I woke up this morning with an overpowering desire to break wind. That doesn’t happen very often so I waited until I was safely seated on the biffy before letting fly. It was a good thing I waited, because that was the start of a bout of “Delhi belly”, for want of a better phrase. I managed to go downstairs and have some breakfast, but had to bow out of the offer to go for a walk around town.
I decided to hole up in the room and finish this blog, which I’ve been neglecting the entire trip, while my intestinal tract figured itself out. One thing I haven’t enjoyed about this tour is the lack of free time. In every other tour I’ve taken we’ve arrived at our destinations in the early afternoon, which meant we had two or three hours to write in our journals, read, swim in the pool, and otherwise chill the frak out. On this tour we’ve been on the go non-stop every day from 8:30am to 8:30pm. I’ve enjoyed what we’ve seen of the country but if – or when – I come back I won’t spend as much time on the road. I’ll also make sure there is more down time at the various layovers.
We stay at the hotel until 10:30pm tonight when our poor bus driver, Hisham, comes to collect us and drop us off at the airport. As I mentioned earlier, we should have ended our tour in Marrakech instead of coming back up to Casablanca. Hisham drove us here yesterday afternoon, stayed overnight, and has to wait around all damned day just to drive us 15km to the airport tonight. Meanwhile, I’m sure he’d much rather be at home in Marrakech with his family, preparing for the festival this weekend.
Oh yes, the festival. Tomorrow is Aid el-Kebir, a festival to commemorate the day when Abraham was prepared to sacrifice his son Isaac but Allah interceded and replaced Isaac with a lamb. So, every year at this time families buy a lamb or sheep and slaughter it. So, all week we’ve seen people selecting and transporting their lamb or sheep. The transportation is the most interesting. We’ve seen pushcarts with sheep in them, men on bicycles or scooters carrying their trussed-up sheep across their laps, sheep in trucks, sheep in the trunks of cars, sheep in the back seat of a fancy Mercedes, sheep, sheep, sheep. It was an unexpected addition to the cultural and religious experience of Morocco.
Well, I’ll sign off for now. It’s time for a nap.
27.11.09
26.11.09
MARRAKECH to CASABLANCA
We had free time in the morning to explore Marrakech further, but none of us felt up to heading into the medina by ourselves. A few people from the tour went for a walk. I had planned to go swimming in the grand pool at the hotel but decided against it because of my head cold. So, instead, I stayed inside and downloaded photos from my camera to my computer. Thanks to the hugely efficient Canon EOS utility software, it took around 3 hours to download 500 photos.
We had lunch at the hotel and then piled onto the bus for the drive to Casablanca. I’m not sure what our tour agents were smoking when they figured out the agenda for our trip, but for some reason we have to fly out of Casablanca when there is a perfectly acceptable airport in Marrakech with daily flights to major airports in Europe. We could have stayed another day in Marrakech and enjoyed the services at the hotel there, but instead we had to take the damned bus to Casablanca. There’s not much to do in Casablanca so we just drank wine in the hotel bar, had a grossly overpriced dinner at the hotel, and headed for bed.
We had lunch at the hotel and then piled onto the bus for the drive to Casablanca. I’m not sure what our tour agents were smoking when they figured out the agenda for our trip, but for some reason we have to fly out of Casablanca when there is a perfectly acceptable airport in Marrakech with daily flights to major airports in Europe. We could have stayed another day in Marrakech and enjoyed the services at the hotel there, but instead we had to take the damned bus to Casablanca. There’s not much to do in Casablanca so we just drank wine in the hotel bar, had a grossly overpriced dinner at the hotel, and headed for bed.
25.11.09
MARRAKECH
We started our day tour of Marrakech at 10am. Our first stop was the Koutoubia Minaret, a large minaret that is part of the Koutoubia Mosque. Of course we could only view the mosque and the minaret from the outside. From there we went to the Menara Gardens, which were quite dusty and barren and disappointing.
Our driver dropped us off inside the medina and we walked to the Bahia Palace. The palace is outrageously large with numerous complexes. Unfortunately there was some bizarre modern art exhibition being held there so the rooms were fouled with ridiculous video installations, scabby statues, oversized furniture, car doors, and paintings that look like they were created by someone’s cat.
Thankfully we didn’t spend much time at the Bahia Palace. We walked back to the bus and went to the Majorelle Botanical Gardens, which were purchased and expanded by Yves Saint Laurent. His remains are actually entombed there, which seemed a bit odd at first. I didn’t find the gardens that interesting but did my best to take a few arty shots of the colorful ceramic pots and the aloof cacti.
A large majority of the ladies in the group wanted to go shopping in the medina but Ibrahim didn’t want them to get scammed so he arranged for us to visit a crafts super marche instead. It was a vast complex on three floors where you could find everything from the cheesiest tourist kitsch to beautiful antique Berber jewelry. Mom and I found ourselves on the third floor – the antiquities floor – with a very friendly salesman who took us on a personal tour of the various items for sale. We both greatly admired the Berber jewelry, as well as the elaborate items gifted to brides and grooms upon their marriage.
The ladies stowed their purchases on the bus and then Ibrahim took us for a special lunch at a Berber restaurant where we had b’stilla pie, which I can only describe as a phyllo calzone stuffed with chicken, lentils, and rice and flavored with cinnamon and honey. It wasn’t my favorite meal of the trip, but it was interesting.
After lunch Ibrahim led us deep into the medina. He hired another “local guide”, Mohamed, to be rear guard and make sure no one was pickpocketed, harassed, or lost along the narrow and twisting laneways. It was almost impossible to take pictures on the walk through the medina because of the sheer number of people and animals in the laneways, the vast array of goods for sale that were hanging from every nook and cranny, and because Ibrahim set a pretty fast pace – possibly to deter anyone from shopping.
We did stop for a while at a spice merchant’s shop. We were led inside to a large private room where the spice merchant and two assistants introduced us to various spices and herbal remedies. One of the herbal remedies was a mix of spices and herbs that you smell to clear your sinuses. It’s also supposed to help with migraines and asthma. The merchant also brought out natural perfumes and cosmetics for everyone to try. It was a very pleasant stop and everyone bought something. I bought a 35-spice mix for cooking and the sinus/headache/asthma remedy. Mom bought the spice mix, saffron, and a jar of argon hand lotion.
After visiting the spice merchant Ibrahim led us through some more quarters in the medina. My favorite was the blacksmith’s quarter. I really wanted to stay and take pictures but Mohamed ushered me through there pretty quickly, perhaps sensing some bad juju from the locals. A few twists and turns later, Ibrahim stopped us in a relatively safe area of the medina and let us wander free for 30 minutes. Mom and I trundled off down a laneway for a bit and then turned around. Unfortunately, we missed a turn and ended up in an unfamiliar part of the medina. We retraced our steps and after a couple of hits and misses we finally found our way back to the meeting point.
For dinner that night we drove out to what I can only describe as “Moroccan Disneyland” for dinner and a show. The singers and small drum troupes were loud and annoying. The wait staff seemed angry to be there and truly disgruntled when you ordered drinks. The food, when it arrived, was pretty horrible. For example, we were served what looked like a quarter of a lamb. However, we could only scrape a few pieces of meat from the bones and skin. By the end of dinner we were all pretty annoyed and just wanted to leave but our guide Ibrahim encouraged us to stay and watch the show.
I buggered off and wandered out into the dark parking lot, which was full of tour buses. I enjoyed looking into the dimly-lit buses where drivers were reading, snoozing, playing cards, or gambling. A local dog was my only company. I would have been content to stay out there until our scheduled departure time but Ibrahim sent our driver, Hisham, out to collect me and return me to the “safety” of Moroccan Disneyland. I found a place away from the performers and surly staff and waited until I saw our group heading out to the bus. They’d watched a few minutes of the show and decided to call it a night. Ibrahim was a bit disappointed in us, but at the same time it was after 11pm and I’m sure that he and Hisham were more than happy to call it a night. So, we drove in near silence back to the hotel and headed to bed, where we all had nightmares about grisly lamb and angry Moroccan waiters.
Our driver dropped us off inside the medina and we walked to the Bahia Palace. The palace is outrageously large with numerous complexes. Unfortunately there was some bizarre modern art exhibition being held there so the rooms were fouled with ridiculous video installations, scabby statues, oversized furniture, car doors, and paintings that look like they were created by someone’s cat.
Thankfully we didn’t spend much time at the Bahia Palace. We walked back to the bus and went to the Majorelle Botanical Gardens, which were purchased and expanded by Yves Saint Laurent. His remains are actually entombed there, which seemed a bit odd at first. I didn’t find the gardens that interesting but did my best to take a few arty shots of the colorful ceramic pots and the aloof cacti.
A large majority of the ladies in the group wanted to go shopping in the medina but Ibrahim didn’t want them to get scammed so he arranged for us to visit a crafts super marche instead. It was a vast complex on three floors where you could find everything from the cheesiest tourist kitsch to beautiful antique Berber jewelry. Mom and I found ourselves on the third floor – the antiquities floor – with a very friendly salesman who took us on a personal tour of the various items for sale. We both greatly admired the Berber jewelry, as well as the elaborate items gifted to brides and grooms upon their marriage.
The ladies stowed their purchases on the bus and then Ibrahim took us for a special lunch at a Berber restaurant where we had b’stilla pie, which I can only describe as a phyllo calzone stuffed with chicken, lentils, and rice and flavored with cinnamon and honey. It wasn’t my favorite meal of the trip, but it was interesting.
After lunch Ibrahim led us deep into the medina. He hired another “local guide”, Mohamed, to be rear guard and make sure no one was pickpocketed, harassed, or lost along the narrow and twisting laneways. It was almost impossible to take pictures on the walk through the medina because of the sheer number of people and animals in the laneways, the vast array of goods for sale that were hanging from every nook and cranny, and because Ibrahim set a pretty fast pace – possibly to deter anyone from shopping.
We did stop for a while at a spice merchant’s shop. We were led inside to a large private room where the spice merchant and two assistants introduced us to various spices and herbal remedies. One of the herbal remedies was a mix of spices and herbs that you smell to clear your sinuses. It’s also supposed to help with migraines and asthma. The merchant also brought out natural perfumes and cosmetics for everyone to try. It was a very pleasant stop and everyone bought something. I bought a 35-spice mix for cooking and the sinus/headache/asthma remedy. Mom bought the spice mix, saffron, and a jar of argon hand lotion.
After visiting the spice merchant Ibrahim led us through some more quarters in the medina. My favorite was the blacksmith’s quarter. I really wanted to stay and take pictures but Mohamed ushered me through there pretty quickly, perhaps sensing some bad juju from the locals. A few twists and turns later, Ibrahim stopped us in a relatively safe area of the medina and let us wander free for 30 minutes. Mom and I trundled off down a laneway for a bit and then turned around. Unfortunately, we missed a turn and ended up in an unfamiliar part of the medina. We retraced our steps and after a couple of hits and misses we finally found our way back to the meeting point.
