either. We were both starting to get really cold, and not too calm. After maybe a half an hour of retracing, and trying to stay calm, we found our way back to our hostel...where we nestled in to hot chocolates and cards.
So, after seeing those amazing deep pink Northern Lights, there was really nothing that could've topped that. And nothing did. At the end of the party, some of the guests said that they would be heading down the road to the bar..and we, Helena and I decided after a while, to join them.
It was nearing 3, and there was a little table filled with familiar faces, so we sat down, Helena ordered a beer, and I wondered when the bar was shutting. A bar shutting in Iceland, yeah right?!
It was a strange event. The company at the table was very mixed. The Ghanaian woman and her 2 Icelandic male friends, and 1 Icelandic woman. One of the men was the website designer for the hostel. I said that's how I found the hostel. He was so excited. He asked me loads of questions about the site and other computery things, none of which I had any good answers for. What I tried to tell him though, was in truth I didn't come to Grundafjodur because of his fancy website, it was cuz it was THE only site for a place that sounded like what I wanted. He was deflated. The love was gone. Oh well, I helped Helena finish her beer so we could get out of there. The equivalent of a depressing Russian novel, only it was in Iceland, and it was real.
When we got out into the night air, it felt fresh, and pretty good, at first. So, we decided to meander for a while. The thing about Grundafjordur is you can't ever get lost. The church is always the directional marker. Except this time it wasn't. We had been walking along for a while when we heard someone behind us, not too far away. We both freaked out, and started devising plans...and lots of what ifs...in the end, he was more then likely a drunk guy just walking. to clear his head, well this is what we told each ourselves..but by the time we realized he was gone, we also realized that nothing looked familiar! How was this possible?
There was no church steeple to be seen, no Kirkjufell, either. We were both starting to get really cold, and not too calm. After maybe a half an hour of retracing, and trying to stay calm, we found our way back to our hostel...where we nestled in to hot chocolates and cards.
Wednesday, July 16, 2008
The Sagas continue...The Northern Lights, not once but Twice!
Arriving!
After 4 long hours I finally arrived in my wee fishing village near the west Fjords, in Grundafjordur.
Ok, well there was just one slight problem. Just one really. And that would be the fact that it was a full-on windstorm when the bus pulled in to the local Esso station. The wind was so severe that the driver went in to the Esso store, to tell the clerk I had arrived, and to ask her to call Johanna, the woman who ran the hostel. The clerk called Johanna, while the driver waited. Then the clerk and the driver chatted a bit. After which point, the little girl and the driver said bye to me and left.
I waited in the Esso store and tried to chat with the clerk who was anything but friendly to me.
Finally Johanna arrived. Though it was only a few minutes, it truly felt like hours.
It was such a strange experience to be in such northern reaches of Scandinavia, Viking land. In a wee village. Definitely not a tourist trap, by any means. And to that end, to be an attraction by virtue of being a foreigner, who spoke English. And why, people kept asking, did I want to visit such an out of the way village? As I waited in that Esso shop, a local boy came in, probably just to have a look at that foreigner. Pretty bizzaro. And not for nothing Esso is a huge whaler. That is they are responsible for killing- murdering a lot of the whales . It's pretty horrific. For more horrors, here is a link to my website, http://protestanimaltesting.wetpaint.com
Anyway, Johanna's English seemed really good, but did she have an accent? I couldn't tell?
She seemed just as unfriendly, as the bus loads I had met earlier in the day, plus the clerk I had just met, brisk, is this the word?Apart from the bus driver and his daughter, I hadn't met any friendly Icelanders.
Well, as it turned out, Johanna was from South Africa, not Iceland, but same shit really. The Dutch/Boers, Apartheid. She greeted me first ff by saying: " You would normally be making your way to the hostel by yourself." Well, I'm fine, thanks for asking! Geesus.
As we approached the hostel which was no more than 5 minutes by car from the Esso, the wind had pulled down a side of the fence surrounding the property. And this, Johanna told me was typical Icelandic weather.
