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The international airport in Iceland
is at Keflavik, a town about 50km southwest of the capital. A bus carried passengers from there into the
city, and one could buy tickets on the plane before landing. Although I had bought my ticket as a Finnair
flight, the last leg into Iceland and first leg out were actually on an
Icelandair plane. Disembarking I was
almost distraught with excitement. A
lifelong dream had come true and I could scarcely contain myself. The bus drove us through lava fields that
reminded me of the east coast of Taiwan - rough, spiky black rock upon which
very little grows. The sky was overcast
and the temperature a delightfully frigid 10˚C.
I was on cloud nine. I sat beside
an English professor from an Ivy League university - I forget which one at this
point. He was here for a conference and,
like myself, had dreamed of coming here for years. He told me interesting facts about this
place, one of which was that Iceland has a very long history of literacy. At a time when most mainland Europeans could
not read or write, Icelanders worked as scribes, copying and translating
documents and manuscripts in several European languages. Fascinating! I must have been intimidated by his knowledge
and position because I found myself fumbling over my words and taking way too
long to choose smart vocabulary. In
short, I was a blithering idiot.
Some gnomish green moss grew on the shadowy rock, but there
was not a tree to be seen. The bus
deposited us at BSI Bus Station, and I got a map from the information desk and
directions to my guest house. The clerk
suggested that I take a taxi, but I insisted on walking. I said if I got lost I would just hail a
cab. She said that taxis do not work
that way in Iceland - you have to call them, and she gave me the number. Not that I was using my phone as a calling
device - I'd removed the SIM card to avoid roaming charges and was only using
it as a WiFi device. Well, I did not get
lost, but I was utterly dejected at what I found.
I love to fly into places across the globe on Google Earth,
and I have visited Reykjavik many times from my office desk. One of the most notable features of this town
is its brightly coloured buildings.
Naturally, this was what I was expecting. As I walked along Hringbraut in the direction
of my room, the buildings on both sides of the road were grey and dismal. As I got nearer to my destination, no sign
was visible announcing the name Nordustjarnan Guesthouse. I found the street number and hesitantly
ascended the six steps to the entrance.
There on the tiniest sliver of paper taped above the letter slit was the
name I sought. The door was locked. Beside it was a intercom keypad, one of whose
buttons was labeled "CALL".
Amazed and shocked, I pressed this button. I could hear a number being dialed, a sound
reminiscent of an old-style modem from yesteryear dialing an internet
connection.
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| My guesthouse |
A man answered and told me he would
let me in and I was to go upstairs where I would find my name taped to the door
of my bedroom. I entered, expecting to
find a receptionist to pay, but there was no one. I dutifully climbed the stairs and found my labeled
space. The room itself was comfortable,
but I'd forgotten that I'd have to share the bathroom, which I really cannot
abide. However, Iceland is very
expensive, and any choice with a private throne cost half what I pay monthly in
rent at home. I entered, dropped my bags
and left to go exploring. Most important
was to find a supermarket as I didn't think I could afford to try any
restaurant. I was thoroughly astonished
at the prices of every single item. For
the first time on the trip, I thought I had made a horrible mistake. I anticipated sitting in my room for two days
and doing nothing at all because I would not be able to afford it.
But that was NOT GOING TO HAPPEN. I was not about to let this initial trauma halt
my purpose. I bought water and a little
food, returned to my room as it was already quite late, and counted my
pennies. Gloomy, I went to bed and hoped
for something good the next day. On the
second morning, there was still no sign of a staff member of any description. A
family staying in a room downstairs was eating their breakfast in a shared
dining room. I saw no extra breakfast
laid out, which was odd because my booking confirmation announced breakfast at €10
a night. (As an aside, I find this a
very odd description - who eats breakfast at night?)
I departed the guesthouse before 7am, found a coffee shop
where I could afford breakfast, then pulled myself together and started to walk
to take in the sites. The colourful
buildings began to show, but at the same time I started to get a little
chilly. Whereas I had been disappointed
by the heat in the Baltics, here I was underprepared for the cold - I needed a
second jacket as I'd come with only a fleece, so I located the biggest shopping
mall among the pieces of information I'd gathered and headed there. It took about an hour to walk there, but the
walk kept me warmish.