For dinner that night we drove out to what I can only describe as “Moroccan Disneyland” for dinner and a show. The singers and small drum troupes were loud and annoying. The wait staff seemed angry to be there and truly disgruntled when you ordered drinks. The food, when it arrived, was pretty horrible. For example, we were served what looked like a quarter of a lamb. However, we could only scrape a few pieces of meat from the bones and skin. By the end of dinner we were all pretty annoyed and just wanted to leave but our guide Ibrahim encouraged us to stay and watch the show.
I buggered off and wandered out into the dark parking lot, which was full of tour buses. I enjoyed looking into the dimly-lit buses where drivers were reading, snoozing, playing cards, or gambling. A local dog was my only company. I would have been content to stay out there until our scheduled departure time but Ibrahim sent our driver, Hisham, out to collect me and return me to the “safety” of Moroccan Disneyland. I found a place away from the performers and surly staff and waited until I saw our group heading out to the bus. They’d watched a few minutes of the show and decided to call it a night. Ibrahim was a bit disappointed in us, but at the same time it was after 11pm and I’m sure that he and Hisham were more than happy to call it a night. So, we drove in near silence back to the hotel and headed to bed, where we all had nightmares about grisly lamb and angry Moroccan waiters.
24.11.09
TAROUDANT to MARRAKECH
This was our last long road trip of the trip. We only had to cover 250km, but the road was a single lane and wound up and up and up into the High Atlas Mountains. Passing other cars was fantastically scary but thankfully there wasn’t much traffic on the road.
We had a few photo stops along the way to break up the trip. At one of the stops Lorraine made a “technical stop”. A few kilometers (and a few hundred meters higher) she felt car sick and unfortunately she didn’t ask the driver to pull over until it was too late. We did the best we could to help her clean up – and to clean up the bus. Sadly, there was no option but to continue driving. After much urging she did agree to ride at the front of the bus where she could see outside the front window. That seemed to help and she had no further problems.
Another stop was the Tinmel Mosque, a disused mosque that is one of the oldest in Morocco. It was spectacularly beautiful, even in a state of decline. I couldn’t imagine how amazing it must’ve been when it was a working mosque.
We arrived in Marrakech in the early evening. We had a slow drive through the medina but didn’t get out of the bus. After we checked in at the hotel some of the people in our group went on a horse carriage ride around and through the medina. However, Mom and I were quite tired – and I was starting to develop a head cold – so we stayed in and had an early night.
We had a few photo stops along the way to break up the trip. At one of the stops Lorraine made a “technical stop”. A few kilometers (and a few hundred meters higher) she felt car sick and unfortunately she didn’t ask the driver to pull over until it was too late. We did the best we could to help her clean up – and to clean up the bus. Sadly, there was no option but to continue driving. After much urging she did agree to ride at the front of the bus where she could see outside the front window. That seemed to help and she had no further problems.
Another stop was the Tinmel Mosque, a disused mosque that is one of the oldest in Morocco. It was spectacularly beautiful, even in a state of decline. I couldn’t imagine how amazing it must’ve been when it was a working mosque.
We arrived in Marrakech in the early evening. We had a slow drive through the medina but didn’t get out of the bus. After we checked in at the hotel some of the people in our group went on a horse carriage ride around and through the medina. However, Mom and I were quite tired – and I was starting to develop a head cold – so we stayed in and had an early night.
23.11.09
OUARZAZATE to TAROUDANT
Once again, it was a long day on the bus. On the way to Taroudant we stopped at Ait Bin Haddou, an ancient ksar that you can only access by crossing a wadi (river basin). Luckily for us the river was quite low and there were stepping stones that we could use to cross.
We had a local guide, whose name I can’t remember, who led us through the ksar and told us about various repairs made by UNESCO in the past few years. Hundreds of people used to live in the ksar but now only eight Bedouin families live there year-round. Most of the structures in the ksar have been converted to small shops where vendors peddle the typical tourist items. However, there are a few locals artisans who sell weavings and paintings.
You can climb to the top of the ksar where there is a watch tower that provides a picturesque view of the entire valley. It was a bit of a lung-buster (for me, at least) to get to the top but it was well worth the effort. Part of the problem with climbing up to the tower was the goat-like manner with which our guide skipped up the stairs and slopes. He must have been in his 60s but he was bloody impossible to keep up with.
On the way to Taroudant we also pulled over to observe “goats in trees”. It’s exactly as it sounds – apparently this part of Morocco is famous for its goats, which climb into the trees to eat the leaves when there are no other shrubs or plants to eat on the ground. I think I took about 100 photos of the little buggers scampering around in the branches, but unfortunately the photos didn’t turn out very well because as soon as I got close enough to a tree to take a good photo the goats would jump out and run away. You need a proper telephoto lens to capture them “in the act”, so to speak.
We arrived in Taroudant in the early evening and our guide led us on a quick tour of the souks. The traffic was absolutely astounding. We had barely stepped off the bus when we were nearly struck by speeding scooters and donkey carts. I tried to take street shots that captured the chaos but it was hard to get a static image that properly conveyed the chaos. (If – or when – I return to Morocco I’m bringing a small video camera just so I can take videos of the streets.)
We had a local guide, whose name I can’t remember, who led us through the ksar and told us about various repairs made by UNESCO in the past few years. Hundreds of people used to live in the ksar but now only eight Bedouin families live there year-round. Most of the structures in the ksar have been converted to small shops where vendors peddle the typical tourist items. However, there are a few locals artisans who sell weavings and paintings.
You can climb to the top of the ksar where there is a watch tower that provides a picturesque view of the entire valley. It was a bit of a lung-buster (for me, at least) to get to the top but it was well worth the effort. Part of the problem with climbing up to the tower was the goat-like manner with which our guide skipped up the stairs and slopes. He must have been in his 60s but he was bloody impossible to keep up with.
On the way to Taroudant we also pulled over to observe “goats in trees”. It’s exactly as it sounds – apparently this part of Morocco is famous for its goats, which climb into the trees to eat the leaves when there are no other shrubs or plants to eat on the ground. I think I took about 100 photos of the little buggers scampering around in the branches, but unfortunately the photos didn’t turn out very well because as soon as I got close enough to a tree to take a good photo the goats would jump out and run away. You need a proper telephoto lens to capture them “in the act”, so to speak.
We arrived in Taroudant in the early evening and our guide led us on a quick tour of the souks. The traffic was absolutely astounding. We had barely stepped off the bus when we were nearly struck by speeding scooters and donkey carts. I tried to take street shots that captured the chaos but it was hard to get a static image that properly conveyed the chaos. (If – or when – I return to Morocco I’m bringing a small video camera just so I can take videos of the streets.)
22.11.09
ERFOUD to OUARZAZATE
It was another long road trip today. We stopped beside the highway at one point to admire the deep wells dug centuries ago to bring water from the High Atlas Mountains to the desert. Today the wells are largely empty but there are some world heritage groups that are planning to reinvigorate the wells so that they function again.
We also pulled over when we spotted a herd of camels. A woman and her young daughter came running over to ask for money, which we duly handed over. Our driver, Hisham, also gave the young girl a sweet sticky bun, which she happily bit into.
I could be wrong, but I think we also stopped to admire the Dades Valley, an oasis-like valley filled with palm trees and small farm plots. While taking photos our bus was mobbed by vendors wanting to sell us everything from photos with a camel to fossils to scarves and jewelry. There were still holding out goods as we drove away.
We had lunch at a restaurant in the Todra Gorges. Unfortunately several other tour buses pulled up and disgorged swarms of tourists, which made it difficult to get an unspoiled picture of the gorges and the surrounding area. I wandered up the road a bit after lunch and received compliments on my tattoo from several vendors. (Contrary to my expectations, Moroccans quite like my tattoo. It’s been quite a conversation starter on the trip.) I had a good chat with one vendor about Berber tattoos. As far as I can tell, only Berber women get tattoos. They are typically facial tattoos that identify their tribe or region.
We arrived at Ouarzazate (WHER-za-zat) quite late and really only had time to have a quick shower before heading to dinner and then to bed.
We also pulled over when we spotted a herd of camels. A woman and her young daughter came running over to ask for money, which we duly handed over. Our driver, Hisham, also gave the young girl a sweet sticky bun, which she happily bit into.
I could be wrong, but I think we also stopped to admire the Dades Valley, an oasis-like valley filled with palm trees and small farm plots. While taking photos our bus was mobbed by vendors wanting to sell us everything from photos with a camel to fossils to scarves and jewelry. There were still holding out goods as we drove away.
We had lunch at a restaurant in the Todra Gorges. Unfortunately several other tour buses pulled up and disgorged swarms of tourists, which made it difficult to get an unspoiled picture of the gorges and the surrounding area. I wandered up the road a bit after lunch and received compliments on my tattoo from several vendors. (Contrary to my expectations, Moroccans quite like my tattoo. It’s been quite a conversation starter on the trip.) I had a good chat with one vendor about Berber tattoos. As far as I can tell, only Berber women get tattoos. They are typically facial tattoos that identify their tribe or region.
We arrived at Ouarzazate (WHER-za-zat) quite late and really only had time to have a quick shower before heading to dinner and then to bed.
21.11.09
ERFOUD
According to our original itinerary we were supposed to get up at 3:30am for a 4x4 ride out into the desert and then a camel ride up into the dunes to watch the sun rise. Our guide, Ibrahim, suggested that we reschedule the camel tour to the evening, which we all agreed would be a much better idea!
So, in the morning we went to a “fossil” factory instead. Back in the day, the entire region was underwater. So, there are a lot of preserved sea creatures in the rocks around Erfoud. One of the city’s main industries now is digging up rocks containing these fossilized sea creatures and then cutting the rocks into various things like tables, sinks, statues, etc. where you can clearly see the fossils.
It was quite fascinating to see the workshop where the men cut and polished the rocks. They were a bit peeved because they had to stop production while we were touring the facility. (The dust from the cutting and sanding is pretty ferocious.) Also, they didn’t particularly like us taking photos of them. (Oh, well – if the boss says it’s okay, I will take photos as I please.)
I won’t spoil the surprise for my sister, but I did pick up a couple of things in the fossil shop. Again, I didn’t really bargain before laying down my credit card. I know I paid too much because the salesman came up to me later and gave me a bunch of pendants for free.
From there we drove to Rissani where we stopped at a beautiful mosque – at least, I think it was a mosque. Anyway, it had a beautiful inner courtyard full of palm trees and fountains. The dates were covered with cloth to protect them from birds, small rodents, and the worst date-stealers of all, humans.
From there we drove to the Oulad Abdelhalim Ksar, a walled fortress where the sultan used to keep his older brides and from which he conducted his business in the southern regions. The ksar is largely ruined but a few Berber families still live there. Our guide led us to the home of an older Berber woman who let us come into her home. She didn’t want her photo taken because of old beliefs about cameras stealing your soul, so we limited ourselves to capturing the essence of her home – the cooking area, the dates drying in the sun, the cat lounging under the palm tree, the laundry hanging on the line. We left her a few hundred dirham as thanks and she was very grateful. Our guide told us later that in a few days there was a major celebration and the woman would use the money to buy flour and sugar and salt to make cakes for her family and guests.