But it wasn't all icy. The land is amazing! I had a whole dorm, with heat and a snugly duvet, to myself. The view out the large window faced the mountains in the background, and directly across the street was a small house with little witches and elves hanging in the window. And that was so normal that no one even mentioned it.
The following day, the weather had cleared and it was bright and sunny, and yes, still cold.
But I climbed a mountain and painted for a few hours. Within my 5 days in that village, I saw the Northern lights not once, but twice. And each time I saw them I was in complete awe.
The next night 3 other people arrived. One was a single traveler, like myself, and also female, she was from Germany, and had been in Iceland to sheer sheep. Apparently, it;s a big thing for Germans. The other were 2 Aussies, female also, who were pretty shitty.
That evening after everyone had settled, we all went for a stroll to find the elusive Northern Lights. Nothing...at all, but we did see some cool boats, or at least me and the German woman, whose name I have forgotten, thought so.
Early the next morning, the 2 Aussies were off, and made sure to be as loud as possible. The usual hostel garbage. And later that day, the German woman was off too. I was happy to have to have the room to myself again though.
On my second or third day, I was introduced to a woman named Helena who had just arrived from St. Petersburg, Russia. She was also living in the hostel, but as her home. She had come to teach music. We became friends. We decided to go and search for the Lights, and went and bought alcohol...at the liquor store that opened for 2 hours twice per week..I bought Chilean wine, I know, but it was the cheapest thing. So first we started drinking, and then headed out for a walk to see if we could have any luck seeing the Lights. We found a bench by the water, well it's an island so that wasn't hard.. and sat down to listen to it, and we could see the local monument, a mountain without the peak called Kirkufel. This sounds all very nice but it was Iceland, and it was night, and as I said, we were by the water, so, It was damn cold!
Helena, my Russian friend, was, unbelievably colder than me! Dang, and I thought Russians were equipped for Siberian winters. I don't think she was dressed warmly though. So we smoked, and wondered if we would be able to see anything cool in the sky
We stayed there for a while smoking and talking, just hanging out, and every now and again we would look up hopefully at the sky..nothing.
If anything the sky seemed to be getting darker. Then suddenly, through the pure blackness, the sky stared getting lighter, and lighter and all of a sudden it was this amazing blue. It lasted so briefly, but that was ok cuz I was cold and Helena, who had left her warm clothes with her mom at the airport, in St. Petersburg becuz they were too bulky for her luggage limit, was freezing.
We went back to the hostel, had hot chocolate, and finished our wine.
The next night, Johanna was throwing a "European languages" party at the hostel.
She, by the way, spoke fluent Icelandic. There was a Ghanaian woman, who's mother had moved there to marry an Icelander, and so she could speak Icelandic. It was fun. Cozy, warm. There were at least 10 people. All women.
After a while, Helena and I nipped out for a smoke. We were standing outside, just
chit -chatting, trying to smoke quickly, cuz after all, it was cold, and it happened again.
We looked up at the sky out of habit, and there it was..super dark. But that sky gets so dark that you feel mesmerized and keep staring, which we did. And sure enough, it started gradually lightening, until suddenly the sky was filled with this insane, incredible deep, and dancing pink!! Everyone at the party was disappointed they hadn't seen it...it was so amazing.
That alone made my trip, that and it was a desire quenched, finally. As I said I had always needed to go there.
After 4 long hours I finally arrived in my wee fishing village near the west Fjords, in Grundafjordur.
Ok, well there was just one slight problem. Just one really. And that would be the fact that it was a full-on windstorm when the bus pulled in to the local Esso station. The wind was so severe that the driver went in to the Esso store, to tell the clerk I had arrived, and to ask her to call Johanna, the woman who ran the hostel. The clerk called Johanna, while the driver waited. Then the clerk and the driver chatted a bit. After which point, the little girl and the driver said bye to me and left.
