when things go wrong...

...it's either a disaster, an adventure, or an incredibly amusing situation. I'd like to declare my visit to Hekla and Landmannalauger an incredibly amusing situation accompanied by a side of adventure. First, my husband and I wait outside for our ride. Our ride is a super jeep driven by a man named Helgi. We met a lot of Icelanders, but this man, my friends, was a Viking. Big, friendly, devious yet intelligent. Off we went to drive up a volcano. About 30 minutes in, we had to turn around because we forgot to pick up another couple. Minor snafu. After about two hours of driving out of Reykjavik and one pit stop for snacks later, we finally arrive at the main road. Across the road was a chain and a sign that read: impassable. No fear, we are in a super jeep with 4 wheel drive, 44 inch tires, a turbo engine and all kinds of other fancy tricks that I've never heard of.


Hekla is one of Iceland's most active volcanoes. Katla is the scariest. Eyjafjallajökull is the one made famous by disrupting air traffic for three days in 2010 that no one can pronounce. Driving around, you can see different colors from the recent eruptions. We saw a crater in the distance that was a vivid red color. Next thing we knew, we were driving UP to this crater, right to the edge. So close that if the e-break malfunctioned, we'd most certainly be IN the crater. We continue on, driving through rivers and over snow. We were in the absolute middle of nowhere and it was awesome!

Fast forward several more miles into the middle of nowhere, and you have the four of us trying to push the super jeep as the tires spun in the snow. The 4 wheel drive broke and we were stuck on the side of a hill. Another few miles later and you will find us parked in the middle of an open plateau in a dead super jeep. Nothing but white mountains surround us. We sit patiently in the super jeep, waiting for reinforcements to arrive from Keflavik in about 3 hours. The wind is ripping and its 4°C (22°F). We can't run the heat, so we bundle up. Lucky, us Vermonters came prepared for the cold. Nothing to do but wait. We traded stories with the other couple. They lived in DC, he was British and she was Malaysian. They asked about other travel disasters. Once they were on a sightseeing boat at Victoria Falls when the engine broke. They almost went over the falls. I told them I got stuck in Antarctica once. That wowed them, but then I said it really wasn't that glorified. The weather was poor for our flight, which meant I was stranded on my vessel, which was docked in a calm bay with an open bar. Hardly a death defying disaster.


I suddenly had to pee, really badly. I kept talking with the others, but I had to endure the elements. There was no way I could wait 3 hours and then however long it took to get to a bathroom after that. Do you know how much easier it would have been to be a man in this situation? You try peeing in the squat position in freezing temperatures with winds gusting over 20 miles per hour straight into your face without peeing on yourself in a totally open area. I had my husband come out with to to try to shield the wind, to no avail. Both of us were laughing the entire time.

Several hours later, Helgi's much younger brother shows up in his super jeep (a cracked out 15 passenger van that I literally had to climb into) along with his friend, who drove a jacked up truck. Helgi's brother was only a few years older then me and was much trimmer then Helgi, but his hands were so big he could have crushed my skull in an instant. His friend was only wearing jeans an the iconic Icelandic sweater. Then they tied the poor broken monster up to the van and simply pulled it up the snow covered mountain like it was nothing.

When the viking men where finished takin' care of business, Helgi jumped into the helm of the super jeep van and asked us if we wanted to finish the tour now. With the light of the sun long gone and the wind blowing furiously as it began to snow, we headed to the "hot springs" at Landmannalaugar. By the time we got there, it was snowing harder and pitch black. I was allready wearing my bikini under all my layers. Three of us decided to brave the blackness in search of heavenly hot water. I was very aware of the absence of steam, and hoped it was no indicator of a not so hot spring. We walked down the wooden path to the changing platform, stripped down, and eased into the tepid water. Helgi said we had to go to the far side. At the far side, there were patches of hot water, but it was more cold then hot. It was snowing sideways and bitter cold. Discouraged and shivering, we waded back to the platform after only a few minutes in the pool. I peeled of my bikini and threw on my clothes as fast as humanly possible and headed back to the van.