We returned to our hotel around 2pm for a quick change into camel-worthy clothing. Two 4x4 Toyota Land Cruisers picked us up at 3pm and took us on an hour-long ride out into the desert to the oasis of Merzouga. It was quite a bumpy ride but very fun. At the oasis we mounted our camels and started an hour-long trek out into the Erg Chebbi dunes.
The camel ride that Mom and I went on in Tunisia was nowhere near as amazing as the camel ride into the Erg Chebbi dunes. For instance, there were DUNES! In Tunisia we just rode our camels out to a flat spot in the sand and rock desert. More importantly, we rode for a long, long time on the camels. In Tunisia we had a slow 30-minute ride out into the desert and a perfunctory 15-minute ride back.
The sunsets in Morocco aren’t as impressive as they are in other parts of the world. The sun descends very quickly to the horizon and disappears in less than a minute. There is no red or orange glow lighting up the sky afterwards. So, you have to take your pictures quickly and then get the hell out of dodge before it becomes completely dark out.
We got to experience one more thing on the dunes – Berber skiing. This involves sitting on a blanket and being pulled down the dune by your guide. Mom skied down the dune on one blanket while Sandra and Leikny skied down the dune on the other blanket.
We said goodbye to our camels at Merzouga and made the long and bumpy ride back to our hotel in the Toyota Land Cruisers. We all headed to our rooms to de-sand and shower before dinner. Mom collected about 1 cup of red desert sand from her shoes alone.
So, in the morning we went to a “fossil” factory instead. Back in the day, the entire region was underwater. So, there are a lot of preserved sea creatures in the rocks around Erfoud. One of the city’s main industries now is digging up rocks containing these fossilized sea creatures and then cutting the rocks into various things like tables, sinks, statues, etc. where you can clearly see the fossils.
It was quite fascinating to see the workshop where the men cut and polished the rocks. They were a bit peeved because they had to stop production while we were touring the facility. (The dust from the cutting and sanding is pretty ferocious.) Also, they didn’t particularly like us taking photos of them. (Oh, well – if the boss says it’s okay, I will take photos as I please.)
I won’t spoil the surprise for my sister, but I did pick up a couple of things in the fossil shop. Again, I didn’t really bargain before laying down my credit card. I know I paid too much because the salesman came up to me later and gave me a bunch of pendants for free.
From there we drove to Rissani where we stopped at a beautiful mosque – at least, I think it was a mosque. Anyway, it had a beautiful inner courtyard full of palm trees and fountains. The dates were covered with cloth to protect them from birds, small rodents, and the worst date-stealers of all, humans.
From there we drove to the Oulad Abdelhalim Ksar, a walled fortress where the sultan used to keep his older brides and from which he conducted his business in the southern regions. The ksar is largely ruined but a few Berber families still live there. Our guide led us to the home of an older Berber woman who let us come into her home. She didn’t want her photo taken because of old beliefs about cameras stealing your soul, so we limited ourselves to capturing the essence of her home – the cooking area, the dates drying in the sun, the cat lounging under the palm tree, the laundry hanging on the line. We left her a few hundred dirham as thanks and she was very grateful. Our guide told us later that in a few days there was a major celebration and the woman would use the money to buy flour and sugar and salt to make cakes for her family and guests.
We returned to our hotel around 2pm for a quick change into camel-worthy clothing. Two 4x4 Toyota Land Cruisers picked us up at 3pm and took us on an hour-long ride out into the desert to the oasis of Merzouga. It was quite a bumpy ride but very fun. At the oasis we mounted our camels and started an hour-long trek out into the Erg Chebbi dunes.
The camel ride that Mom and I went on in Tunisia was nowhere near as amazing as the camel ride into the Erg Chebbi dunes. For instance, there were DUNES! In Tunisia we just rode our camels out to a flat spot in the sand and rock desert. More importantly, we rode for a long, long time on the camels. In Tunisia we had a slow 30-minute ride out into the desert and a perfunctory 15-minute ride back.
The sunsets in Morocco aren’t as impressive as they are in other parts of the world. The sun descends very quickly to the horizon and disappears in less than a minute. There is no red or orange glow lighting up the sky afterwards. So, you have to take your pictures quickly and then get the hell out of dodge before it becomes completely dark out.
We got to experience one more thing on the dunes – Berber skiing. This involves sitting on a blanket and being pulled down the dune by your guide. Mom skied down the dune on one blanket while Sandra and Leikny skied down the dune on the other blanket.
We said goodbye to our camels at Merzouga and made the long and bumpy ride back to our hotel in the Toyota Land Cruisers. We all headed to our rooms to de-sand and shower before dinner. Mom collected about 1 cup of red desert sand from her shoes alone.
20.11.09
FES to ERFOUD
We left Fes early and hit the road for Erfoud, which is about 400kms south east of Fes and fairly close to the Algerian border. We had a lot of stops in the mountains to take photos of the river valleys and so on, but it was largely just a long road trip. We stopped in one village to take photos of a ksar, or fortified village, and got mobbed by local children. That was quite fun. I also befriended a “Kitler” at one of the gas station rest stops. I wanted to bundle him up and take him home with me, he was such a friendly fellow.
Our hotel in Erfoud, the Xaluca, was pretty amazing. It reminded me a lot of the hotel we stayed at in Douz in Tunisia. It had a really strong desert theme and a gorgeous swimming pool in the center of the hotel complex. As soon as we got to our room and collected our luggage from the porter, I dug out my swimsuit and hit the pool.
Of course, it took a few tries to get my full body into the pool. It was a balmy 12C night but the pool had cooled off substantially since the afternoon and it felt like I was wading into ice water at first. When I finally dove in it was a shock but I got over it in a minute or two. It was magical to swim in the lighted pool, at night, all by myself.
The highlight of dinner was a wee white camel, who was led into the restaurant by his handler. He just stood there placidly while we all ooohed and aaahed. He drank from a bottle of water, then promptly pooped on the carpet. The staff discretely swept up the mess, and after a few more minutes of paparazzi flash bulbs the handler turned the baby camel around and led him out and, I assume, home for the night.
Our hotel in Erfoud, the Xaluca, was pretty amazing. It reminded me a lot of the hotel we stayed at in Douz in Tunisia. It had a really strong desert theme and a gorgeous swimming pool in the center of the hotel complex. As soon as we got to our room and collected our luggage from the porter, I dug out my swimsuit and hit the pool.
Of course, it took a few tries to get my full body into the pool. It was a balmy 12C night but the pool had cooled off substantially since the afternoon and it felt like I was wading into ice water at first. When I finally dove in it was a shock but I got over it in a minute or two. It was magical to swim in the lighted pool, at night, all by myself.
The highlight of dinner was a wee white camel, who was led into the restaurant by his handler. He just stood there placidly while we all ooohed and aaahed. He drank from a bottle of water, then promptly pooped on the carpet. The staff discretely swept up the mess, and after a few more minutes of paparazzi flash bulbs the handler turned the baby camel around and led him out and, I assume, home for the night.
19.11.09
FES
We were up and at ‘em early for a full-day tour of Fes, the first Imperial city of Morocco. Our first stop was the ceramics quarter where craftsmen made all kinds of decorative or household ceramics. I was most impressed with the men making the mosaic table tops. What a completely time-consuming job that is! The co-operative store that we visited afterwards had an overwhelming selection of ceramics for sale.
Most of the ladies on the tour wanted to buy tajines, so they were occupied with tajine shopping at one end of the store. I wasn’t planning to buy anything – I always buy pottery and always have a bitch of a time getting it home – so I just wandered about. Then, a bowl caught my eye. Then I saw a couple of matching little bowls. Six bowls later I excused myself from the shop for fear of going on a complete pottery bender.
After our pottery was safely stored in the tour bus, our guide took us on a walking tour through the Fes medina. I thought I’d seen some pretty amazing souks and medinas in Tunisia, so nothing prepared me for the complete onslaught of smells, noise, people, and animals in the Fes medina. You had to have eyes in the back of your head to avoid being trampled by the hurrying locals or the galloping donkeys laden with goods. Thankfully we had a “local guide”, Abdul, to bring up the rear and make sure everyone made it through the medina safely. Abdul was a local who had lived in the medina all of his life and was basically hired to keep us safe from pickpockets and aggressive vendors.
Initially we wandered through the dyer’s quarter, the leatherworker’s quarter, and then some general quarters where vendors sold a range of things. We stopped at one mosque that we were able to enter. I think it was the El-Attarine Medersa. Most mosques are closed to non-Muslims, which I totally agree with, and our guide told us that Fes was particularly strict about the non-Muslim rule because of abuses by the French in the past. We got a glimpse or two inside the Karaouiyine Mosque, one of the oldest mosques in North Africa. It also functions as a university.
We had the obligatory stop at a rug store where we were tempted to buy rugs, but the cost drove us out without any purchases. There was a particularly handsome kilim that I loved but I just couldn’t bring myself to shell out $800 for it.
We made one final stop before lunch – the tanneries. These are great earthen pots dug into the ground where raw hides are soaked in dyes and then dried in the sun. We were given sprigs of fresh mint before entering the tanneries to help with the smell, but it inevitably seeped around the mint and assaulted your nose and sensibilities. It was fascinating to watch the men labor in the tanneries, though, and the co-operative leather shop did have some lovely things for sale. I found the salesmen to be a bit too aggressive for my liking, though, and left the shop as soon as I could.
After lunch in the medina we walked a little further. Our guide, Ibrahim, took us to a cloth co-operative where we all went crazy over the silk blankets they had for sale for less than $40. He had to pry us out of there so we could continue our tour. We also visited a dress shop where some of the women dressed up in proper jellabas and caftans.
On our way out of the medina we stopped at the Najarin Fountain and the Musee Nejjarine, which was just next door. The building had previously been used as a caravanserai, which is a place where traders could stop and find shelter and food for themselves and their animals. The museum contained an impressive collection of household items and tools collected from the times of the caravanserai.
Our final stops for the day were the Merenid Tombs and the Royal Palace. No one goes to the Merenid Tombs to see the tombs – instead, they go for the view of the Fes medina, which is quite impressive. The Royal Palace was pretty boring. You can only look at it from the outside. So, yes, there were some pretty doors and arches but it really wasn’t worth the time and effort to go see it.
Most of the ladies on the tour wanted to buy tajines, so they were occupied with tajine shopping at one end of the store. I wasn’t planning to buy anything – I always buy pottery and always have a bitch of a time getting it home – so I just wandered about. Then, a bowl caught my eye. Then I saw a couple of matching little bowls. Six bowls later I excused myself from the shop for fear of going on a complete pottery bender.
After our pottery was safely stored in the tour bus, our guide took us on a walking tour through the Fes medina. I thought I’d seen some pretty amazing souks and medinas in Tunisia, so nothing prepared me for the complete onslaught of smells, noise, people, and animals in the Fes medina. You had to have eyes in the back of your head to avoid being trampled by the hurrying locals or the galloping donkeys laden with goods. Thankfully we had a “local guide”, Abdul, to bring up the rear and make sure everyone made it through the medina safely. Abdul was a local who had lived in the medina all of his life and was basically hired to keep us safe from pickpockets and aggressive vendors.
