It would appear to be a generally accepted fact what the murderous motives of Iceland's fluffy livestock in fact are:
So it is not just me.
Dienstag, 21. September 2010
Reindeer Did Not Eat Our Helmets
AKA Wilma Got Nailed & Betty Got Screwed; AKA Part 2 Of "Scratch The Hype, You Are Never Alone In Iceland".
You may wonder why I only told half the story of our first attempt to visit Askja. Those of you who understand German got the whole story from Patrick over on Journizer. And if you read his description of events then you understand full well why I waited until we were back in Stuttgart before putting this post up. Especially for those of you who know my mother. Ever since I started to travel she has decided to send me her Clairol bills claiming any sightings of gray hair as a direct result of my wandering ways. However since reforming from a backpacker to a motorcycle traveler she has declared a box no longer cuts it, but rather a trip to her favorite hairdresser is in order. This means that the bill has significantly increased, and I have responded in kind by sharing things after the fact. The denial keeps everyone happier. But the truth is reindeer did not gnaw on our helmets. In fairness nobody believed me that they did, but now I am willing to divulge the truth.
I left off with Wilma's flat tire, and the inability for even 5 minutes of privacy in which to pee in peace. I was also cursing over the fact that I had decided against taking a book that morning, as I honestly believed I would not need it as I was on the way to spend the day swimming in a collapsed magma chamber that has since filled with water. But that was not what fate had in store for us. Instead, I was left in the rather rainy desert of Iceland's interior with nothing to do while waiting for Patrick to return with the hopefully repaired inner tire tube. (Cursing the entire time that I broke one of my golden rules of travel, always have a book!)Return he did, but with bad news. The nail had destroyed the entire inner tube. Shredded it in fact. We needed to ride 2 hours to the next big town to buy the tube there. Askja was out for the day. So I jumped on back and we took off in the direction of the ring road. When we got back to our campsite we checked the tire pressure and then headed for the “safer” ring road.I don't actually know what happened next. I remember we were on the paved road, I remember we were approaching a hill, and I remember the bike wobbling and Patrick fighting to keep it upright. My next conscious memory is sitting in the middle of the road, Patrick behind me, trying to explain what happened. Namely that we were in Iceland (I had no memory of getting there, despite the fact we were there 4 days at that point), that his bike had a flat tire, that we were on the way to get a new inner tube, and more importantly, that we had an accident. At which point I cried out “WE HAD AN ACCIDENT?” Apparently this had in fact been going on for over half an hour, where I would get upset we had an accident, before asking him where we were, what was going on, and why we were in the middle of the road before getting upset when told we had an accident, then I would go all dazed and confused and that would be time to cue the loop.But the last time this happened is in fact the beginning of my complete memories. When told for the 30th time that we had had an accident it sunk in and I asked how, and how did we even get to Iceland, before it all came back to me, the ferry ride, Patrick's flat tire, and then a vague recollection of the bike wobbling before nothingness. The good part was that with no memory of the accident I had no real fear of the bike. I did however have a hell of a lot of fear of not remembering anything, and a hypochondriac at the best of times I had visions of brain lesions and internal bleeding.For the curious, it takes a little over an hour for the ambulance to get you when you are outside a major center in Iceland, but still on the highway. I do not want to know what would happen if you severely hurt yourself in the middle of the interior.An hour and a half later we are in hospital in Neskaupstadur, I have a concussion but I am otherwise fine, and Patrick has severely bruised ribs but is otherwise fine. We get a 2 day stay in hospital, and may I say, if you are going to land yourself in hospital on your holidays, you could do worse than an Icelandic one! The nurses were all smiles, you get lamb for lunch and coffee and cake at 3, fruit before bed, and doctors who map out the best places to ride in Iceland! And why did Betty blow her tire on the highway despite it being brand new and the tire pressure checked before riding off? A giant screw she picked up on the ring road. And that is why Wilma got nailed and Betty got screwed. (That is a direct quote from Patrick's facebook status, never say the boy does not have a way with words!).
Sonntag, 12. September 2010
I Was Serious About The Food, Or A Little History For You
Success! We rode from Southern Iceland through the interior to Northern Iceland and no one was hurt! Perhaps this was aided in part by the fact that we bought 6 chocolate bars before we ventured in. Patrick has learned from experience that Sherrie + hunger is a generally dangerous combination. I was not really joking in the previous posts when I stated that when I do not have food Patrick stands to lose vital body parts and/or organs. It is not that Patrick does not like food, as we made it through the interior on our bikes and camped wild the last 3 nights, and tonight we have kitchen, we indulged in lamb and cous cous. Heaven!
Flickr is being really evil at the moment and will not load up my pictures, and so I will save my stories of Iceland until I have some more pictures to go with it. Instead I will share with you Episode 4 of our Journizing The Throne Of The Gods when we rode to Turkey and back. What I like about this episode is that after a slight hunger induced freak out I get Patrick to explain about our first real fight, which happened in Argentina after a couple of hours without food. The best part is the look on his face when he is not really sure if the question is a trap or not.....