I arrived before the shops opened which
gave me some time to warm up, and there was one small coffee shop that was
already operating, so I sat and wrote in my notebook. When the stores opened, I went in search of
said jacket. The jackets were also priced
around the same as half a month's rent. It
was at this point that I decided to charge purchases to my credit card. I'd been saving the card only to pay for
hotels, and had kept a debit balance in it so that I would not owe anything
upon my return home. All other expenses
I'd been paying in cash. Once I'd made
that decision, I started to feel a little better. And then I found it: Hagkaup, the store that
would completely lighten my mood and allow me to start enjoying my visit.
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| A life saver |
Here I found not only an affordable jacket,
just the right thickness to complement my fleece, but also many other
affordable products. Here I bought gifts
for my goddaughter Kira who had her birthday while I was away, and her brother
Dylan whose birthday would be soon after my return. I also found a DVD of an Icelandic movie that
would make a perfect gift for my friend Anuschka. Hagkaup freed me from disappointment and
defeat.
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| Customer service |
As I continued to wander about the shopping centre, I stopped
to rest on their comfortable armchairs and studied the information brochures
I'd collected. There I learned about the
Reykjavik Welcome Card. This card could be
bought at a reasonable price for periods of 24, 48 or 72 hours. What it offered was entrance to most of the
city's museums, free rides on all buses, access to a couple of geothermal pools
and a trip to Viðey Island, the location of
the Imagine Peace Tower, which is a "Tower of Light" envisioned and
built by Yoko Ono. Now my mood was
thoroughly bright and as I left the shopping centre, I found Bonus, a
supermarket with wholly affordable products.
Relief complete!
Water in the Window?
Næsta stopp er............???????
Returning by bus to the city centre, I made my way
to the tourist office and purchased a 24 hour Welcome Card to start the next
morning - it was already too late to visit any museums today. From there, I wandered about the
streets. I stumbled upon a CD store
whose prices were within audible frequencies.
As I browsed the offerings of classical music by Icelandic composers,
some had stickers which read, "2 fyrir 2000." This translated into "buy two for 2000
krónur (Icelandic krona)." I chose
4 discs with said sticker, which amounted to a discount of 35% and made the CDs
cheaper than what I buy in Taiwan or from Amazon. Here I acquired music by Jon Asgeirsson, Bara Grimsdottir, Leifur Porarisson and Atli Heimir Sveinsson. Outside, there were buskers on the street, too, and
one group of three young men was very entertaining.
Reykjavik Trio
I happened upon a restaurant whose prices were as appetising as
the names of the dishes. To delight
customers, there were burgers with bell pepper, bacon and blue cheese sauce,
others smothered in mayonnaise, camembert and cherry tomatoes, and many more
choices. There were two options for each
burger - tiny or epic. Tiny was
essentially the same as a normal burger in any other restaurant, while epic
contained a patty twice that size. Tiny
was good enough for me, and the blue cheese option was delectable. I returned to the guesthouse that night
satiated and excited about the next day's activities.
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| Streets of Reykjavik (more) |
On the second day, I stepped out at 6:30am. Early?
I'd only been dozing since 3am, at which time I'd risen and taken a
shower. The bright nights really messed
with my sleep pattern despite the mask, and the shared bathroom really messed
with my psyche. On my walk into town, I
spoke briefly with a newspaper delivery maiden.
She told me that she works only 1 ½ hours a day and clears 65,000 ISK
after tax. I'm not sure why she felt
comfortable to divulge that to a complete stranger, but she was very happy with
her earnings. I asked her about tax in
Iceland. She said there were three tax
brackets: 37%, 42% and the last one she was not sure about. I'm so fortunate to live in Taiwan, where I
pay only 13%.
After breakfast at the same cafe where I'd eaten the day
before, I drifted down to the port, where a ship was coming in. Awaiting its arrival, a group of tour guides
huddled together making their plans for the disembarking passengers. I ambled over to ask them some
questions. They told me that around 80
ships a year pass through Iceland, docking at various ports across the
island. The tourists tend to stay for a
day, disappearing back into the cabins before evening, when the ship moves on.
Tugging in Reykjavik
There was lots of construction taking
place near water's edge in the northern part of the city. This appeared to be a newer part of
town. The completed buildings were
taller and more modern, if a little soulless.