I waited in the Esso store and tried to chat with the clerk who was anything but friendly to me.
Finally Johanna arrived. Though it was only a few minutes, it truly felt like hours.
It was such a strange experience to be in such northern reaches of Scandinavia, Viking land. In a wee village. Definitely not a tourist trap, by any means. And to that end, to be an attraction by virtue of being a foreigner, who spoke English. And why, people kept asking, did I want to visit such an out of the way village? As I waited in that Esso shop, a local boy came in, probably just to have a look at that foreigner. Pretty bizzaro. And not for nothing Esso is a huge whaler. That is they are responsible for killing- murdering a lot of the whales . It's pretty horrific. For more horrors, here is a link to my website, http://protestanimaltesting.wetpaint.com
Anyway, Johanna's English seemed really good, but did she have an accent? I couldn't tell?
She seemed just as unfriendly, as the bus loads I had met earlier in the day, plus the clerk I had just met, brisk, is this the word?Apart from the bus driver and his daughter, I hadn't met any friendly Icelanders.
Well, as it turned out, Johanna was from South Africa, not Iceland, but same shit really. The Dutch/Boers, Apartheid. She greeted me first ff by saying: " You would normally be making your way to the hostel by yourself." Well, I'm fine, thanks for asking! Geesus.
As we approached the hostel which was no more than 5 minutes by car from the Esso, the wind had pulled down a side of the fence surrounding the property. And this, Johanna told me was typical Icelandic weather.
But it wasn't all icy. The land is amazing! I had a whole dorm, with heat and a snugly duvet, to myself. The view out the large window faced the mountains in the background, and directly across the street was a small house with little witches and elves hanging in the window. And that was so normal that no one even mentioned it.
The following day, the weather had cleared and it was bright and sunny, and yes, still cold.
But I climbed a mountain and painted for a few hours. Within my 5 days in that village, I saw the Northern lights not once, but twice. And each time I saw them I was in complete awe.
The next night 3 other people arrived. One was a single traveler, like myself, and also female, she was from Germany, and had been in Iceland to sheer sheep. Apparently, it;s a big thing for Germans. The other were 2 Aussies, female also, who were pretty shitty.
That evening after everyone had settled, we all went for a stroll to find the elusive Northern Lights. Nothing...at all, but we did see some cool boats, or at least me and the German woman, whose name I have forgotten, thought so.
Early the next morning, the 2 Aussies were off, and made sure to be as loud as possible. The usual hostel garbage. And later that day, the German woman was off too. I was happy to have to have the room to myself again though.
On my second or third day, I was introduced to a woman named Helena who had just arrived from St. Petersburg, Russia. She was also living in the hostel, but as her home. She had come to teach music. We became friends. We decided to go and search for the Lights, and went and bought alcohol...at the liquor store that opened for 2 hours twice per week..I bought Chilean wine, I know, but it was the cheapest thing. So first we started drinking, and then headed out for a walk to see if we could have any luck seeing the Lights. We found a bench by the water, well it's an island so that wasn't hard.. and sat down to listen to it, and we could see the local monument, a mountain without the peak called Kirkufel. This sounds all very nice but it was Iceland, and it was night, and as I said, we were by the water, so, It was damn cold!
Helena, my Russian friend, was, unbelievably colder than me! Dang, and I thought Russians were equipped for Siberian winters. I don't think she was dressed warmly though. So we smoked, and wondered if we would be able to see anything cool in the sky
We stayed there for a while smoking and talking, just hanging out, and every now and again we would look up hopefully at the sky..nothing.
If anything the sky seemed to be getting darker. Then suddenly, through the pure blackness, the sky stared getting lighter, and lighter and all of a sudden it was this amazing blue. It lasted so briefly, but that was ok cuz I was cold and Helena, who had left her warm clothes with her mom at the airport, in St. Petersburg becuz they were too bulky for her luggage limit, was freezing.
We went back to the hostel, had hot chocolate, and finished our wine.