I Was Serious About The Food, Or A Little History For You
Success! We rode from Southern Iceland through the interior to Northern Iceland and no one was hurt! Perhaps this was aided in part by the fact that we bought 6 chocolate bars before we ventured in. Patrick has learned from experience that Sherrie + hunger is a generally dangerous combination. I was not really joking in the previous posts when I stated that when I do not have food Patrick stands to lose vital body parts and/or organs. It is not that Patrick does not like food, as we made it through the interior on our bikes and camped wild the last 3 nights, and tonight we have kitchen, we indulged in lamb and cous cous. Heaven!
Flickr is being really evil at the moment and will not load up my pictures, and so I will save my stories of Iceland until I have some more pictures to go with it. Instead I will share with you Episode 4 of our Journizing The Throne Of The Gods when we rode to Turkey and back. What I like about this episode is that after a slight hunger induced freak out I get Patrick to explain about our first real fight, which happened in Argentina aftera couple of hours without food. The best part is the look on his face when he is not really sure if the question is a trap or not.....
Mittwoch, 8. September 2010
Why Did I Deny Myself Orange Club Cookies For So Long & Other Tales Of Oatmeal
First off, since arriving here in Iceland I have been treating myself to coffee soaked cookies just about every morning. It is delicious and divine. Normally they are either of the oatmeal variety, or Jacobs Club chocolate cookies. And then the other day I bought Orange Club, just to see what they tasted like. HOW COULD I HAVE DENIED MYSELF THIS BLISS FOR SO LONG???? I came so close to not buying them, and to my knowledge they do not exist in Germany. And now with less than a week left to the trip I must binge on them in an effort to purge myself of this new need for them that can not, and will not, be fulfilled in Stuttgart. So much deliciousness that I miss in Iceland, to find something that borders on pure heaven this late in the game is a cruel trick indeed!
And this brings me to my original subject, food! See there are many aspects of the German that I love. He rides a motorcycle, he likes to travel (particularly ON motorcycle), and he likes Naruto almost as much as I do. This allows me to overlook the fact that he thinks my webcomics are a waste of time. But one fault line in the relationship comes to food and our relationship to it. And the fact I turn into a troll whenever I am not fed poses something of a problem.
You see I love food. I adore it. My life revolves around it. When I travel I want to eat the food. I want to eat at street stalls and at canteens and at restaurants. Food is a vital part of a people's culture, and I even love going to supermarkets just to see how they are arranged and what it all looks like. I can not stress how important food is to me. My father is a cook by trade, and he raised us to believe that ketchup is evil outside of hot dogs and hamburgers, and that food is a gift and a way to show your love and appreciation for your friends and family.
Patrick however sees food as sustenance. Of course he loves a good meal, and better something delicious than not. But he does not NEED food. If you ask him to describe the perfect day, chances are he will forget about the food part. And his day has yet to be ruined by a really crappy meal (a lack of one - yes, but a crappy one is disappointing, but hardly earth shattering. For me it is shattering indeed, as in addition to a love of food, I inherited my father's temper, only amplified, and plates can smash.)Toss in there that Patrick is Swabian (translates into likes to save rather than spend money) and we have the one friction point of travel. I want to eat out and eat well. He wants to save and eat to live. iN A cheap country this works out for both of us. An expensive one like Iceland and, errrrrr.BUT, I may have found a solution. Coffee drenched cookies are part of it (I never said my tastes were expensive, just that I love anything that tastes good), but we have created a meal that is simple, cheap and makes both of us happy in the morning.Oatmeal with bakers chocolate melted inside. About 33 cents a meal. My palate sings, and Patrick gets to keep his face minus long scratch marks. I am like a Gremlin, only I turn into one when not fed, time independent.....Clever, Not Beautiful
Patrick and I have come up with some “little jokes” over the weather in Iceland.
Such as:
What do you call sunshine in Iceland?
A lie!
And our favorite:
What is a good day in Iceland? Rain and wind at your back!
What is a bad day in Iceland? Rain and wind from all directions, particularly the side!
And how do we brave let alone survive this cruel weather that tosses and turns us every which way?
In the wise words of Hawksley Workman “If your goal is plain survival then be clever not beautiful”
Clever may not be camping in Iceland in September, but I tossed beauty out the window and I've gone for survival baby, as in WARMTH.
Mock not, as I have said before, it was on sale, it keeps me warm and dry, and 9 year old Sherrie is green with envy over the colors and style.
And you should see Patrick's new beard....
Clever Not Beautiful
Patrick and I have come up with some “little jokes” over the weather in Iceland.
Such as:
What do you call sunshine in Iceland?
A lie!
And our favorite:
What is a good day in Iceland? Rain and wind at your back!
What is a bad day in Iceland? Rain and wind from all directions, particularly the side!
And how do we brave let alone survive this cruel weather that tosses and turns us every which way?
In the wise words of Hawksley Workman “If your goal is plain survival then be clever not beautiful”
Clever may not be camping in Iceland in September, but I tossed beauty out the window and I've gone for survival baby, as in WARMTH.