Initially we wandered through the dyer’s quarter, the leatherworker’s quarter, and then some general quarters where vendors sold a range of things. We stopped at one mosque that we were able to enter. I think it was the El-Attarine Medersa. Most mosques are closed to non-Muslims, which I totally agree with, and our guide told us that Fes was particularly strict about the non-Muslim rule because of abuses by the French in the past. We got a glimpse or two inside the Karaouiyine Mosque, one of the oldest mosques in North Africa. It also functions as a university.
We had the obligatory stop at a rug store where we were tempted to buy rugs, but the cost drove us out without any purchases. There was a particularly handsome kilim that I loved but I just couldn’t bring myself to shell out $800 for it.
We made one final stop before lunch – the tanneries. These are great earthen pots dug into the ground where raw hides are soaked in dyes and then dried in the sun. We were given sprigs of fresh mint before entering the tanneries to help with the smell, but it inevitably seeped around the mint and assaulted your nose and sensibilities. It was fascinating to watch the men labor in the tanneries, though, and the co-operative leather shop did have some lovely things for sale. I found the salesmen to be a bit too aggressive for my liking, though, and left the shop as soon as I could.
After lunch in the medina we walked a little further. Our guide, Ibrahim, took us to a cloth co-operative where we all went crazy over the silk blankets they had for sale for less than $40. He had to pry us out of there so we could continue our tour. We also visited a dress shop where some of the women dressed up in proper jellabas and caftans.
On our way out of the medina we stopped at the Najarin Fountain and the Musee Nejjarine, which was just next door. The building had previously been used as a caravanserai, which is a place where traders could stop and find shelter and food for themselves and their animals. The museum contained an impressive collection of household items and tools collected from the times of the caravanserai.
Our final stops for the day were the Merenid Tombs and the Royal Palace. No one goes to the Merenid Tombs to see the tombs – instead, they go for the view of the Fes medina, which is quite impressive. The Royal Palace was pretty boring. You can only look at it from the outside. So, yes, there were some pretty doors and arches but it really wasn’t worth the time and effort to go see it.
18.11.09
MEKNES AND VOLUBILIS
We all slept like the dead in Rabat. At breakfast we all commented that we felt much more ourselves and that we were excited about what the day would bring.
What the day brought, first, was a longish drive to Meknes. Our first stop in Meknes was at one of the gates into the medina. There are typically many small entrances to a medina. However, every so often there will be a big, grand gate to impress and intimidate visitors. I’m not sure which one we stopped at, but it was quite beautiful.
Our next stop was the giant granary where Moulay Ismail stored grain for his thousands of horses and for his immediate family. Moulay Ismail was a bit of a bad-ass and liked to stockpile goods and wealth to ensure that he could outlast a prolonged assault on his kingdom.
We also stopped to admire a residence from the 17th century that now houses the Musee Dar Jamai, a museum that specializes in Moroccan arts. I loved how guys were just lounging around outside, watching the world go by. Next up was the Mausoleum of Moulay Ismail. Another tour group was visiting at the same time as us so it was hard to hear our guide’s description of the various rooms, fountains, and so on. Also, our visit ended up being quite brief because we were running a bit behind schedule.
Outside the mausoleum there was a man taking photos of the building. I tried several times to get out of his picture but always seemed to be in the way. I apologized numerous times and then finally scurried across the road. We learned later that he was a ”paparazzo” who takes photos of us tourists and then tries to sell the prints to you outside your hotel. The photos he took of me are pretty horrendous because I’m always on the run.
Our next stop was the Palais Al Ismailia where we saw a demonstration of “damascening”, or the art of hammering thin strands of silver into intricate patterns on metal plates, bowls, etc. It’s an art form from Damascus that somehow found its way to Meknes many centuries ago. Meknes is the only city in which that particular art form is practiced. I bought a lovely plate and some bracelets before I remembered to barter. Oh, well.
From there we drove to the Roman ruins of Volubilis. A local guide who spoke very little English and didn’t really give a shit took us on an abbreviated tour of the site. The highlights were the Capitol, the Triumphal Arch, and several large houses that would have been occupied by rich families. I also liked the Decumanus Maximus, a large and long road that leads directly to the Triumphal Arch.
The remains of Volubilis were our last tourist stop of the day. From there we drove straight to Fes and checked in to our hotel.
What the day brought, first, was a longish drive to Meknes. Our first stop in Meknes was at one of the gates into the medina. There are typically many small entrances to a medina. However, every so often there will be a big, grand gate to impress and intimidate visitors. I’m not sure which one we stopped at, but it was quite beautiful.
Our next stop was the giant granary where Moulay Ismail stored grain for his thousands of horses and for his immediate family. Moulay Ismail was a bit of a bad-ass and liked to stockpile goods and wealth to ensure that he could outlast a prolonged assault on his kingdom.
We also stopped to admire a residence from the 17th century that now houses the Musee Dar Jamai, a museum that specializes in Moroccan arts. I loved how guys were just lounging around outside, watching the world go by. Next up was the Mausoleum of Moulay Ismail. Another tour group was visiting at the same time as us so it was hard to hear our guide’s description of the various rooms, fountains, and so on. Also, our visit ended up being quite brief because we were running a bit behind schedule.
Outside the mausoleum there was a man taking photos of the building. I tried several times to get out of his picture but always seemed to be in the way. I apologized numerous times and then finally scurried across the road. We learned later that he was a ”paparazzo” who takes photos of us tourists and then tries to sell the prints to you outside your hotel. The photos he took of me are pretty horrendous because I’m always on the run.
Our next stop was the Palais Al Ismailia where we saw a demonstration of “damascening”, or the art of hammering thin strands of silver into intricate patterns on metal plates, bowls, etc. It’s an art form from Damascus that somehow found its way to Meknes many centuries ago. Meknes is the only city in which that particular art form is practiced. I bought a lovely plate and some bracelets before I remembered to barter. Oh, well.
From there we drove to the Roman ruins of Volubilis. A local guide who spoke very little English and didn’t really give a shit took us on an abbreviated tour of the site. The highlights were the Capitol, the Triumphal Arch, and several large houses that would have been occupied by rich families. I also liked the Decumanus Maximus, a large and long road that leads directly to the Triumphal Arch.
The remains of Volubilis were our last tourist stop of the day. From there we drove straight to Fes and checked in to our hotel.
CASABLANCA
The flight from Frankfurt to Casablanca was 3.5 hours long – at least 2 hours longer than most of us anticipated. On the plus side, there is a -1 hour time difference so although we got in at 2am, it was actually just 1am local time.
We passed through customs fairly easily. However, on the way out of customs there was one final passport check. My guard quickly assessed my dazed and confused status and proposed marriage. I politely declined but another guard came over to extol the virtues of his friend. I said I’d have to think about it and that I’d be back in two weeks. I sincerely hope my suitor is on another shift.
It was a quick drive to the hotel, thank the gods, and the hotel staff processed us very efficiently, knowing that we were on our last legs. I squeezed in a shower before bed to wash off the travel and airplane sweat. Then, I laid down in the dark and embraced oblivion.
We got to sleep in a bit the next day, meaning we didn’t leave until 10am. Our first stop was the central market, a small souk where locals buy and sell fresh meats, seafood, vegetables, and fruits. It reminded me of the souks in Tunisia, as well as the local markets in Cuba.
Our next stop was Mohamed V Square, a large square with a fountain and about 10,000 pigeons flying about. The locals buy what looks like popcorn and feed it to the pigeons. Families bring their small kids to the square, hand them a bunch of corn, and then laugh their asses off as their kids get swarmed by hungry pigeons.
From there we drove to the Royal Palace which was originally built by the French so their top officials had somewhere to wine and dine dignitaries. It was taken over by the Moroccans after independence and the King made it his palace in Casablanca.. For me, the most impressive part of the mosque was the Royal Door which is wood with brass and aluminum inlay. The doors are so huge that I couldn’t even reach the door knocker.
Our final stop before lunch was the Hassan II Mosque. It has an indoor prayer hall that can accommodate 25,000 worshipers, and many thousands more can worship outside in the huge square. It is the second largest mosque in Africa after Mecca. It was a stunning complex with the mosque in the center and buildings along the outside of the square dedicated to learning and training. The noon prayer service was about to start so we saw many people entering the mosque, and, as we left, we could hear the imam start the prayer service.
Our first lunch was at a restaurant on the seaside that specialized in fish. Our guide, Ibrahim, had called ahead and ordered a set menu of salad and white fish. It was delicious and the view was quite nice, though not spectacular because of the McDonald’s across the street.
After that we drove to Rabat. Most of us passed out in the bus and snoozed for the trip, which couldn’t have been more than an hour and a half.
In Rabat our first stop was another Royal Palace. We could only take photos from 50 meters away from the entrance, but we were allowed to take photos of the soldiers and guards, which is usually strictly forbidden.
Our next stop was the Mohamed V Mausoleum. Our guide had arranged for us to arrive just before 5pm, when the guards of the mausoleum take down the flag. The ceremony was much like any flag lowering ceremony, except the bugler was horrendous. Either that or our ears aren’t trained to recognize the mellifluous tones of Moroccan bugling.
The mausoleum was a very somber place with lots of Moroccans praying and giving thanks to the former king. We were told to use hushed tones to show respect. It was quite a beautiful place, in part because there are prayer rooms to the side where family members still come to pray.
Outside the mausoleum is the Hassan Tower, the only remaining part of a mosque that was destroyed in an earthquake in the 1700s. The builders were intending to make it the largest mosque in the world but sadly it was destroyed and now the only parts standing are the tower and some adobe walls.
Our final stop of the day was the Oudaya Kasbah, which used to be a prison or stronghold but is now a largely residential district with a few merchants. We went first to a Moorish café that our guide assured us had been operating since the 1200s. He said it was the last Moorish café in operation in Morocco. After sampling some cookies and making a “technical stop” – our guide’s way to describe a pee break – we walked through the twisting Kasbah to our bus.
We were very glad to arrive at our hotel, which was very beautiful. We were all so tired that we made a half-hearted effort to have dinner and then we all shuffled off to bed.
We passed through customs fairly easily. However, on the way out of customs there was one final passport check. My guard quickly assessed my dazed and confused status and proposed marriage. I politely declined but another guard came over to extol the virtues of his friend. I said I’d have to think about it and that I’d be back in two weeks. I sincerely hope my suitor is on another shift.
It was a quick drive to the hotel, thank the gods, and the hotel staff processed us very efficiently, knowing that we were on our last legs. I squeezed in a shower before bed to wash off the travel and airplane sweat. Then, I laid down in the dark and embraced oblivion.
We got to sleep in a bit the next day, meaning we didn’t leave until 10am. Our first stop was the central market, a small souk where locals buy and sell fresh meats, seafood, vegetables, and fruits. It reminded me of the souks in Tunisia, as well as the local markets in Cuba.
