I woke up at 7:40am Vancouver time on Sept 15, and after a hot shower and a meditation, I walked to a beautiful Indian chai lounge called East is East where I met up with my sister and her three month old daughter. Chatting about my trip ahead, it was strange to know that I had two full days ahead of me that would be sandwiched together. But yes, as it happened, I did not go to sleep again until 2pm Vancouver time the following day. The sun and I parted ways at 4pm and met up again in Iceland 6 3/4 hrs later.
Watching an entire night go by in 3 hours was an interesting experience, but my body seemed to adjust because the sun was up. It felt like a new day and I forgot for a while that there had been no night. I arrived at the Keflavik airport at 6am; it was quiet and open with a grey world beyond the windows that was slowly brightening. I wandered the airport for a while, perhaps to subconsciously adjust, or maybe just to let time pass to know that there was no rush or pressure. I then purchased some Icelandic money, left the airport on foot, and crossed a lava field to the highway. The air was cold and fresh and immediately reminded me of my childhood town in northern Canada. But this was a barren lava field on the side of a black road at the beginning of some sort of quest.
Where was I going exactly and why was I here? My mind wondered whether I ought to know what I was doing. But I did know what I was doing. I was now going to hitch-hike through Iceland to the capital city of Reykjavik. And I was very calm and content with this plan. Obviously. I mean, that is what I was here for right? If it must be described in a more meaningful way then I had only to realize what this whole travelling thing was about: venturing beyond what is known; not knowing but going along with it anyway; following my intuition; allowing myself to experience the new from the eyes of the new. And so I prepared a hitch-hiking sign using my handy-dandy whiteboard and stuck out my thumb, all too aware that the drivers might not even speak my language. But of course they did. This was Iceland so English was widely spoken; however, I didn't feel like it was the preferred language and so I felt strange and sort of guilty that people would have to switch to English just for me--and it made me feel like a foreigner who didn't belong.
And yet, the people were very friendly and I soon found myself sitting in a comfortable vehicle flying through the lava fields chatting with an older Icelandic man. Looking out the window at the volcanoes and the windswept coastline I found it remarkable to imagine that this man had been born here, raised here, and then lived his entire life here. But as I learned throughout my stay, the Icelandic people are a proud people and they feel a strong sense of connection with their country--enough that when they speak with a foreigner they speak to represent their country. Understandably so. They live separated from the world on a rock in the North Atlantic where conditions are harsh. They're an entire race of people with their own language and genes and a population less than that of Greater Victoria. Over the years, they intentionally preserved their language with laws that prevented the borrowing of words from other languages. And their economic history is more than unique.
And so I chatted about Iceland with the man who had picked me up: the dangerous changing landscape of volcanoes and earthquakes, the economy, the clean geothermal energy, and the climate. He was proud of his country--and therefore an active, aware citizen with a vested interest in the affairs of his country. In fact, even as a 55-year-old man, he was proud enough (and aware enough about what goes on in his country) to boast that apparently Iceland grows the best weed on the planet. :P
He was a gracious host and dropped me off in Reykjavik on his way to pick up someone from the cruise ship; it turns out he was a tour guide who normally charges 10s of 1000s of Kronas for his time and vehicle. For me, it was a gift.
I was in an industrial area of town so I walked along the rocky shores of the Atlantic Ocean until the streets felt more welcoming and the buildings prettier. It was still very early in the morning and the streets were empty and calm. After wandering by the over-photographed massive cement church on the hilltop, I found my way into a cute little cafe where I tested a few things out for the first time: ordering something that had been translated from another language, using a credit card to purchase something in another currency, and using my adaptor to charge my phone from a different power outlet. Everything worked out well...except I ended up with a bowl of beans that cost $11. Oops. And wow. How interesting to purchase a small item from a cafe and have the girl behind the counter say, "That'll cost one thousand one hundred and eighty please".
So I made use of the power and internet for some time, waiting for the rest of the city to wake up. And then I made use of the bathroom...and I must say, nothing about the rest of the cafe prepared me for the bathroom, there was not even a hint that I was about to enter a Star Wars Disco. But yes. It was dark and flashy and a life sized Princess Leia was watching me pee...and I could see Han Solo in the mirror in between flashes, standing just behind me. What made it even more exciting was that the red and yellow disco lights didn't supply quite enough light so I found myself waiting for the colour blue before I made any moves.
By 11am I was tired. The sun was shining. It was 4am back home. This 'morning' I had gone to East is East in Vancouver. And now, somehow, it was still morning. I spent the rest of the day wandering around, finding somewhat cheaper food, and following my feet to the beautiful places...
Watching an entire night go by in 3 hours was an interesting experience, but my body seemed to adjust because the sun was up. It felt like a new day and I forgot for a while that there had been no night. I arrived at the Keflavik airport at 6am; it was quiet and open with a grey world beyond the windows that was slowly brightening. I wandered the airport for a while, perhaps to subconsciously adjust, or maybe just to let time pass to know that there was no rush or pressure. I then purchased some Icelandic money, left the airport on foot, and crossed a lava field to the highway. The air was cold and fresh and immediately reminded me of my childhood town in northern Canada. But this was a barren lava field on the side of a black road at the beginning of some sort of quest.