Mock not, as I have said before, it was on sale, it keeps me warm and dry, and 9 year old Sherrie is green with envy over the colors and style.
[[posterous-content:XrQovFcfwYYNbUhmtSt5]]
And you should see Patrick's new beard....
Montag, 6. September 2010
Iceland: AKA The World Of Margaret Weiss & Michael Ende/Insert Favorite Fantasy Author
Despite extensive travel over the past 11 years on 4 continents I have never before felt like I had entered a fantasy novel. (Well, except for being fairly convinced that if fairies did exist they had a kingdom in the gardens of Catherine Palace, the Romanov's summer palace just outside of St. Petersburg, but I digress!). The point being, I am a dork, and despite ranking anime, comics and fantasy novels as among some of my favorite things, I rarely look about me and go “THIS is what I have always pictured in my head.” That is until this trip to Iceland. And this goes beyond soaking your body in blue steamy water...
We headed into Iceland's interior almost immediately, and although Patrick declared it was like venturing into Mordor, I felt like I truly understood what the characters of the Dragonlance<img src="http://www.assoc-amazon.ca/e/ir?t=busmrimo-20&l=as2&o=15&a=0786955538" width="1" height="1" border="0" alt="" style="border:none !important; margin:0px !important;" /> series felt. (This was THE series for me throughout highschool, I named my Iguana Kit after the dragon rider in the chronicles, but again I digress, but not without a point! Which is - that this is in fact a high honor for the country indeed).
And eerie it is. You feel like you are someplace where you are not entirely welcome, despite the fact that there is no population to speak of. (I also think that this feeling of the land itself rejecting you is what makes people remember it as more isolated than it really is, because although no one actually lives there, during the summer months at least you can expect no less than 30 Germans and a scattering of other tourists to come barreling down in their Jeeps). So although far from crowded, you are never alone (just try to pee!).
As we headed northward we entered the world of Micheal Ende. In the English world he is best known for Neverending Story<img src="http://www.assoc-amazon.ca/e/ir?t=busmrimo-20&l=as2&o=15&a=0140386335" width="1" height="1" border="0" alt="" style="border:none !important; margin:0px !important;" /> (I still love that movie). But his other works have not made it into popular culture. Jim Knopf<img src="http://www.assoc-amazon.ca/e/ir?t=busmrimo-20&l=as2&o=15&a=3522149807" width="1" height="1" border="0" alt="" style="border:none !important; margin:0px !important;" /> however is a treasured icon in Germany. (Or at the very least among the Schweizer family, with both Patrick and his cousin Joscha naming their motorcycles after characters in the novel). Emma the steam locomotive and Nepomuk the half dragon/half hippo of the books:
Their motorcycle namesakes:
Emma:
Nepomuk:
Still I digress, while visiting Krafla Patrick and I looked at each other and declared “Kummerland!” (Or at least he did, I squealed “that place Nepomuk is from!”) Surrounded by these bubbling, sulphuric pits of water and blue goo I began to think that a tour of Iceland must be part of a fantasy writers rite of passage.
But the final episode (at least to date, we still have 12 more days here!) was when I truly felt we had entered an area that Tolkien himself must have himself experienced. For here was a feeling of such evil and impending doom that an army of orcs would be preferable to meeting whatever was watching you. For it was in the Glama moors that I stopped seeing why people believe Iceland is inhabited by the supernatural, and rather joined their ranks of believers.
We don't have pictures to show you because the feeling of evil was such that we did not want to stop. Maybe it was because it was twilight, maybe because the fog was so thick that when I looked in my mirror all I could see was the black road; Patrick; and a layer of fog that literally hung there more like a sentient presence than a natural phenomenon (and I am a Newfoundlander, fog does not frighten me unless a moose suddenly looms out of it and I am in a car hurdling directly towards it), but whatever it was, there was such an abject feeling feeling of terror that neither of us stopped until we were out of there...Mittwoch, 1. September 2010
Iceland's Number One Road Hazard: Fluffy, Cute, & Oh SO Deadly
The dangers of Iceland's roads include nails, screws, pot holes and Icelandic drivers themselves. But surprisingly none of these compare to the beady eyed master of ambush most commonly thought of as a sheep. Especially for the motorcyclist. Sure, if you in your car hit Lambchops and her play along friends your holiday might suffer a slight set back at the rather unpleasant mess that is sure to ensue. However, unless you put yourself into a ditch while trying to avoid it you will come out ok (and if you did, or drove yourself off a cliff because a lot of Icelandic roads lack guard rails, then you understand just how deadly fluffy and cute can be). But if you are a motorcyclist, then you truly understand how cunning and crafty these beasts can be.
As those in the center of the road distract you, and then run away to safety, you begin to speed up again, and THAT is when you have been lured into the trap the sly sucker has set for you and will dart out of the ditch to throw himself under your wheels. Or at the very least because he figures if his friends are safe on the other side of the road then he better run AT the metal machine to join them.
Sheep my friends, are an insidious evil.
Abonnieren
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