Our next stop was Mohamed V Square, a large square with a fountain and about 10,000 pigeons flying about. The locals buy what looks like popcorn and feed it to the pigeons. Families bring their small kids to the square, hand them a bunch of corn, and then laugh their asses off as their kids get swarmed by hungry pigeons.
From there we drove to the Royal Palace which was originally built by the French so their top officials had somewhere to wine and dine dignitaries. It was taken over by the Moroccans after independence and the King made it his palace in Casablanca.. For me, the most impressive part of the mosque was the Royal Door which is wood with brass and aluminum inlay. The doors are so huge that I couldn’t even reach the door knocker.
Our final stop before lunch was the Hassan II Mosque. It has an indoor prayer hall that can accommodate 25,000 worshipers, and many thousands more can worship outside in the huge square. It is the second largest mosque in Africa after Mecca. It was a stunning complex with the mosque in the center and buildings along the outside of the square dedicated to learning and training. The noon prayer service was about to start so we saw many people entering the mosque, and, as we left, we could hear the imam start the prayer service.
Our first lunch was at a restaurant on the seaside that specialized in fish. Our guide, Ibrahim, had called ahead and ordered a set menu of salad and white fish. It was delicious and the view was quite nice, though not spectacular because of the McDonald’s across the street.
After that we drove to Rabat. Most of us passed out in the bus and snoozed for the trip, which couldn’t have been more than an hour and a half.
In Rabat our first stop was another Royal Palace. We could only take photos from 50 meters away from the entrance, but we were allowed to take photos of the soldiers and guards, which is usually strictly forbidden.
Our next stop was the Mohamed V Mausoleum. Our guide had arranged for us to arrive just before 5pm, when the guards of the mausoleum take down the flag. The ceremony was much like any flag lowering ceremony, except the bugler was horrendous. Either that or our ears aren’t trained to recognize the mellifluous tones of Moroccan bugling.
The mausoleum was a very somber place with lots of Moroccans praying and giving thanks to the former king. We were told to use hushed tones to show respect. It was quite a beautiful place, in part because there are prayer rooms to the side where family members still come to pray.
Outside the mausoleum is the Hassan Tower, the only remaining part of a mosque that was destroyed in an earthquake in the 1700s. The builders were intending to make it the largest mosque in the world but sadly it was destroyed and now the only parts standing are the tower and some adobe walls.
Our final stop of the day was the Oudaya Kasbah, which used to be a prison or stronghold but is now a largely residential district with a few merchants. We went first to a Moorish café that our guide assured us had been operating since the 1200s. He said it was the last Moorish café in operation in Morocco. After sampling some cookies and making a “technical stop” – our guide’s way to describe a pee break – we walked through the twisting Kasbah to our bus.
We were very glad to arrive at our hotel, which was very beautiful. We were all so tired that we made a half-hearted effort to have dinner and then we all shuffled off to bed.
17.11.09
VICTORIA TO FRANKFURT
I’m typing this blog entry while waiting for the flight from Frankfurt to Casablanca. I’ve been awake for 20 hours now and I’m sliding inexorably into a state of consciousness that I can only describe as traveler’s delirium. The lights are too bright, the conversations are too loud, and the seats are too hard. I am staring obsessively at the clock wishing that I could bend time to my will and fast-forward to the loading and departure times.
So, what has transpired in the last 24 hours? My “day” started with packing. Yes, I’m one of those people who packs the day they depart. I like the challenge and the risk of it. I almost forgot my power adapter, but – tragedy averted! My sister picked me up, then we picked up Mom, and then we were off to the airport.
It was blowing a gale when our flight departed but I didn’t really connect the dots between that and what it can do to an aircraft until we spent 10 minutes plunging up and down in a “patch” of turbulence. (I love how “patch” minimizes the sheer horror that is turbulence.) I was holding onto the head rest of the seat ahead of me in complete inarticulate terror. I must’ve looked a sight because the stewardess, who was facing us, mouthed “Are you OK?” to me. All I could do was breathe and not scream and not blow chunks.
We had a rest at Vancouver before boarding our flight to Frankfurt. Unfortunately I was seated next to a guy who had an incredibly annoying tic – he constantly sucked air through his teeth, making a piercing whistling sound that I could hear even while wearing headphones with the volume cranked. I asked him to stop but he denied being the cause of the noise. However, I saw him open his lips and inhale – precisely when the noise occurred – on numerous occasions. I gave him a few murderous looks, which sometimes resulted in a period of quiet, but toward the end of the flight he amped it up and I couldn’t stand it anymore so I asked the cabin crew for ear plugs. I was able to enjoy three hours of quiet, but I couldn’t sleep because I couldn’t stop thinking about ways that I could "accidentally" cause him severe bodily harm during the departure procedures.
After the flight landed our tour group rendezvoused with a local guide and tour bus, who we had hired to take us on a day tour of Frankfurt. The weather was foul so we spent most of the tour on the bus. We went to a gasthaus (pub) and everyone ordered soup – it was just one of those days. I had an amazing bowl of goulash soup with a slice of rye bread. Some of our group tried the local apfelwine. The rest of us tried the dark and light varieties of a beer brewed in Frankfurt.
After lunch some of the group went with the guide to see Goethe Haus, a museum dedicated to the famous German poet J.W. Goethe. Mom and I weren’t really interested in seeing Goethe Haus so we walked around town. The gasthaus where we had lunch is in the large town square where they hold the large Christmas Market. City workers were busy getting ready for the market. The first thing they do is set up and decorate a 4-story tall Christmas tree. City workers were also hanging decorations on street lamps in the streets and in the smaller Christmas Market. So, the city was starting to look very festive. It was also full of people shopping their hearts out, which put us both into a festive spirit.
After the tour we returned to the airport for a 5-hour wait for our flight. I was planning to sleep but couldn’t – my body clock was saying “Bing! Time to wake up!” So, Mom and I sat about talking and watching the comings and goings in Europe’s second-busiest airport. It really is a fascinating – but noisy! – environment.
So, in a few minutes we’ll start boarding our flight to Casablanca. We’ll arrive at 1:30am their time (10:30am our time), which will make it a 24-hour transit. Tomorrow is going to be a challenge as well, with our tour of Casablanca starting after breakfast and not ending until we reach Rabat in the late afternoon. Wish us luck!
So, what has transpired in the last 24 hours? My “day” started with packing. Yes, I’m one of those people who packs the day they depart. I like the challenge and the risk of it. I almost forgot my power adapter, but – tragedy averted! My sister picked me up, then we picked up Mom, and then we were off to the airport.
It was blowing a gale when our flight departed but I didn’t really connect the dots between that and what it can do to an aircraft until we spent 10 minutes plunging up and down in a “patch” of turbulence. (I love how “patch” minimizes the sheer horror that is turbulence.) I was holding onto the head rest of the seat ahead of me in complete inarticulate terror. I must’ve looked a sight because the stewardess, who was facing us, mouthed “Are you OK?” to me. All I could do was breathe and not scream and not blow chunks.
We had a rest at Vancouver before boarding our flight to Frankfurt. Unfortunately I was seated next to a guy who had an incredibly annoying tic – he constantly sucked air through his teeth, making a piercing whistling sound that I could hear even while wearing headphones with the volume cranked. I asked him to stop but he denied being the cause of the noise. However, I saw him open his lips and inhale – precisely when the noise occurred – on numerous occasions. I gave him a few murderous looks, which sometimes resulted in a period of quiet, but toward the end of the flight he amped it up and I couldn’t stand it anymore so I asked the cabin crew for ear plugs. I was able to enjoy three hours of quiet, but I couldn’t sleep because I couldn’t stop thinking about ways that I could "accidentally" cause him severe bodily harm during the departure procedures.
After the flight landed our tour group rendezvoused with a local guide and tour bus, who we had hired to take us on a day tour of Frankfurt. The weather was foul so we spent most of the tour on the bus. We went to a gasthaus (pub) and everyone ordered soup – it was just one of those days. I had an amazing bowl of goulash soup with a slice of rye bread. Some of our group tried the local apfelwine. The rest of us tried the dark and light varieties of a beer brewed in Frankfurt.
After lunch some of the group went with the guide to see Goethe Haus, a museum dedicated to the famous German poet J.W. Goethe. Mom and I weren’t really interested in seeing Goethe Haus so we walked around town. The gasthaus where we had lunch is in the large town square where they hold the large Christmas Market. City workers were busy getting ready for the market. The first thing they do is set up and decorate a 4-story tall Christmas tree. City workers were also hanging decorations on street lamps in the streets and in the smaller Christmas Market. So, the city was starting to look very festive. It was also full of people shopping their hearts out, which put us both into a festive spirit.
After the tour we returned to the airport for a 5-hour wait for our flight. I was planning to sleep but couldn’t – my body clock was saying “Bing! Time to wake up!” So, Mom and I sat about talking and watching the comings and goings in Europe’s second-busiest airport. It really is a fascinating – but noisy! – environment.
So, in a few minutes we’ll start boarding our flight to Casablanca. We’ll arrive at 1:30am their time (10:30am our time), which will make it a 24-hour transit. Tomorrow is going to be a challenge as well, with our tour of Casablanca starting after breakfast and not ending until we reach Rabat in the late afternoon. Wish us luck!
24.8.09
REYKJAVIK TO SEATAC TO VICTORIA
We were woken at the crack of dawn by youthful - and loud! - German hostellers who were either catching an early flight home or were eager to kick off their trip. They were so loud that Simone actually clambered down from the top bunk, went down the hallway, and told them to be quiet in three languages (English, German, and Stern Teacher Body Language). Thankfully they complied with her request.
Breakfast was a mash up of whatever food we had left. I had a toasted ham and cheese sandwich while Simone and Mom had cereal, yoghurt, and toast. After breakfast I headed to the common room downstairs to see if I could connect to the Internet, but no luck. As with most of our accommodations in Iceland, the promises of Internet access were greatly exaggerated.
Mom and I had already repacked the previous night, so we just lazed about while Simone pulled everything out of her suitcase and played Tetris with her belongings. When I couldn't stand waiting at the hostel any more I headed out to the car and drove it back to Reykjavik. As I approached Reykjavik our friend the rainstorm dropped by for a final downpour. Thankfully he toodled off after a few miles and the rest of the journey was dry.
I had an hour and a half to kill before catching the FlyBus to the airport so I went in search of a bank to change my remaining Icelandic krona back to a currency that I could trade back in Canada. Unfortunately, I learned you can't change krona into other currencies at everyday banks. The only place where they will do that is at the bank at the airport.
I wandered around town for a bit longer then headed back to the 4th Floor Hotel, where I was to pick up the FlyBus. I discovered that they DID have wireless Internet access. So, I spent a bit of time checking email and perusing various news sites to see how the world had been doing while we were on hols.
The FlyBus arrived at 1pm as promised. However, the driver didn't want to pick me up. He looked at my voucher and told me that I was to catch the bus at 1:30pm. I disagreed and explained that I was to catch the bus at the main depot at 1:30pm, and that I was to catch a ride with him to the depot. He took another look at my voucher and then used the radio to get in touch with dispatchers at the depot. They confirmed that I was to ride with him to make the connection to the 1:30pm bus to the airport. Phew!