Where was I going exactly and why was I here? My mind wondered whether I ought to know what I was doing. But I did know what I was doing. I was now going to hitch-hike through Iceland to the capital city of Reykjavik. And I was very calm and content with this plan. Obviously. I mean, that is what I was here for right? If it must be described in a more meaningful way then I had only to realize what this whole travelling thing was about: venturing beyond what is known; not knowing but going along with it anyway; following my intuition; allowing myself to experience the new from the eyes of the new. And so I prepared a hitch-hiking sign using my handy-dandy whiteboard and stuck out my thumb, all too aware that the drivers might not even speak my language. But of course they did. This was Iceland so English was widely spoken; however, I didn't feel like it was the preferred language and so I felt strange and sort of guilty that people would have to switch to English just for me--and it made me feel like a foreigner who didn't belong.
And yet, the people were very friendly and I soon found myself sitting in a comfortable vehicle flying through the lava fields chatting with an older Icelandic man. Looking out the window at the volcanoes and the windswept coastline I found it remarkable to imagine that this man had been born here, raised here, and then lived his entire life here. But as I learned throughout my stay, the Icelandic people are a proud people and they feel a strong sense of connection with their country--enough that when they speak with a foreigner they speak to represent their country. Understandably so. They live separated from the world on a rock in the North Atlantic where conditions are harsh. They're an entire race of people with their own language and genes and a population less than that of Greater Victoria. Over the years, they intentionally preserved their language with laws that prevented the borrowing of words from other languages. And their economic history is more than unique.
And so I chatted about Iceland with the man who had picked me up: the dangerous changing landscape of volcanoes and earthquakes, the economy, the clean geothermal energy, and the climate. He was proud of his country--and therefore an active, aware citizen with a vested interest in the affairs of his country. In fact, even as a 55-year-old man, he was proud enough (and aware enough about what goes on in his country) to boast that apparently Iceland grows the best weed on the planet. :P
He was a gracious host and dropped me off in Reykjavik on his way to pick up someone from the cruise ship; it turns out he was a tour guide who normally charges 10s of 1000s of Kronas for his time and vehicle. For me, it was a gift.
I was in an industrial area of town so I walked along the rocky shores of the Atlantic Ocean until the streets felt more welcoming and the buildings prettier. It was still very early in the morning and the streets were empty and calm. After wandering by the over-photographed massive cement church on the hilltop, I found my way into a cute little cafe where I tested a few things out for the first time: ordering something that had been translated from another language, using a credit card to purchase something in another currency, and using my adaptor to charge my phone from a different power outlet. Everything worked out well...except I ended up with a bowl of beans that cost $11. Oops. And wow. How interesting to purchase a small item from a cafe and have the girl behind the counter say, "That'll cost one thousand one hundred and eighty please".
So I made use of the power and internet for some time, waiting for the rest of the city to wake up. And then I made use of the bathroom...and I must say, nothing about the rest of the cafe prepared me for the bathroom, there was not even a hint that I was about to enter a Star Wars Disco. But yes. It was dark and flashy and a life sized Princess Leia was watching me pee...and I could see Han Solo in the mirror in between flashes, standing just behind me. What made it even more exciting was that the red and yellow disco lights didn't supply quite enough light so I found myself waiting for the colour blue before I made any moves.
By 11am I was tired. The sun was shining. It was 4am back home. This 'morning' I had gone to East is East in Vancouver. And now, somehow, it was still morning. I spent the rest of the day wandering around, finding somewhat cheaper food, and following my feet to the beautiful places...
And after having circled the city, I felt myself pulled toward a beautiful strange building that I could see on a nearby hilltop, overlooking a forested area. It was a large dome. I also knew that the university was in that direction, as well as a geothermal beach where they had shipped in truckloads of tropical sand. So I left the city behind and ventured into the woods...
And then the exhaustion hit me. And the hunger. And my phone died. And I realized that I was on the far side of the park, far from any food. I had been expecting to find food at the university, but there was nothing immediately present. I quickly reached my rope's end and stumbled into my only option: Fine ($28) Icelandic Dining:
After gradually and gingerly re-charging as if I was breaking a 24 hour fast, I ventured back into the woods to sleep since no couchsurfing hosts had gotten back to me. The landscape is beautiful and interesting here; the ground is so volcanic and rocky and rugged, but then it gets covered in really thick sodden grass and moss so that it becomes bumpy yet soft. My first spot for sleeping soon became surrounded by a group of Icelandic kids playing tag through the woods, yelling and hiding in the bushes. And since I would sooner join in than be the strange man sleeping in the bush who gets stepped on by someone trying to find a good hiding place--I hiked to a more remote area and fell asleep by around 9pm Icelandic time.
It rained during the night, so I burrowed into my cocoon and slept through it, propelled by my exhaustion. And in the morning, I awoke to the sound of a bird a couple meters above my resting spot. It was a magical call, sounding like a cross between a robin and a song sparrow.
And to summarise the rest of this story, I wandered back to the city, went to an outdoor geothermal pool with a disco themed waterslide, and then hitch-hiked back to Keflavik to spend the night in a rainy lava field since my flight was early the next morning and airports are not for sleeping.
For the full photo-album, see here:
https://www.facebook.com/media/set/?set=a.10154614669515436.1073741828.812095435&&l=798ee97bb0
And to summarise the rest of this story, I wandered back to the city, went to an outdoor geothermal pool with a disco themed waterslide, and then hitch-hiked back to Keflavik to spend the night in a rainy lava field since my flight was early the next morning and airports are not for sleeping.
For the full photo-album, see here:
https://www.facebook.com/media/set/?set=a.10154614669515436.1073741828.812095435&&l=798ee97bb0