To the Lighthouse
The road trip adventure begins!
After a few extremely inconvenient false starts!
And after obscene amounts of money pass from my hands to the Icelandic economy!
I spent Tuesday morning rushing around Reykjavik, attempting to purchase hiking books at 66 Degrees North, find that my "size" is not available, renting a car at Hertz for well over 100 dollars a day plus very expensive gas, meeting Hussein Shehadeh while checking out of my hostel, driving out to suburban Reykjavik to the OTHER 66 Degrees North store to actually purchase a pair of mediocre hiking shoes that seem to sort of fit (for about 140 dollars) and then hitting the road.
Driving a car in a foreign country is a special experience, and in Iceland perhaps more so. People drive aggressively here, the roads twist and turn, the speed limit is in deceptive kilometers, police are almost nowhere to me found and road signs refer to small towns I have never heard of. My drive for the day was largely misguided, sometimes scary but often beautiful, depending on how lost I was, whether I was on dirt of paved roads and whether or not rain poured upon me.
My intention was to drive to Snæfellsjökull, a glacier on the Snæfellsnes peninsula in western Iceland, a few hundred kilometers from Reykjavik. Instead, I mistakenly ended up in northwestern Iceland in a freezing cold gas station. Fortunately, the gas station attendant GAVE me a map (as the one Hertz had donated was inadequate), for FREE! Along the way, I encounted a volcano crater that I had the pleasure to climb in my new hiking shoes. There were few other tourists exploring the volcanic summit, but those there were both significantly older and posher than I am.
I drove a few hundred kilometers through moderate rain and dirt roads to get myself to Stikkishölmar (pop. 1300 and the largest town in the Snæfellsnes peninsula). I must admit that I was concerned about my safety. I drove slowly, listening to the few Icelandic radio stations that I was able to pick up (I heard Talking Heads "Once in a Lifetime", an Icelandic version of the Red Hot Chili Peppers "Give it Away", Peter Gabriel´s "Big Time" and a song from the Arcade Fire I had never heard), repeatedly checking the map in hopes that I was close to a town where I could get gas if I needed.
Note about Icelandic maps: On maps of the United States or even individual states, the very smallest black dots usually refer to small towns of 500-1000 people. Not much to rely upon, but better than nothing. To my disappointment, I discovered that these small dots in Iceland refer to Individual Farm Houses! Imagine my frustration, believing that I was nearing some sort of civilization, to find a mere building, being thrashed by the rain as much as I.
I did eventually reach Stikkishölmar. I recently heard a story that the Foo Fighters once visited and jammed with a band of 16 year olds from the town, eventually inviting the kids to join them on stage for their Reykjavik show. The town is quite small, and somewhat quaint, but like the rest of Iceland surprisingly posh.
Outside of Reykjavik, most Icelandic towns are extremely small, yet somehow none seem to take on the redneck qualities of small American towns. The woman working the youth hostel (which I amazingly squeezed into without a reservation) was mostly indistinguishable from someone I would have met in the capital.
I wandered to the harbor and took pictures of the ships and then climbed a steep hill to the big yellow lighthouse. The wind blew so hard I was almost knocked over, but I loved the view of the town and the ocean from high above. The Arctic Ocean is cold and choppy, but when observed through heavy wind and light rain in the darkening evening of Stikkishölmar, these effects are magnified.
I viewed the strangely modern church and some sea birds, met some more Spaniards and returned to the hostel for a dinner of bloðmör (blood pudding) and sugar (I had purchased these things in Reykjavik, and the hostel manager suggested I fry them). It was quite delicious. Here, I met a girl named Katrina from Kingston, Ontario who became my travel partner for the next day.
I went for a walk by myself at night, listening to my iPod and wandered into the only restaurant that appeared open. It was not actually open, but the 18 year old bartender let me in to purchase a 10 dollar beer and chit chat with her for about half an hour. She was the first Icelandic person I met with whom I had a personal rather than professional discussion, and this was refreshing. From her, I discovered conclusively that Icelanders to NOT like Björk. Despite that fact that she is atypical for the country, I do not know why. She was sweet to talk to though and helped me practice the few Icelandic words I know.
I returned to the hostel and met my roommates, a very friendly German father and son from around Cologne. We talked politics and they educated me on German law and military service before falling asleep around 1:00 AM.