I met up with Mom and Simone at the airport. We got our tickets, checked our bags, and then headed through security. We exchanged our krona at the bank and then stood in line to claim our tax refund. (You can get a refund on taxes if you're a tourist.) I joined Simone in the line-up and an Italian guy standing behind her complained in Italian about me barging in line. Simone pointed a finger at me and then her and said "familia." He didn't look convinced, which is not surprising because Simone and I don't really look related. He sighed and muttered under his breath but let it slide as politely as a pissed off Italian man can let things slide.
After getting our refunds we had some lunch and waited for the flight. Keflavik International Airport is very attractive and, aside from a lack of seating near the gates, is quite comfortable. For example, the food court is quite extensive and you don't have to go to a bar to get a drink. The bathrooms are sparkling clean and modern. And there's also a really fabulous video about Iceland that plays every few minutes in a small theater.
The flight to Seattle was uneventful. I was seated next to a flamboyant gay guy from Alaska who had participated in the Gay Pride celebrations the previous week. He was a Chatty Cathy and I was glad when the entertainment system sparked up because it meant I could politely opt out of the conversation. Two or three movies later we arrived at SEATAC and made our way to the gate for the final flight home. We had to wait three hours so we scouted out the most comfortable seats and tried to snooze. I even tried to sleep on the floor next to one of the unused service desks but it was just too damned noisy.
Our flight to Victoria left just after 11pm and we arrived in Victoria in time to greet midnight. The customs agents were both confused and impressed that we were returning from Iceland. It's not your normal tourist destination, that's for sure.
And with a couple of questions and a cursory look at our passports, we were home. It was nice to be back, and to know that we'd be sleeping in our own beds shortly.
Breakfast was a mash up of whatever food we had left. I had a toasted ham and cheese sandwich while Simone and Mom had cereal, yoghurt, and toast. After breakfast I headed to the common room downstairs to see if I could connect to the Internet, but no luck. As with most of our accommodations in Iceland, the promises of Internet access were greatly exaggerated.
Mom and I had already repacked the previous night, so we just lazed about while Simone pulled everything out of her suitcase and played Tetris with her belongings. When I couldn't stand waiting at the hostel any more I headed out to the car and drove it back to Reykjavik. As I approached Reykjavik our friend the rainstorm dropped by for a final downpour. Thankfully he toodled off after a few miles and the rest of the journey was dry.
I had an hour and a half to kill before catching the FlyBus to the airport so I went in search of a bank to change my remaining Icelandic krona back to a currency that I could trade back in Canada. Unfortunately, I learned you can't change krona into other currencies at everyday banks. The only place where they will do that is at the bank at the airport.
I wandered around town for a bit longer then headed back to the 4th Floor Hotel, where I was to pick up the FlyBus. I discovered that they DID have wireless Internet access. So, I spent a bit of time checking email and perusing various news sites to see how the world had been doing while we were on hols.
The FlyBus arrived at 1pm as promised. However, the driver didn't want to pick me up. He looked at my voucher and told me that I was to catch the bus at 1:30pm. I disagreed and explained that I was to catch the bus at the main depot at 1:30pm, and that I was to catch a ride with him to the depot. He took another look at my voucher and then used the radio to get in touch with dispatchers at the depot. They confirmed that I was to ride with him to make the connection to the 1:30pm bus to the airport. Phew!
I met up with Mom and Simone at the airport. We got our tickets, checked our bags, and then headed through security. We exchanged our krona at the bank and then stood in line to claim our tax refund. (You can get a refund on taxes if you're a tourist.) I joined Simone in the line-up and an Italian guy standing behind her complained in Italian about me barging in line. Simone pointed a finger at me and then her and said "familia." He didn't look convinced, which is not surprising because Simone and I don't really look related. He sighed and muttered under his breath but let it slide as politely as a pissed off Italian man can let things slide.
After getting our refunds we had some lunch and waited for the flight. Keflavik International Airport is very attractive and, aside from a lack of seating near the gates, is quite comfortable. For example, the food court is quite extensive and you don't have to go to a bar to get a drink. The bathrooms are sparkling clean and modern. And there's also a really fabulous video about Iceland that plays every few minutes in a small theater.
The flight to Seattle was uneventful. I was seated next to a flamboyant gay guy from Alaska who had participated in the Gay Pride celebrations the previous week. He was a Chatty Cathy and I was glad when the entertainment system sparked up because it meant I could politely opt out of the conversation. Two or three movies later we arrived at SEATAC and made our way to the gate for the final flight home. We had to wait three hours so we scouted out the most comfortable seats and tried to snooze. I even tried to sleep on the floor next to one of the unused service desks but it was just too damned noisy.
Our flight to Victoria left just after 11pm and we arrived in Victoria in time to greet midnight. The customs agents were both confused and impressed that we were returning from Iceland. It's not your normal tourist destination, that's for sure.
And with a couple of questions and a cursory look at our passports, we were home. It was nice to be back, and to know that we'd be sleeping in our own beds shortly.
10.8.09
BLUE LAGOON AND VITHEY
We left for the Blue Lagoon around 9:00am. As we approached the turn off to the secondary road that takes you to the Blue Lagoon, we noticed a rather large convoy of RVs approaching. One by one they all turned off the highway onto the secondary road. “What do you want to bet that they’re going to the Blue Lagoon?” asked Simone. Sure enough, they were. The secondary road snakes through barren lava fields and it was almost surreal to see RVs twisting and turning down the road for as far as the eye can see.
The long and winding road to the Blue Lagoon. Normally the road looks like this (empty):
We arrived at the Blue Lagoon at 9:30am. It took us a good 10 minutes to get into the parking lot, however, because it took so long for the RV drivers to park their rigs. It was quite funny – the lead RV turned into the first section of the parking lot and then carefully backed into the furthest parking space. The rest of the RVs followed, each backing into the next space down, etc. There was a certain gracefulness to it.
Outside the Blue Lagoon. The square building in the background is the entrance to the Blue Lagoon:
To get into the Blue Lagoon you have to pass through subway-style turnstiles. You don’t plug money into the turnstiles, though. Instead, you wave a blue wrist band that they give you over a sensor, which activates the turnstile so you can walk through. The wrist band also controls your locker. When you close the locker door you wave your wrist band over another sensor and it secures the locker door. It can only be unlocked by waving your wrist band over the sensor again. And, although we didn’t try it, you can also pay for drinks and food at the Blue Lagoon Bar with your wrist band. Cool, huh?
The change rooms were very posh with leather ottomans, special primping and preening stations, and frosted glass doors. They almost had a spa appearance. We didn’t bother changing into our swimming suits because you cannot enter the Blue Lagoon unless you’ve showered with your suit off. They insist on this because the waters are not treated with chlorine or any other purifying chemicals. You have to be clean before you enter the waters otherwise they would be a cesspool.
Walkway around the Blue Lagoon:
I was nominated to enjoy the 30-minute massage that we’d booked the day before, and had to dash off to the farthest end of the lagoon right away. My masseur was a really nice guy from Serbia. He worked as a physiotherapist during the week and at the lagoon on the weekends. The massage was very interesting because it’s performed while I was lying on a floating foam bed in the lagoon. I felt like I was weightless, for one, and the gentle rocking that resulted from the massage was strangely appealing.
After the massage I entered the main pool of the lagoon and met up with Mom and Simone. They’d already done a tour of the various pools and had retreated to one of the cooler pools. Simone offered to “show me around” and the first stop was a wooden box containing white goop that she insisted I rub all over my face. The goop is some kind of silica that is supposed to have healing properties. Some people got really into it and spread it all over their bodies. I stuck to rubbing it over my face and neck.
Our next stop was the largest pool. The further you got into the pool, the hotter it got. At the furthest extent of the pool was a rock barrier and signs indicating it wasn’t safe to go any further. It was clear why it wasn’t safe – the water on the other side of the barrier was boiling, literally.
After getting lobsterized in the big pool we headed back to the small pool where Mom was hanging out. Next to that pool was a round Hobbit-sized door – I’m not joking! – that led into a sauna. We went in and sat in the darkness and heat for about 10 minutes. When a new supply of steam was added to the sauna we couldn’t hack it anymore and left. I’d seen other people whack their heads on the top of the door frame as they left and was careful to duck as we departed.
Outside the sauna was a waterfall of sorts, under which about three or four people could stand. The only way to become one of those three or four people was to loiter aggressively a foot or two away until one of them felt guilty and stepped away. Then you had to jump under the waterfall before someone else could claim the spot. So, that is what we did. The water fell onto us with such force that it was like getting a really good massage. So, that was why it was so popular!
Mom was starting to get a bit overheated and hungry, so we exited the lagoon and headed back inside to clean up. The lagoon waters make your hair incredibly knotty and dry so we spent a long time in the showers applying liberal doses of the free conditioner. I also helped myself to the free body wash in an unsuccessful attempt to wash off the minerals from the lagoon. It didn’t work and I spent the rest of the day with skin that felt vaguely waxy.
We had lunch at the Blue Lagoon and then headed back to the hostel to hang up our suits and get changed into city-worthy clothing. Then we drove into Reykjavik to the Vithey ferry terminal. We caught the 2pm ferry to Vithey and spent the next 1.5 hours tromping down several of the paths that lead to viewpoints and historic sites on the island. Simone wanted to walk to some of the more remote parts of the island but my legs just couldn’t hack it. We stopped for coffee in the historic house by the ferry dock, checked out the church, and then ambled down to the dock to catch the 4:30pm return sailing to Reykjavik.
Ambling about Vithey:
Field of thistles:
Close up of thistles:
On the dock waiting for the ferry back to Reykjavik:
We stopped in Reykjavik to talk to the car rental company about the best way to return the car the following day. After discussing many different options we agreed that I would drop off the car in Reykjavik the next morning and catch the FlyBus to the airport while Mom and Simone would stay at the hostel and catch a cab to the airport.
With that settled we headed back to the hostel in Njarthvik where we set about repacking our bags for the flight home the next day. I managed to pack almost all of my belongings and purchases into my backpack and only needed to ask Mom to put a couple of my purchases into her suitcase.
The long and winding road to the Blue Lagoon. Normally the road looks like this (empty):
We arrived at the Blue Lagoon at 9:30am. It took us a good 10 minutes to get into the parking lot, however, because it took so long for the RV drivers to park their rigs. It was quite funny – the lead RV turned into the first section of the parking lot and then carefully backed into the furthest parking space. The rest of the RVs followed, each backing into the next space down, etc. There was a certain gracefulness to it.
Outside the Blue Lagoon. The square building in the background is the entrance to the Blue Lagoon:
To get into the Blue Lagoon you have to pass through subway-style turnstiles. You don’t plug money into the turnstiles, though. Instead, you wave a blue wrist band that they give you over a sensor, which activates the turnstile so you can walk through. The wrist band also controls your locker. When you close the locker door you wave your wrist band over another sensor and it secures the locker door. It can only be unlocked by waving your wrist band over the sensor again. And, although we didn’t try it, you can also pay for drinks and food at the Blue Lagoon Bar with your wrist band. Cool, huh?
