Monday, May 18, 2009

Miscellaneous Iceland Snaps

Having too much fun at the Radisson




Quaint Icelandic Housing
View from downtown

Amazing Icelandic Murals

Day 3: Making Plans





A few times throughout our trip we would frequent the tourists' office to plan a rough itinerary for the next couple of days. Wynene suggested riding Icelandic horses one day and I was totally game; that Monday we scheduled a ride for the following morning with the girls in the tourists' office. Although we vacationed during Iceland's off season, there was still much to do and we were eager to escape the city for a couple of days to explore the country. We considered the various tours that were offered but I was reluctant because of the expense. 

Wynene thought we should rent a car and try to navigate these tours ourselves. This idea immediately filled me with apprehension; I was dead set against it from the start. My heart sank as we discussed with the girls the cost of renting a car for a few days and the feasibility of negotiating the country alone. Wynene understood that I was not hip to the idea and that we had to discuss it in detail before making a decision there. With that, we stepped out of the office and bent our steps in the vague direction of the fashion exhibition we'd read about. 

Walking along the duck and swan-filled pond and across busy overpasses, we talked. "We're two American women alone in a foreign country without working cell phones," I said. "We don't know the terrain and it's been snowing every day since we got here." But Wynene was cool and confident about the prospect. She didn't doubt that we could do this by ourselves. I was anxious, my head filling with images of our car getting stuck in the snow or scenes of us creeping along some empty road in the dark, our car suddenly slipping on ice and us having an accident. 

"I get more worried about getting a ticket parking in the city than of us having trouble driving in the country," she continued. I was still very worried but thought about it more because she was very enthusiastic about the idea. To be honest, I was filled with dread but was trying very hard to warm up to the idea at this point."Well, we'd have to bring water," I said slowly, thinking. "Of course. And we can bring blankets and extra clothes, just in case," she agreed. "Okay," I said reluctantly. "I guess we can try it."

By this time we'd reached a college, and unsure where to go, stepped into the first building to escape the cold and inquire about the fashion weekend exhibit. After a few quizzical looks from students and slightly confusing directions, we finally found it. A neon pink cylinder stood among various buildings of the school and in it was a rotating exhibit, featuring pieces from some fashion students.

Wednesday, May 13, 2009

Day 2: Our Day Spent at the Spa


Part of our Wellness Package, as it was called, included two all day passes to the spa in Reykjavik. We agreed that we would like to try that the following day, which was Sunday. It was about a twenty minute walk from Loftleidir, located just off the major highway in a gym. 

We spent close to five hours there. It was an exquisite experience. In Iceland, everyone is required to bathe at the facility before entering bodies of water because the water is not treated with any chemicals. It's all natural so they try to keep it as clean as possible. We showered and then entered the spa. How to describe it? It was dark, providing just enough light so that no one was stumbling around but really everyone just looked like silhouettes sitting in saunas, rinsing in the Arctic waterfalls, wading in the hot tubs and meditating in what I called the Bonfire Room. That one was my favorite. 

A large fire burned and crackled away in the center of the room while red lights glowed from one corner. Otherwise it was dark. Lounge chairs were situated along all sides of the room and the faintest music suggested itself from hidden speakers throughout. It was so warm that I began to fall asleep, lying in my chair under the red lights. After awhile Wynene and I wandered around and took our time to experience everything and return to the rooms we particularly enjoyed. As much as I tried I could not handle the saunas; they were absolutely stifling to me, but Wy liked them. She also tried the Arctic water but I was too chicken to have frigid water poured on me. 

After some time passed, we decided to try to find the outdoor heated swimming pool. We found it easily enough and it was a cool experience to play in warm water while it was so terrifically cold outside. We waded and bobbed around in the shallow water. While Wynene explored the area where people were doing laps, I practiced my underwater handstands, which I probably hadn't done since swimming class in high school. Having practiced and performed a handful to my satisfaction, I went searching for Wynene. We swam a couple of laps on the Olympic side, then mosied to the hot tub. We ended the whole experience by each taking a turn going down the water slide before exiting the pool and the facility. We thoroughly enjoyed ourselves that day. It was calm and relaxing and sleepy and fun. 

By the way: the picture featured at the top was our Minority Report experience. When we received our locker keys and signed in, the girl at the counter had us stand before a device that somehow recorded an image of our retinas or something. That was how we were to access rooms throughout the spa. So when it was time to enter the spa section, we were required to stand before a machine that scanned our eyes. When we were recognized a woman's mechanical voice would tell us so, then the door would automatically open. As cool as it sounds, it was often annoying: you had to stand perfectly still and not too close to the machine and actually Wy was a little too short for it, so it was easier if I got us into rooms. 
So we walked through the storm back to the hotel. Any conversation had reached a standstill. I was very annoyed about the weather and I think it's safe to say that we were both freezing. However, after crossing the overpass and walking through a field to return to Loftleidir, me making the quiet and grave declaration that I would never walk that again (40 minutes to get back?) we crashed in our room, watched a bit of Icelandic and American television and rested with the intention of going out again to experience the nightlife.