As we drove away, the visibility was nil. There is no way I would have driven in these conditions, but Helgi knew these lands like the back of his hands. My throat was suddenly a little sore, but I figured I was extremely dehydrated due to not drinking much because of the lack of bathrooms. We made a pit stop for some more snacks since it was now well past dinner time and crawled back into our studio in Reykjavik around 10pm. The next day I woke up with a really sore throat. Immune system shut down! I almost made it 12 whole months without getting sick. I guess it must have been the not so hot springs that did me in.

This nice little waterfall was after the 4WD died but before the turbo died.

Don't you just want to jump into this pool?

walkin' on a glacier part two

About eleven months ago, I walked on a glacier for the first time. I was in Argentina and it was incredible. I decided anytime I had a chance be on a glacier, I'd make it happen. This time, I was on a glacier in Iceland. It was very different. Unlike the Perito Moreno glacier, this glacier, called Sólheimajökull, was receding. There was a lot more walking up and down than the (relatively) flatter trekking in Argentina. This glacier also ended at the ground, versus a lake and it was dirtier, because of its proximity to several volcanoes. Here we had the chance to give ice climbing a go. I had been hooked on this idea since early spring, but naturally, spring and summer are not exactly the best time to ice climb in Vermont. So I had to wait until Iceland. I found it extremely fun and wished that we could have done it more.

eat what now?

They eat some pretty interesting things, up there in Iceland. Controversial even. Icelanders are proud and have a strong identity. They have unique things. Like a language without dialects. And magical horses, Icelandic Horses. Hardy, burly. These days they are used mostly for leisure. But they also eat them. Filet of foal? Coming right up! Hákarl (fermented shark) or better known as nasty rotten shark is not just a tourist gimick. Sure, kids don't pack it in their lunch box (I hope), but people eat it! Come to Iceland hoping to see puffins, but you came at the wrong time of year? No worries, you can eat one instead. And I suppose the most controversial of them all, whale. Eating a whale. Or a least a few bites. It just sounds wrong. But is it? American's don't balk at the thought of eating a cow or a pig, but there are people in other parts of the world that would never eat either of these four legged creatures because of their culture or religion. So how and who determines if it's ok to eating something?

I love food. I like most things. I usually draw the line at weird body parts and generally avoid things like plump tree grubs unless I'm in survival mode while stranded in the wilderness. I believe that expiration dates are a joke, just like FOX news. So what did I eat in Iceland? Well. I did wear my experimental pants a little bit. Unfortunately, I didn't try all the Icelandic dishes that I would have liked, but that is because we cooked and ate most of our meals at home while choosing to spend our cash on other things like glacier trekking.

I had some lamb filet with licorice sauce one night. It was the best thing I had the whole trip. I had Icelandic lamb stew twice. Very simple. Just hunks of lamb with veggies in a simple broth and is very tasty. Filet of foal? Didn't try it. But I tried the puffin. It's smoked, served with a blueberry brenevin sauce. Awful. Horrible. Not revolting, but not worth eating. It was dense, dry, and just tasted weird. Nothing like chicken! I tried to keep eating it. But it was killing my appetite. Food adventure failure! That night we were at a Spanish/Icelandic restaurant. Here, you order a ton of small dishes rather than simply one main entre. After the puffin plate came... the whale. I think my pulse may have sped up a few bpm's. Really, I'm going to eat a majestic creature? My tastebuds were saying mmm!! My brain was screaming STOP! You can't eat a WHALE!!!! Shut up BRAIN! Shackleton ate penguins, I can eat whale!! But Shackelton WASN'T ON VACATION!!!!!!!!

In order to keep the peace between my brain and my tastebuds, I slathered each bite with a peice of ginger and the orange sauce. I was so distracted that I didn't even try to figure out what the orange sauce was. I ate it all. If I hadn't been in public, I may have licked the plate. I ate Minke and then I took a big, big swig of wine. After that night, I was done with the level 5 food experimentation. I will sort of sadly report that I never tried the rotten putrid shark. Call me chicken. Maybe I copped out. But the truth was, after the puffin, I was feeling less, well motivated, to test the limits of my tastebuds. I was putting it off till the end of the trip. But then I came down with a terrible sore throat. And if Icelanders need a shot of brenevin, also known as black death, to wash down this nasty treat, then that means I need TWO shots to wash it down. The thought of an extremely strong liquor running down my raw, sore throat made me want to cry. So, no Hakarl for me, not this time anyway.