The next night, Johanna was throwing a "European languages" party at the hostel.
She, by the way, spoke fluent Icelandic. There was a Ghanaian woman, who's mother had moved there to marry an Icelander, and so she could speak Icelandic. It was fun. Cozy, warm. There were at least 10 people. All women.
After a while, Helena and I nipped out for a smoke. We were standing outside, just
chit -chatting, trying to smoke quickly, cuz after all, it was cold, and it happened again.
We looked up at the sky out of habit, and there it was..super dark. But that sky gets so dark that you feel mesmerized and keep staring, which we did. And sure enough, it started gradually lightening, until suddenly the sky was filled with this insane, incredible deep, and dancing pink!! Everyone at the party was disappointed they hadn't seen it...it was so amazing.
That alone made my trip, that and it was a desire quenched, finally. As I said I had always needed to go there.
The Sagas continue: The last bus there
My Icelandic Lesson
So, there I am, on the bus, as the last other passenger leaves... and we gently careen into a little village.
I was panicking the whole way, but as the bus pulled in, I figured, "we must be here", plus it was pretty, so I hoped so, and we weren't just on the highway anymore. So, I asked the driver if we had arrived. But no no, the driver was just delivering something to a friend! The village was called Stykkisholmur, that didn't sound like Grundafjordur!
He got out, and so did a little girl, who I hadn't really noticed having been on the bus. I figured he must have been delivering her to her house, because she was small. This wasn't the case at all. After a few minutes both driver and the little girl hopped back on, and she was nibbling sweets.
I realized it must be the driver's little daughter, and how adorable, she was getting a ride with Dad. She sat right up with him, but then maybe she sensed my worry as I tried to ask her dad how much further, and he kept trying to reassure me all was fine. After a few minutes, the little girl, started, very casually at first, to seat hop!
She hopped her way to the row across from her dad, and peered over at me. I was writing.
Then she leaped over to the seats directly in front of me, and and stuck her face between the slats of the chairs to see what I was up to. I at this point I was also nibbling sweets..mine beat hers, I had chocolate..I offered her some. She happily accepted, and then offered me some of her candy..I think I tried one, and then politely declined anymore. It was some kind of black licorice, which I hate. But even the little girl was no fool. She knew good sweets when she offered them. She hardly nibbled anymore of her licorice, and soon my chocolate was gone:)
After a few minutes of us getting to know each other through the slats of the chair, she finally saw I was alright, and decided to sit next to me. I tried asking her stuff, and she me..Yes, one little problem, I don't speak any Icelandic, and she being just a wee child, naturally spoke no English.
So, she did what all logically minded people would do. She took my notebook, found an empty page, and proceeded to give me an Icelandic lesson via pictographs, or more precisely, drawings. We started with the basics. The weather as it was occurring at that moment, she pointed out the window, it was snowing, so she drew a little picture of snowflakes and then the Icelandic word for me. Then she decided on some animals that I should learn, naturally accompanied by her lovely drawings, sheep, cow, horse and snake. And just as quickly as it had begun, the lesson was done. And now it was time to confuse me completely. It was time for a game. I guess I know how my ESL students feel now, when the language has no relationship to their own. I felt pretty lost. She started drawing some kind of maze, or spiral, I'm not sure But what I was supposed to do, I really couldn't understand. For all I know, she was making the "rules" up right then and there. She just kept giggling. And finally I had to use an internationally recognized form of communication: ( another one being Esperanto, but yeah right!) and I sadly, I gestured, a shrug, meaning: " I don't understand, I'm sorry."
I wanted to play. It looked great. She was my first Icelandic friend!
Sunday, July 6, 2008
Check this out..!!!
This is an old blog of mine called Liminality
I lost the password, but it's worth the read.
And, while you're at it, here's another now elderly blog also of mine, and to which I have no password, yet again, called Art for who's sake, but, it's more like a diary, so...there you go, kimono!
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