The change rooms were very posh with leather ottomans, special primping and preening stations, and frosted glass doors. They almost had a spa appearance. We didn’t bother changing into our swimming suits because you cannot enter the Blue Lagoon unless you’ve showered with your suit off. They insist on this because the waters are not treated with chlorine or any other purifying chemicals. You have to be clean before you enter the waters otherwise they would be a cesspool.
Walkway around the Blue Lagoon:
I was nominated to enjoy the 30-minute massage that we’d booked the day before, and had to dash off to the farthest end of the lagoon right away. My masseur was a really nice guy from Serbia. He worked as a physiotherapist during the week and at the lagoon on the weekends. The massage was very interesting because it’s performed while I was lying on a floating foam bed in the lagoon. I felt like I was weightless, for one, and the gentle rocking that resulted from the massage was strangely appealing.
After the massage I entered the main pool of the lagoon and met up with Mom and Simone. They’d already done a tour of the various pools and had retreated to one of the cooler pools. Simone offered to “show me around” and the first stop was a wooden box containing white goop that she insisted I rub all over my face. The goop is some kind of silica that is supposed to have healing properties. Some people got really into it and spread it all over their bodies. I stuck to rubbing it over my face and neck.
Our next stop was the largest pool. The further you got into the pool, the hotter it got. At the furthest extent of the pool was a rock barrier and signs indicating it wasn’t safe to go any further. It was clear why it wasn’t safe – the water on the other side of the barrier was boiling, literally.
After getting lobsterized in the big pool we headed back to the small pool where Mom was hanging out. Next to that pool was a round Hobbit-sized door – I’m not joking! – that led into a sauna. We went in and sat in the darkness and heat for about 10 minutes. When a new supply of steam was added to the sauna we couldn’t hack it anymore and left. I’d seen other people whack their heads on the top of the door frame as they left and was careful to duck as we departed.
Outside the sauna was a waterfall of sorts, under which about three or four people could stand. The only way to become one of those three or four people was to loiter aggressively a foot or two away until one of them felt guilty and stepped away. Then you had to jump under the waterfall before someone else could claim the spot. So, that is what we did. The water fell onto us with such force that it was like getting a really good massage. So, that was why it was so popular!
Mom was starting to get a bit overheated and hungry, so we exited the lagoon and headed back inside to clean up. The lagoon waters make your hair incredibly knotty and dry so we spent a long time in the showers applying liberal doses of the free conditioner. I also helped myself to the free body wash in an unsuccessful attempt to wash off the minerals from the lagoon. It didn’t work and I spent the rest of the day with skin that felt vaguely waxy.
We had lunch at the Blue Lagoon and then headed back to the hostel to hang up our suits and get changed into city-worthy clothing. Then we drove into Reykjavik to the Vithey ferry terminal. We caught the 2pm ferry to Vithey and spent the next 1.5 hours tromping down several of the paths that lead to viewpoints and historic sites on the island. Simone wanted to walk to some of the more remote parts of the island but my legs just couldn’t hack it. We stopped for coffee in the historic house by the ferry dock, checked out the church, and then ambled down to the dock to catch the 4:30pm return sailing to Reykjavik.
Ambling about Vithey:
Field of thistles:
Close up of thistles:
On the dock waiting for the ferry back to Reykjavik:
We stopped in Reykjavik to talk to the car rental company about the best way to return the car the following day. After discussing many different options we agreed that I would drop off the car in Reykjavik the next morning and catch the FlyBus to the airport while Mom and Simone would stay at the hostel and catch a cab to the airport.
With that settled we headed back to the hostel in Njarthvik where we set about repacking our bags for the flight home the next day. I managed to pack almost all of my belongings and purchases into my backpack and only needed to ask Mom to put a couple of my purchases into her suitcase.
9.8.09
EYRARBAKKI TO NJARTHVIK
We slept in at Eyrarbakki, knowing that we only had a short jaunt to our final hostel of the trip. We lolled about until after 10am before packing up and heading out. We drove to the museum and church that the proprietor had recommended visiting but they were both closed and didn’t open until the afternoon. Dang.
On the map there was a numbered road running along the south coast of the peninsula that connected Eyrarbakki to Grindavik. It was more direct than taking the highway north to Reykjavik and then circling around the peninsula from there, so we decided to give it a go. Things were going well for a while but eventually we ran into the dreaded “malbik endar” and were onto gravel. The road was rutted all to heck and the Yaris was getting shaken something awful, so we decided to turn back and take the main road like everyone else.
Our first stop of the day was Garthskagi, where there are two lighthouses. One is old and one is new. Unfortunately we couldn’t get inside either of them and were stuck wandering around the outside, which was kind of boring.
The old lighthouse:
The coastline. Note the low tide. It stank like you wouldn't believe:
The new lighthouse:
From there we drove to Sandgerthi, a village that is dedicated to commercial fishing and fish processing. There was a nice Nature Center there and we quite enjoyed wandering around looking at pickled specimens in jars, stuffed birds and small mammals, bones, and the like.
The harbor at Sandgerthi:
As we drove around the peninsula Simone spotted a sign with the Celtic knot design that Iceland Tourism uses to indicate sights and attractions. We turned off the road out of curiosity. When we got to the parking area we discovered we’d stopped at the mid-Atlantic ridge, where you can literally see where the European and North American continents meet. Simone practically started hyperventilating, she was so excited.
The mid-Atlantic ridge:
At Grindavik, our final destination of the day, we stopped at the Saltfisker (Saltfish) Museum. We thought it would be more museum-y. Instead it was more like an interpretive center. It was also extremely hot inside and we had to cut short our visit because we were so uncomfortable. Still, it was interesting and provided some insight into the Icelandic economy, which seems to swing from prosperity to poverty every few years.
From Grindavik we drove back towards Njarthvik, where we were staying for the next couple of nights. We were going to drive past the Blue Lagoon so I suggested that we pop in to check out the facilities prior to our visit the next morning. I asked one of the front desk agents where the spa entrance was, explaining that we had appointments the next morning. I expected her to point somewhere and be done with it, but it turns out there are different entrances to the spa based on the type of treatment you’ve ordered. So, instead, she asked our names and looked in the reservation book for our appointments.
Lava fields covered in moss. The road to the Blue Lagoon is basically blasted out of a giant lava field:
She also frowned. And flipped pages. And asked us again when our appointments were. Then, looking grave, she said that we were not in the appointment book. I can’t really remember what happened next, except that Mom and Simone both got very upset. Mom had booked our spa appointments well over a month before. So, she was mad that they’d screwed up on the reservation. Simone had been looking forward to her 1.5 hour massage through the whole trip and was angry that she wouldn’t be able to enjoy that experience.
A supervisor was called over and checked everything again. They had indeed failed to book our spa appointments. At that point I walked away because I hate conflict and figured that if anything could be done, Mom and Simone could sort it out. There was one 30-minute massage session available the next morning, which we booked. By way of apology, the supervisor also arranged for us to get free passes to the Blue Lagoon, which normally cost $30 per person. And that's all that could be done.
By then we were all tired and emotional and needed to sustenance, so we got back in the car and drove to Njarthvik in near silence. We booked in and quickly settled into our tiny room. Simone went for a therapeutic shower, Mom did some therapeutic sorting and packing, and I enjoyed a couple of therapeutic drinks. (Hey – we all have our own ways to cope, so to each his/her own!)
After dinner, Mom and I watched “Hot Fuzz” on the laptop while Simone read. We were in bed by 9pm, but didn’t get to sleep until quite a bit later because of all the door slamming, stomping, talking, cooking, and dish clanging going on. Oh, the joys of hostelling!
On the map there was a numbered road running along the south coast of the peninsula that connected Eyrarbakki to Grindavik. It was more direct than taking the highway north to Reykjavik and then circling around the peninsula from there, so we decided to give it a go. Things were going well for a while but eventually we ran into the dreaded “malbik endar” and were onto gravel. The road was rutted all to heck and the Yaris was getting shaken something awful, so we decided to turn back and take the main road like everyone else.
Our first stop of the day was Garthskagi, where there are two lighthouses. One is old and one is new. Unfortunately we couldn’t get inside either of them and were stuck wandering around the outside, which was kind of boring.
The old lighthouse:
The coastline. Note the low tide. It stank like you wouldn't believe:
The new lighthouse:
From there we drove to Sandgerthi, a village that is dedicated to commercial fishing and fish processing. There was a nice Nature Center there and we quite enjoyed wandering around looking at pickled specimens in jars, stuffed birds and small mammals, bones, and the like.
The harbor at Sandgerthi:
As we drove around the peninsula Simone spotted a sign with the Celtic knot design that Iceland Tourism uses to indicate sights and attractions. We turned off the road out of curiosity. When we got to the parking area we discovered we’d stopped at the mid-Atlantic ridge, where you can literally see where the European and North American continents meet. Simone practically started hyperventilating, she was so excited.
The mid-Atlantic ridge:
At Grindavik, our final destination of the day, we stopped at the Saltfisker (Saltfish) Museum. We thought it would be more museum-y. Instead it was more like an interpretive center. It was also extremely hot inside and we had to cut short our visit because we were so uncomfortable. Still, it was interesting and provided some insight into the Icelandic economy, which seems to swing from prosperity to poverty every few years.
From Grindavik we drove back towards Njarthvik, where we were staying for the next couple of nights. We were going to drive past the Blue Lagoon so I suggested that we pop in to check out the facilities prior to our visit the next morning. I asked one of the front desk agents where the spa entrance was, explaining that we had appointments the next morning. I expected her to point somewhere and be done with it, but it turns out there are different entrances to the spa based on the type of treatment you’ve ordered. So, instead, she asked our names and looked in the reservation book for our appointments.
Lava fields covered in moss. The road to the Blue Lagoon is basically blasted out of a giant lava field:
She also frowned. And flipped pages. And asked us again when our appointments were. Then, looking grave, she said that we were not in the appointment book. I can’t really remember what happened next, except that Mom and Simone both got very upset. Mom had booked our spa appointments well over a month before. So, she was mad that they’d screwed up on the reservation. Simone had been looking forward to her 1.5 hour massage through the whole trip and was angry that she wouldn’t be able to enjoy that experience.
A supervisor was called over and checked everything again. They had indeed failed to book our spa appointments. At that point I walked away because I hate conflict and figured that if anything could be done, Mom and Simone could sort it out. There was one 30-minute massage session available the next morning, which we booked. By way of apology, the supervisor also arranged for us to get free passes to the Blue Lagoon, which normally cost $30 per person. And that's all that could be done.
By then we were all tired and emotional and needed to sustenance, so we got back in the car and drove to Njarthvik in near silence. We booked in and quickly settled into our tiny room. Simone went for a therapeutic shower, Mom did some therapeutic sorting and packing, and I enjoyed a couple of therapeutic drinks. (Hey – we all have our own ways to cope, so to each his/her own!)