After a few extremely inconvenient false starts!
And after obscene amounts of money pass from my hands to the Icelandic economy!
I spent Tuesday morning rushing around Reykjavik, attempting to purchase hiking books at 66 Degrees North, find that my "size" is not available, renting a car at Hertz for well over 100 dollars a day plus very expensive gas, meeting Hussein Shehadeh while checking out of my hostel, driving out to suburban Reykjavik to the OTHER 66 Degrees North store to actually purchase a pair of mediocre hiking shoes that seem to sort of fit (for about 140 dollars) and then hitting the road.
Driving a car in a foreign country is a special experience, and in Iceland perhaps more so. People drive aggressively here, the roads twist and turn, the speed limit is in deceptive kilometers, police are almost nowhere to me found and road signs refer to small towns I have never heard of. My drive for the day was largely misguided, sometimes scary but often beautiful, depending on how lost I was, whether I was on dirt of paved roads and whether or not rain poured upon me.
My intention was to drive to Snæfellsjökull, a glacier on the Snæfellsnes peninsula in western Iceland, a few hundred kilometers from Reykjavik. Instead, I mistakenly ended up in northwestern Iceland in a freezing cold gas station. Fortunately, the gas station attendant GAVE me a map (as the one Hertz had donated was inadequate), for FREE! Along the way, I encounted a volcano crater that I had the pleasure to climb in my new hiking shoes. There were few other tourists exploring the volcanic summit, but those there were both significantly older and posher than I am.
I drove a few hundred kilometers through moderate rain and dirt roads to get myself to Stikkishölmar (pop. 1300 and the largest town in the Snæfellsnes peninsula). I must admit that I was concerned about my safety. I drove slowly, listening to the few Icelandic radio stations that I was able to pick up (I heard Talking Heads "Once in a Lifetime", an Icelandic version of the Red Hot Chili Peppers "Give it Away", Peter Gabriel´s "Big Time" and a song from the Arcade Fire I had never heard), repeatedly checking the map in hopes that I was close to a town where I could get gas if I needed.
Note about Icelandic maps: On maps of the United States or even individual states, the very smallest black dots usually refer to small towns of 500-1000 people. Not much to rely upon, but better than nothing. To my disappointment, I discovered that these small dots in Iceland refer to Individual Farm Houses! Imagine my frustration, believing that I was nearing some sort of civilization, to find a mere building, being thrashed by the rain as much as I.
I did eventually reach Stikkishölmar. I recently heard a story that the Foo Fighters once visited and jammed with a band of 16 year olds from the town, eventually inviting the kids to join them on stage for their Reykjavik show. The town is quite small, and somewhat quaint, but like the rest of Iceland surprisingly posh.
Outside of Reykjavik, most Icelandic towns are extremely small, yet somehow none seem to take on the redneck qualities of small American towns. The woman working the youth hostel (which I amazingly squeezed into without a reservation) was mostly indistinguishable from someone I would have met in the capital.
I wandered to the harbor and took pictures of the ships and then climbed a steep hill to the big yellow lighthouse. The wind blew so hard I was almost knocked over, but I loved the view of the town and the ocean from high above. The Arctic Ocean is cold and choppy, but when observed through heavy wind and light rain in the darkening evening of Stikkishölmar, these effects are magnified.
I viewed the strangely modern church and some sea birds, met some more Spaniards and returned to the hostel for a dinner of bloðmör (blood pudding) and sugar (I had purchased these things in Reykjavik, and the hostel manager suggested I fry them). It was quite delicious. Here, I met a girl named Katrina from Kingston, Ontario who became my travel partner for the next day.
I went for a walk by myself at night, listening to my iPod and wandered into the only restaurant that appeared open. It was not actually open, but the 18 year old bartender let me in to purchase a 10 dollar beer and chit chat with her for about half an hour. She was the first Icelandic person I met with whom I had a personal rather than professional discussion, and this was refreshing. From her, I discovered conclusively that Icelanders to NOT like Björk. Despite that fact that she is atypical for the country, I do not know why. She was sweet to talk to though and helped me practice the few Icelandic words I know.
I returned to the hostel and met my roommates, a very friendly German father and son from around Cologne. We talked politics and they educated me on German law and military service before falling asleep around 1:00 AM.
posted by Jed at 5:14 AM
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