Here is an unflattering photo of me chowing on supposedly the world's best hot dog. They are pretty good, I will say. And at $2.50, a bargain meal!!

iceland? well, hell yes!

How I ended up in Iceland was a complete whim. My husband and I were deciding where to go on our next trip. He wanted to go to Europe. I wanted to do "outdoorsy" stuff. Since we only had about a week and a half, I easily crossed out far away lands like Asia. We decided against Latin America because of a surf trip we were thinking of doing a few months later (and now are not because we decided on a far away land instead). So Europe it was. We pulled out a map. He started pointing at places and soon became frustrated (the happy and cute kind) because everywhere he pointed, I said "been there". Then he pointed to Iceland. Yes! Perfect! We bought flights a couple days later.

I didn't know much about Iceland. I just knew it would be great. Fast forward seven months, and there we were. Having a beer at the bar by our gate, which read: Reykjavik. The flight from Boston is only 4:40 and we were scheduled to land at the crack of dawn. It was such a short flight. We landed, bought wine and whiskey at duty free, went through customs, got our bag, boarded a bus and were at our hotel by 8:30 in the morning. It was the most painless international trip EVER. Hell, it was a hundred times better then the countless flights I have taken from Seattle to Vermont on a red eye. I was pretty tired, mostly from the red eye, not so much the 4 hour time change.

After a power nap, we left our little studio apt. Shocked that it was sunny, we went up the church tower to take in the view. We walked around, had an ATM eat our card next to a cafe. Went in said cafe, where we learned it happens a lot. The waitress called the bank. We ordered. We paid an arm and a leg for a coffee, a beer, a pain au chocolate and a bowl of soup. We wandered some more. Got our card back. Bought some groceries. Made a nice dinner at "home" of mystery meat schnitzel and rice. Got sleepy. Went to bed. Woke up at 1am, when everyone else in Reykjavik was just starting to go out, it was the Friday night runtur, after all! Contemplated going out. Went back to sleep. Just a typical first day on a European vacation.

Reykjavik has very colorful buildings. I always love places like this. There isn't enough color in the US! Here is a shot from the top of the church, Hallgrimskirkja.
Skogafoss. There are waterfalls everywhere in Iceland.

This is Gullfoss, the most well known (and touristy) waterfall. Most people, including us, did the traditional "Golden Circle" which takes you to Þingvellir National Park, where you can see the North American and Eurasian plates splitting apart above sea level, Gullfoss, and Geysir, the "original" geysir. Geysir doesn't erupt anymore, but there is one next to it that does.

Looking east from the American plate. This mountain is on the Eurasian Plate.

Eyjafjallajökull, the volcano that disrupted air traffic in 2010. No one can pronounced it or spell it correctly, but all it means is island-mountain-glacier: Eyja-fjalla-jökull.

Here we are in a cave!

east vs. west

I am an east coaster. Born and raised in Vermont. New England is home. It's the land of tiny states. A product of a town with one light, I am also at home in New York City. Ethan Allen, Benedict Arnold, Calvin Coolidge. Covered bridges, historical homesteads, revolutionary war forts. The New Year begins in New York City. I love the pockets of subcultures that dot this part of the country. I, first and foremost, identify myself as a Vermonter. But I hold each state in New England, Upstate NY, and NYC very close to my heart. I love where I come from. And I love Seattle.

One day, while living in Rhode Island, I decided it was time to leave. Time to explore a new territory. First, I took a pit stop in Switzerland. Not exactly on the way, but a worthy side trip. Once I returned from two weeks of celebrating la fete and eating Gruyere, I packed up a trunk full of the bare necessities and headed out on a classic USA road trip with my best friend. Final destination: Seattle, Washington. I had no job or even any prospects lined up. I had never been to Seattle. In fact, at that point in my life, the only place I had been on the west cost was L.A., for a two day STA Travel retreat. But, that was the excitement of it all. Not knowing anything. Committing to the unknown.