This time we took the shuttle and after having passed a few clubs and bars settled on a rather ordinary, nondescript one and climbed the stairs to scope the scene. Wynene and I grabbed a couple of seats at the bar. She ordered a martini (we're still trying to figure out what the hell they made for her) and I ordered a Gull beer, which was confusing to the bartender. I was annoyed: it's an Icelandic beer, I see it's on tap, what's the confusion? Well, Wynene found out a few days later that two "l"s put together is pronounced "ld." I pronounced it like I was referring to those disgusting birds back at home that hang out on the beach and crap on people at the Boardwalk, when I should have pronounced it "goodl."

So while I sipped my beer and Wynene regarded her funny martini with a green marachino cherry sitting at the bottom of the glass, we watched the Icelandic kids. The place was bustling with many people dancing to all the hottest American club tunes, some sitting at the bar, others sitting in little couches. It looked like any other bar/club to me, though we both noticed with much amusement that most of the guys were wearing suits and ties. They were all in there early and mid twenties and looked so smart, like they just finished taping a scene for Reservoir Dogs. Soon enough, a guy approached Wynene. I turned my head and continued to watch people, pleased that some guy was hitting on Wynene. I couldn't hear what they were saying but noticed at one point that he took out a card and I turned a bit towards them, hoping he was going to buy us each a drink. I saw him slip his card under the flap of her clutch. Whatever that meant. He ended up buying two beers and walking away. She didn't tell me too much, we finished our drinks, and stepped back out into the harsh Icelandic night.

We decided that we were both hungry and opted to grab a sandwich at a shop we passed. I ordered one with lamb and she had a veggie one of course. It wasn't until we were standing at a counter, munching our sandwiches before a large mirror that we recapped the experience in the club. That's when she told me that the guy had mistaken me for her boyfriend. I guessed he approached her, said hi and asked if I was her boyfriend. "Dude--why did you hold out on me? That's one of the funniest things that has ever happened to me!" I exclaimed. Wynene thought I was going to be offended but I couldn't be. It was so so absurd that it was comical. I wasn't insulted because I don't look like a man. I guess she replied that no, in fact I was a woman, and he commented that the whole thing was suddenly awkward. Duh, man. You were awkward.
Polar Beer. Love it.
Maniac
Braving the snow
The first day we were there was the windiest and eventually it began to snow. Constant, whipping winds and constant snow= I'm extremely annoyed but trying hard not to show it while Wynene skips around in it, enjoying it for all its craziness.
I think it was a calendar listing music events. 
Chillin' in the cafe
The best exit signs I've ever seen. They were in every building, though I was a little disconcerted that the guy was always bolting. It was unsettling.
Ascending the stairs of the little cafe
Did you guess it? Yeah, you're right. This is Leif Ericksson, who, for Icelanders, is like Elvis, the wheel, Zeus, and sliced bread all in one. He had to have been regarded as the best thing that ever happened to this country. Ever. 

That is until Bjork came on the scene.  
A part of downtown
On the bus ride to our hotel, I tried in vain to sleep as Wynene snapped away out of the large window to our right. The landscape was flat and barren the entire way and the sky was overcast. 

Once we arrived and dropped our bags in our room at Hotel Loftleider, we wandered downstairs to sample the breakfast buffet despite our pure exhaustion. I looked forward to some foreign fare and was not disappointed. Along with the some of the staple buffet foods we would expect at home (toast, rolls, wedges of fruit, and containers dispensing a variety of cereals) we also came across little dishes of pickled herring, dips and sauces of questionable origin, and our personal fave: cottage cheese from a tube. Why Wynene and I didn't ever take a camera downstairs for the first four breakfasts we experienced there to get a photo of one of the most amusing things we saw in Iceland, I cannot explain. 

A large tube sat on a small plate, its cap removed and some chunky white cottage cheese just stealing its way out of the opening from the last person who squeezed it. I never ever thought presentation would affect my appetite. But the fact that this huge tube resembled a foot cream to me yet dispensed something edible was more than I could stomach. It was comical of course, especially since everyone was appearing to abide by the rules of conduct that insist you squeeze from the bottom.  And I sort of pride myself about not being particularly squeamish, especially concerning food, but there was no way I could eat that. And I really like cottage cheese. I just wasn't feeling adventurous or interested in experiencing it for its novelty. I was simply repulsed. I have to say though that it was very amusing to come down to breakfast a couple days later to find that someone had squeezed the tube from the middle. Just ain't right.

After breakfast we rode the elevator back up to the fourth floor and crashed, the two of us probably snoozing for about three hours. We awoke, far more refreshed than previously, and decided that we would walk to downtown Reykjavik. Now, it was bitterly cold the entire time we spent in Iceland (yes, Wy, bitterly) and the walk was about a half hour, but when we finally reached it, one of the first things we did was step into a quaint little cafe with an American barista who, about two years ago, moved to Iceland from California! 
But I liked the packaging. It reminded me of the boxes for Brillo Pads. It was supposed to be black licorice but tasted like pure sin. They had huge, economy boxes, too. I was horrified.
Wynene, you're not fooling anyone--those were absolutely disgusting

Day 1: Cottage Cheese from a Tube and I Get Mistaken for Wynene's Boyfriend

We'd arrived around 7:30 am Icelandic time, tired, hungry, a little disoriented. The airport was almost entirely deserted. One of the first things we did was hit up the Duty Free to check out weird Icelandic treats and alcohol.