I heard a couple of construction workers yelling at each other in
Italian. The vision of the port in the
foreground with the gorgeous backdrop of mountain gave a whiff of Cape Town. The gnomish, moss-like green on the hills,
themselves caressed by silky grey clouds, whiffed of the Isle of Skye.
Arriving at Hlemmur Bus Station, a young man came up and
asked if I "by chance could spare 100 krona?" I said sorry and continued into the
building. Then I thought, what's 100
krona? I took out a coin and exited the
building. The young man was nowhere to
be seen. I soon became aware of other
loafers hanging about with shifty eyes. Reentering
the station, I sat down to look at the map and sensed an old, tall man watching
me. He seemed to be waiting for the best
moment to pounce and ask for something. I
folded the map and walked away. Others tarried
outside. Security staff removed from the
building another young man and apologised to a woman I hadn't noticed he'd been
pestering. I didn't sense a physical
threat, but the sensation was one of being backed into a corner, a handout
demanded.
I visited the Open Air Museum. Located quite far out of the centre of the
city, historic houses have been supplanted to it, chronicling about 200 years
of building styles in Reykjavik.
Visitors can enter the houses and see original furnishings and other
displays. The staff wears period costumes
to add to the allure. In the first house
I met the third of my interesting young historians. She was a girl of only 17 years and had a
wealth of knowledge that she was youthfully excited about and happy to impart. She was able to speak 6
languages! We spoke about my travels,
her desire to travel, and her half Ugandan friend. She said that Icelandic is derived from Old
Norwegian. Norwegian itself was changed
by the influence of Danish. She also
told me that, from 1915 to 1989, Iceland enforced a prohibition on alcohol. During this time, wine was
smuggled into the country in dolls - see the doll on the sofa in the album below. Fascinating!
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| Open Air Museum (more) |
The next museum I wanted to visit was the Ásmundarsafn
"campus" of the Reykjavik Art Museum.
I took a bus out to where I thought it was. To get there, we rounded countless traffic
circles, and in places the road narrowed to one lane, obviously serving as a
deterrent to speeding - prevention is better than cure. Having reached the far edges of Reykjavik,
alighting at the final bus stop, there was no sign to point me towards the
sculpture museum. I was in a vast open
area, but whichever way I turned, there was not a single statue to be seen in a
single garden. So which way should I walk?
In the rain! I gave up. There were others to see. What I did get to see though was spectacular
undeveloped land surrounding Reykjavik - truly phenomenal beauty. While typing this journal I researched the
sculpture museum and I suspect I had the wrong information entirely - it seems
that the building and garden surrounding it are located well within the city of
Reykjavik.
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| Far eastern suburb (more) |
Here's an example of ALL'S WELL THAT
ENDS GLORIOUSLY. Because I gave up on
the statue museum, I arrived earlier at the National Iceland Museum than I
might have. Because I was hungry, I
decided to have a snack at their cafe prior to entering the exhibition
area. Because they were busy, they
hadn't cleared the table at which I sat.
Among the dirty dishes on that table (which I moved across to the
neighbouring table) lay a pamphlet advertising "The Miller's Tale: Wahala
Dey O!", a Nigerian stage adaptation of Chaucer's Canterbury Tales,
directed by Chief Eddie Ugbomah, which was to be performed that very night, and
only that night, my last in Reykjavik.
The lead actress, also Nigerian, is married to an Icelander, which I
learned from a very helpful lady at the National Gallery of Iceland, which I
was yet to visit. I put the pamphlet in
my bag, finished my snack and entered the museum. Here were exhibitions of a historical nature.
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| National Iceland Museum (more) |
From here I made my way around The Pond to the National
Gallery of Iceland. Upon entering, I
removed the pamphlet from my bag and asked for directions to the venue, so that
I could buy a ticket to the show. As
luck would have it, the theatre was just around another edge of The Pond, and I
scurried off. Tickets were still
available and cheaper than tickets to Taiwanese theatres. I returned to the National Gallery and
enjoyed their offerings, though the venue was not very big.