I didn't know what I would do when I got there, but it didn't matter. It was liberating. We drove all over the country. We lived in the moment and this allowed us to discover places we never would have visited had it all been planned out. When we finally arrived into Seattle, it was exciting, yet scary. One journey was over and it was time to start the next. Needless to say, the events that took place over the next two years were completely unreal to the point of which Hollywood would have agreed.

In this beautiful town in Texas, we took a wrong turn and literally ended up in the middle of no where. Nothing but us, some tumbleweed, and luckily, enough gasoline to get the hell out.

When we decided to take a detour to Colorado, we realized the Grand Canyon would have to wait. This lead us to the discovery of Palo Duro Canyon outside Amarillo, Texas. Not as breathtaking as the GC I'm sure, but it was the moment we finally realized where we were headed: the Great American West! Vast, huge and nothing like home.

New Mexico. Knew nothing about it, and still don't. The highlight of our time in NM consisted of the first sign of hills after hours of flatness while lost in the Texas Panhandle. And probably Subway.

Colorado is officially the only land locked state I could live in. Vermont doesn't count. Because the ocean is less then four hours away. And Lake Champlain is huge.

Changing our route to include Colorado meant we ended up at Arches National Park in Utah. Definitely one of the major highlights of the whole trip.


Road trips aren't just about the destinations. It's about being on the road. In a car, for hours and hours. We had a system, which worked brilliantly. We were self entertained. We were the perfect roadtrippin' duo. We hit 100,000 miles somewhere. We listened to a lot of music. iPods did not yet exist, which meant we lugged a monstrously large collection of cd's.

Originally, I thought I would move to Seattle for two years or so and then move back east and settle in Boston. But that didn't happen. I lived in the Seattle area for about five years. Long enough for me to grows some roots. I moved back to Vermont and work remotely for my company in Seattle. I travel back to Seattle twice a year for two or three weeks at a time. I never really had to let go. When I am in Seattle, I feel like I am home. It's dreary winters and tepid summers hold me tight. Perhaps it's all a bit romanticized. When I'm there for a visit I don't have to deal with the things I don't like about Seattle. I spend all my time with friends. Eat my favorite foods. Drink too much. Gaze lovingly at the dramatically jagged mountains, if they are out.

Seattle and Burlington are similar. Active, outdoorsy, environmental liberals. A large body of water hugged by a large mountain range on both sides. There are 3000 miles separating my east and west coast homes. I'm unofficially bi-coastal. And I intend to keep it that way.

This shot could be either place:

Mt. Mansfield, elevation 4,395 feet. Vermont's highest peak:

Mt. Rainier, elevation 14,411 feet. Washington's highest peak:

el otro camino de santiago

Two hours later, we land into Punta Arenas. The pandemonium begins. It's December 20, 6:45pm, over 13 hours later then my scheduled flight out. I'm supposed to be in Santiago. I'm on standby for the 11:30pm flight. I hang around this fantastic terminal with another American, 2 Brits and a Nicaraguan-Floridian couple (let's call them Carlos and Anita because I can't remember their names). The six of us all have international flights to catch tomorrow. The ones who don't all head back to the hotel. Miraculously, all the French passengers made it out. I suspect they had an insider... what else could explain it! I email back and forth with Santiago. I skype with my office in Seattle. The American catches the flight. I'm making the flight... maybe! Carlos, Anita and I check our bags and head to the gate. We're squealing in anxious anticipation, only to be turned away at the gate. We sigh and walk back down to retrieve our luggage.

