Sunday, December 2, 2018

Iceland


      The sun was not cooperating.  It was early afternoon.  We were heading north. 
      The sun should have been shining through the left windows of the bus.  It was coming through the right rear window.
      We are heading south, I concluded.  I had looked at the map enough to know that Reykjavik was about 45 minutes north of Keflavik, the major airport.  Why were we going south?  Was the map wrong?   
     Except we weren’t.  Headed south.  Hmmmm.  It was a problem I wouldn’t have to work on much, because it was practically the only sunny day we had while we were in Iceland.
     We had landed, cleared the passport office, and headed to bus kiosks.  I had again relied on Trip Advisor, which sent us to Fly-Bus.  They had service from airport to your doorstep.  Not quite, but okay.  Reykjavik ordinances limited busses to certain streets in the city.
      The big bus we took from the airport stopped at a depot just outside the city, where the passengers dispersed to smaller busses that took us into the city.  We were given a bus stop number where we were to disembark. 
      The driver of the small bus asked each of us which hotel or lodging we were staying at as he helped us unload our luggage.  He wasn’t familiar with our place, Alfholl Guest House.  He recognized the street, Ranargata.   Two blocks up, two, or maybe three blocks right, you’ll come to it.  Except we didn’t.
      I accosted two young ladies and asked them for help.  Out came the cell phones.  In a minute or two, they produced a map.  We had gone up one block too far.  Go down one block, turn left and go two blocks, then left again on Ranargata.  We were home.  Fairly simple, especially compared to finding our way in Dublin.




      Our first view of Iceland came from the airplane.  It was a clear day, apparently a rarity as winter approaches.  The land looked like rough rocks, lava, covered with the skin of a kiwi, soft green fuzz. 
      There is a small community around the airport, but the ride to the city reminds me of Eastern Colorado in one way:  there are few buildings, farms, or small towns.  The vista includes distant mountains and an occasional glimpse of the sea, but very little in the way of agriculture, fields or animals grazing.




  
     Iceland has a lot in common with Hawaii, volcanic islands with lava mountains punctuating the flats that have eroded, providing soil for plant life.  Iceland has only one native tree and limited agriculture due to the short growing season of the northern clime.  Still, it is green with the moss, or whatever it is, that covers much of the landscape.
      Having arrived, met our host, and stowed our luggage, we set out for the tourist office which was conveniently located in the city hall beside bus stop 1 where we got off the bus and started our pedestrian journey.  We made arrangements for a couple of trips, both by bus.  The lady who sold us the tickets directed us north to the old harbor where we would find abundant seafood places.  Which street should we take?  Oh, any of them.
     The street we chose took a left turn and so did we.  We walked a mile and never came to the harbor, which later we would learn was only three blocks from our lodging, if you took the right street. 
      A couple of young ladies tried to give us directions to a great seafood place not far from  where we stood.  We went to the supermarket and turned right, walked another three blocks where we could see the harbor, but no restaurant. 
     An older lady caning her way along the street sent us back the other way to a local establishment.  The place the younger ladies directed us to, was indeed another few blocks down the way we were going, but it was a chain restaurant like Red Lobster or something.  Go back to the supermarket, cross the street and go right for two blocks and we would come to a local place that served great food, she said.
     So we did.  The store was a bakery that specialized in pastries of various kinds.  In the evening they served a limited menu of seafood.  The problem was, only one girl at the counter spoke English.
      We asked for a menu.  They had none.  The waitpersons almost ignored us.  We teetered on the brink of walking out.  The girl came to our table and informed us that she was about to post the menu—which was chalked on a blackboard right above our table.
      We stepped aside to allow her room to get to the blackboard.  As she wrote, she informed us what she was posting, as she wrote in Icelandic.  We must place our order at the counter.  We made our choice and I went to the counter.
      I stood in line beside a local who ordered a bottle of beer.  I asked about the beer.  Fortunately, he spoke English.  The beer was from a local brewery, he said.  Things were certainly taking a turn for the better. 
      He said the beer was good and there was a large selection.  He pointed to a row of bottles on a shelf behind the counter.  The bottles wore the same label, except for a big number in the middle of it.  I saw that the number 15 was a porter, so I ordered it.  It was good.
     We sat in our own private little island of English while those all around us spoke Icelandic.  We indeed had strayed off the tourist pathway.  With a belly full of good food (it was some kind of flat fish) and good beer, life was good.
      The sun had set as we began our journey home.  Finding our way wasn’t much of a problem, since we had mainly taken one street all the way.  With the sun gone, the temperature dropped some and the humidity increased.  Still, it was quite pleasant as we walked home on a Saturday night.
     Reaching home, we took our turn at the shower.  We shared the bathroom with three other rooms on our floor.  We didn’t see anybody else, so sharing wasn’t much of a problem.  It reminded me that when I was booking the place in September, I was urged to hurry to close the deal, as there was only one room left!  Liars.
     Sunday morning, we needed to be at Bus Stop 1 before 11 a.m. to catch our bus to make the Golden Circle trip.  We congratulated ourselves on a successful day one in Iceland and hit the hay. 
   
 
           

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