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| National Gallery of Iceland (more) |
My fourth port of call was the Settlement Museum,
which was quite possibly the most interesting as its exhibition ventured way
back into Icelandic history, to the first Viking settlers. This
exhibition was in a basement with low lighting, and the centre piece was an
archaeological excavation of an early communal hall. It was wonderful.
Finally, I had just 30 minutes to rush through the Hafnarhús
branch of the Reykjavik Art Museum. The
building used to be the offices and warehouses of Reykjavik Harbor.
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| Harnarhus, Reykjavik Art Museum (more) |
With all the museums eventually shut at 5:30pm, I had two
hours to kill, so I decided to return to the burger place I'd eaten at the
night before. It had been so tasty, such
unusual combinations of flavours, that I just had to try another. I went for the one with camembert, though the
Greek burger, so similar to the famous salad was also appealing and the only
thing that stopped me was the thought of eating garlic before the theatre. After dinner I made my way back to the
theatre. The show was unfortunately
disappointing. The Nigerian lady who put
it on had been unable to secure visas for the actors she had chosen, and so she
had rushed to Nigeria and filmed the show in three days. There was a theatrical introduction, and then
the movie was played. The movie looked set
to astound in its resolution, but two things bothered me. I'd come to see something on stage, and I
also had to get up at 4am the next day to get back to the airport on time. Consequently, at interval I made the decision
to leave the theatre and go back to Nordustjarnan.
Arriving there, I pressed the "CALL" button again
as I had not yet paid for the room. The
owner opened the door. God knows how
long he'd been waiting for me to get back - it was already after 8pm. Anyway, we had a little chat and all was
good, though I did lie and say I'd had a happy stay. There was nothing at all wrong with the
place. It's just that I simply do not
like the idea of bunking down with people in a home as if we're long time
friends. I am much too private for that,
much too accustomed to having my own private space. I guess this is what happens when one has
chosen a path of solitude and seclusion as the norm.
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| At 4am, the roads belonged to the ducks. |
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| YOU move out of MY wany! |
As I packed my bags I decided that I will one day return to Iceland. The people here are welcoming and warm. They seem to be a nation of "together" people, by which I mean at peace with themselves and their place in the world. And the island is dazzling in its beauty. I did not get to venture beyond Reykjavik, despite hoping to fit in a trip to the Blue Lagoon on the day I had the Welcome Card. (I did not get to it because the museums kept me well occupied, and then I'd found the pamphlet for the performance.) I MUST return to more fully appreciate this wonderful land. I will save well for accommodation that better suits my picky requirements, and venture further afield.
Passing through security the next morning at Keflavik, I set
off an alarm and had to be patted down by the Incredible Hulk. There was later a humorous announcement over
the PA: "You'd better hurry up to gate number 1 so we won't leave you
behind." On the flight to Arlanda
Airport in Stockholm, I saw something I've never seen in all my years of
flying. For the briefest second,
glancing out the window to my right, I saw a plane flying in the opposite
direction, not far away and just a little lower in altitude. Before I could even point it out to anyone
else, it was gone. Of course, coming in
to land, one often sees other aircraft, but this was the first time it happened
in the open air.
The layover in Stockholm was very short, and I barely had
enough time to get to the next plane to Helsinki. I quietly mused that my bag was unlikely to
make the same flight. In Helsinki, the
layover was over 4 hours, and that quickly became tedious. The 20 minute flight from Helsinki to Tallinn
was perhaps 10% full. It might be the
lowest occupancy of my flying experiences.
Landing in Tallinn, my bag had indeed not arrived. I was slightly concerned for two
reasons. I would be leaving to St
Petersburg in about 36 hours, and was worried it would not arrive before
then. And all my daily medicine was in
the bag. I expected that missing a
dosage or two would not be too dangerous, but if the bag did not get to me
before St Petersburg, I would certainly be in trouble. Still, I refused to get angry - what use is
that anyway. I filed a missing bag
report and watched the baggage clerk enter it online. Luckily, I'd left my hard case with clean
clothes at the Center Hotel before going to Iceland and I had the key to that
bag in my hand luggage. I decided to
save my evening medicine (which I was carrying with me day by day in case I
didn't get back to my hotel early) to take the next morning. Then I made my way to the Economy Hotel,
whose location I had scouted on my first stop in Tallinn.