The Brits are not happy and are taking it out on the wrong people. We catch a ride back to our hotel. My roommate is not in the room. It's midnight. I hear her at the door so I sneak over and open it. She's there with one of the Dutch brothers. We are all laughing. We're all still here! I'm up until 1:30am chatting and repacking, since now I have time. I wake up at 3am, head down to the lobby to meet the other 4 and we catch a ride back the airport. We are all on standby for the 5:30am flight. How I wished I was sleeping in Santiago... getting plenty of rest before my wine tour that is now cancelled. The Brit's crankiness is irational and irritating, so I block them out. Carlos and Anita are a riot. Carlos, as he has been the entire time, is wheeling and dealing with the ticket agent in Spanish. I had given up hours ago, why not? Carlos was clearly the best one to play team translator. They and the Brits mutually decide that if there is only one spot, I can have it. How sweet.

At this point, I am almost certain that none of us will make the flight. It was overbooked by 35 seats, and the rest of the flights were no different. Christmas is days away and everyone is flying. I'm seriously coming up with plan B. I'm wondering how lame it would be to spend Christmas in Punta Arenas, and that I would have much preferred to be stuck in Ushuaia. Suddenly, I hear Carlos cry out "WE GOT IT!! ALL OF US!!" We celebrated as if we had just won the World Cup. We're in the air, I pop on the tunes and wonder what I'll do in Santiago for 12 hours.

I collect my luggage and head outside. It's swelteringly hot compared to where I was 12 hours ago. I get in the car with my driver. He only spoke Spanish and was so enthusiastic about his country. The best part was that I could understand him, unlike how I felt when I first arrived into Buenos Aires. He told me all about Santiago, I told him all about my unknown arrival into Santiago. He drops me at the hotel, where I was supposed to have checked in 24 hours ago, and I showered and dug out my flip flops. I met up with some people, had some lunch, a double espresso and then set off on a little whirlwind tour of the city.

That evening, I am all ready and checked in for my 11 hour non stop flight to New York. I wandered around the terminal thinking how fast life moves. Three nights ago, I was watching the sun set in Antarctica. Two nights ago, I was watching the fog envelope our vessel in Antarctica. Last night, I was making plans of how to celebrate Christmas in Punta Arenas. Now I'm boarding a flight to New York City. Back to reality. At least when I arrive home, my blood will be a little thicker and ready to take on the Northeast winter.

antarctica: part five

Antarctica. The last travel frontier for many of my fellow cruisers; some of whom where easily twice my age. And there I am, 30 years old, crossing Antarctica off as my #4. I have yet to visit Asia, Africa or anywhere in Oceania, Oz, or New Zealand.

When I was back in Punta Arenas, packing with my cabin mate, I realized our trip was 6 days and 5 nights. At that time, I was thinking it was only 5 days. A sweet discovery! Why I thought this? Well, I'll blame working in the Galapagos where cruises are either 8, 5, or 4 days. At least were; that's another story. Our last night on board was bittersweet. I didn't want to leave yet, but time stops for no one. The sunset that night was an incredible one; a little gem at the end of the journey.

We awoke the next morning, only to be socked in. The night sky had us fooled with its dazzling display of orange and pink. The weather worsened and we soon found ourselves having a second "farewell dinner" and spending another night anchored off shore, only a kilometer away from the orange stations dotting the shoreline hidden behind the fog.

It turns out time had stopped, for just a day. Sure, the fact of how this delay would affect our continuing travel plans loomed over our heads. But what can you do? Everyone seemed to be in good spirits.

By mid afternoon the next day, we were having lunch, again. The sun was coming out and the skies had cleared. Time to go. As we walked back to the airstrip, it was hard to believe how clear the skies were. When I first found out that I was going to Antarctica and that I'd be skipping the Drake and flying, I thought it was great. Instead of spending 4 days traversing some of the roughest seas on the planet, I could use that time to explore more of Argentina and trek on a glacier or something. I guarantee that I'd have spent my time laying in bed. Or perhaps on the floor. But leaving Antarctica left me so curious. Next time, whenever that may be, I will certainly sign myself up to cross this infamous body of water.

Incoming. The next round of passengers. I heard they were stuck for several days at the end of their trip due to weather.

Fancy iPhone shots.
One last post about this trip coming up. In 9 weeks I'm off to Iceland. I have aspirations of not taking 8 months to write about it.