After dinner, Mom and I watched “Hot Fuzz” on the laptop while Simone read. We were in bed by 9pm, but didn’t get to sleep until quite a bit later because of all the door slamming, stomping, talking, cooking, and dish clanging going on. Oh, the joys of hostelling!
8.8.09
HVOLLSVOLLUR TO EYRARBAKKI
We woke early, out of habit, and enjoyed the luxurious shower. Simone went to reception to see if they had a hair dryer that she could borrow and, in the process, discovered that a breakfast buffet was included in the cost of the room. Sweet!
We’d seen an interesting turf-roofed house on the road to the Farm Guesthouse Smaratun, so we stopped on our way back to the highway. It was a lovely old place with the most interesting doorway:
Nearby was an old fishing boat, totally out of its element in the middle of a field:
Our first attraction of the day was a volcanic crater. Unfortunately, our ability to enjoy it was curtailed by the pouring rain and fierce wind. Now, before we left for Iceland many people wondered why we would travel to such a cold climate in the middle of summer. We assured them that the average temperature in the summer is in the mid-teens and the weather would be quite pleasant. It seems, however, that we’ve been dragging the same rain cloud around with us for the last few days. We picked it up in Seythisfjorthur and it has been our constant companion ever since. It probably thinks that, since we are Canadians, we like the rain and wind and that it’s doing us a favor by keeping us in our preferred conditions.
Ze crater:
After the crater-dash we drove to Skalholt, a quaint village that was the educational and cultural center of Iceland for several hundred years. The main destination in the village is the church, which has been destroyed and rebuilt no less than four times. The church itself is a typical Icelandic church with a very plain interior. However, on the way out we noticed stairs leading downstairs and a sign saying “museum in the crypt”. Curious, we went down to check it out. We were absolutely stunned to find a gorgeous little archaeological museum filled with ancient stones and artifacts discovered during a dig in the 1950s. The most impressive artifact was a stone coffin which originally housed a bishop but was dug up and filled with the bodies/bones of other important folk. There was also a doorway leading to a tunnel that connected the church to the nearby farmhouse. Historically, it was used to avoid the cold weather outside and as a means to escape the farmhouse or church during an attack.
The church at Skalholt:
Our third attraction of the day was Geysir, a large hot spring where two geysers blow towers of super-heated water up into the air on a regular basis. There were literally hundreds of tourists milling about and it was hard to get photos that didn’t include someone in the foreground or background. As we approached one particularly popular hot spring we were taken by surprise when it erupted. We didn’t realize it was a geyser and were quite shocked by the noise and the water shooting up into the air. We weren’t sure how often it erupted so we wandered around a bit before coming back. Thankfully the geyser, named Strokkur, erupted every 5 to 10 minutes.
Waiting for Strokkur:
Strokkur erupting:
There was a decent cafeteria at the Geysir park so we stopped there for lunch. Once again the choices were limited. I had the usual:
After lunch we drove to the Gullfoss waterfall. It was beautiful but our raincloud had followed us and it started tipping down with rain as soon as we stepped out of the car. Simone’s camera seized up in the damp so she headed back to the car while I took photos from as many angles as possible.
The Gullfoss waterfall. Not as impressive as Gothafoss, in my opinion:
I’d noticed earlier that there was a road just south of Geysir that connected to Thingvellir, the site of the ancient Icelandic parliament. I asked Mom and Simone if they wanted to go there or not. They said “sure!” so off we went. The site of Thingvellir is quite underwhelming. It’s literally just a field and some rocks, with a nice waterfall nearby. We walked around until we couldn’t stand the rain anymore, and then headed back to the car. We stopped at the wee gift shop to see if they had any interesting postcards or information sheets on Thingvellir but they didn’t. Simone, however, found a topographic map of Iceland for a friend back home. She’d been looking for one ever since we arrived and this was the first time she’d spotted one. Score!
There was a lovely waterfall at Thingvellir:
The Law Rock at Thingvellir:
We’d pretty much had it for the day so we backtracked to Selfoss, where we picked up some groceries before heading to the hostel in Eyrarbakki. From the outside the hostel looked like an industrial building. The only indication that it was a hostel was the cheery Hostelling International flag. We went into a building that said “farmer’s market” to ask about the hostel. It turns out the farmer’s market/industrial complex WAS the hostel:
The proprietor was a lovely woman who suggested a bunch of places to visit before leading us to our room. Our room turned out to be a gorgeous modern suite with a full kitchen, dining room, a spa bathroom, living room, and a large bedroom. We were absolutely floored. We were hoping for a tiny room with bunk beds and a private toilet. We got a lot more than that!
We’d seen an interesting turf-roofed house on the road to the Farm Guesthouse Smaratun, so we stopped on our way back to the highway. It was a lovely old place with the most interesting doorway:
Nearby was an old fishing boat, totally out of its element in the middle of a field:
Our first attraction of the day was a volcanic crater. Unfortunately, our ability to enjoy it was curtailed by the pouring rain and fierce wind. Now, before we left for Iceland many people wondered why we would travel to such a cold climate in the middle of summer. We assured them that the average temperature in the summer is in the mid-teens and the weather would be quite pleasant. It seems, however, that we’ve been dragging the same rain cloud around with us for the last few days. We picked it up in Seythisfjorthur and it has been our constant companion ever since. It probably thinks that, since we are Canadians, we like the rain and wind and that it’s doing us a favor by keeping us in our preferred conditions.
Ze crater:
After the crater-dash we drove to Skalholt, a quaint village that was the educational and cultural center of Iceland for several hundred years. The main destination in the village is the church, which has been destroyed and rebuilt no less than four times. The church itself is a typical Icelandic church with a very plain interior. However, on the way out we noticed stairs leading downstairs and a sign saying “museum in the crypt”. Curious, we went down to check it out. We were absolutely stunned to find a gorgeous little archaeological museum filled with ancient stones and artifacts discovered during a dig in the 1950s. The most impressive artifact was a stone coffin which originally housed a bishop but was dug up and filled with the bodies/bones of other important folk. There was also a doorway leading to a tunnel that connected the church to the nearby farmhouse. Historically, it was used to avoid the cold weather outside and as a means to escape the farmhouse or church during an attack.
The church at Skalholt:
Our third attraction of the day was Geysir, a large hot spring where two geysers blow towers of super-heated water up into the air on a regular basis. There were literally hundreds of tourists milling about and it was hard to get photos that didn’t include someone in the foreground or background. As we approached one particularly popular hot spring we were taken by surprise when it erupted. We didn’t realize it was a geyser and were quite shocked by the noise and the water shooting up into the air. We weren’t sure how often it erupted so we wandered around a bit before coming back. Thankfully the geyser, named Strokkur, erupted every 5 to 10 minutes.
Waiting for Strokkur:
Strokkur erupting:
There was a decent cafeteria at the Geysir park so we stopped there for lunch. Once again the choices were limited. I had the usual:
After lunch we drove to the Gullfoss waterfall. It was beautiful but our raincloud had followed us and it started tipping down with rain as soon as we stepped out of the car. Simone’s camera seized up in the damp so she headed back to the car while I took photos from as many angles as possible.
The Gullfoss waterfall. Not as impressive as Gothafoss, in my opinion:
I’d noticed earlier that there was a road just south of Geysir that connected to Thingvellir, the site of the ancient Icelandic parliament. I asked Mom and Simone if they wanted to go there or not. They said “sure!” so off we went. The site of Thingvellir is quite underwhelming. It’s literally just a field and some rocks, with a nice waterfall nearby. We walked around until we couldn’t stand the rain anymore, and then headed back to the car. We stopped at the wee gift shop to see if they had any interesting postcards or information sheets on Thingvellir but they didn’t. Simone, however, found a topographic map of Iceland for a friend back home. She’d been looking for one ever since we arrived and this was the first time she’d spotted one. Score!
There was a lovely waterfall at Thingvellir:
The Law Rock at Thingvellir:
We’d pretty much had it for the day so we backtracked to Selfoss, where we picked up some groceries before heading to the hostel in Eyrarbakki. From the outside the hostel looked like an industrial building. The only indication that it was a hostel was the cheery Hostelling International flag. We went into a building that said “farmer’s market” to ask about the hostel. It turns out the farmer’s market/industrial complex WAS the hostel:
The proprietor was a lovely woman who suggested a bunch of places to visit before leading us to our room. Our room turned out to be a gorgeous modern suite with a full kitchen, dining room, a spa bathroom, living room, and a large bedroom. We were absolutely floored. We were hoping for a tiny room with bunk beds and a private toilet. We got a lot more than that!
7.8.09
HVOLL TO HVOLLSVOLLUR
Another nice thing about the hostel at Hvoll was that you could pay a nominal fee for a breakfast buffet, which we did. It had the usual coffee, juice, toast, cereal, sliced ham, and cheese. It also had a real treat – cured lamb, sliced thinly – which we all tried. It had a very strong flavor of salt and spices and smoke.
After breakfast we headed out to the car but got sidetracked petting the farmer’s dog, Koppir, and talking to the farmer about Icelandic politics. He had very strong opinions about the collapse of Iceland’s banks, Iceland’s recent application to join the European Union, and the future of the world economy. It was interesting to get his perspective on recent events, but it was clear that he would be happy to talk for hours and hours. At about the 20 minute mark we were able to get a word in, and Simone quickly thanked him for the chat and shook his hand, and then we made a beeline for the car.
The lovely Koppir:
We had a really short day so we took our time driving south west along the coast. Our first stop was Vik, where we visited the Reynisdrangar black sand beach. At the west end of the beach are “sea stacks” which look like rock fingers reaching out of the sea. Simone ventured down to the beach for photos but Mom and I stayed up on the path to avoid getting our shoes full of black sand.
The sea stacks:
The black sand beach:
Our second stop was the Skogafoss waterfall. You can walk right up to the waterfall and stand in the large vapor cloud created when the water hits the river bed below. You can also climb up to the top of the waterfall. Simone hared off up to the top of the waterfall right away. Mom and I stayed below, but after a few pictures I decided to give it a try.
Skogafoss waterfall:
The stairs up to the top of the waterfall were a bit rickety and fairly narrow, just wide enough for two people to pass each other. To make things more interesting, there was only one handrail and it was blowing a gale. At one point I stepped away from the handrail to let someone pass. Just then there was a huge gust of wind. I nearly fell off the stairs and tumbled to my death. Half-way up, the clouds decided to release all of the moisture they’d been holding and I was quickly soaked to the skin. By the time I’d made it up to the top of the stairs my camera lens had fogged up and I couldn’t take any photos. Oh, well. I chalked the climb up as good exercise and headed back down the stairs.
Mom and Simone were waiting for me in the car. They clapped and gave me the thumbs up. They also gave me two towels. By that time it was noon and we were hungry, so we stopped for lunch in the restaurant/café next to the Skogar information center. After lunch we drove to the nearby folk museum, but balked at the $10 entrance fee and decided to give it a miss.
We arrived at the Farm Guesthouse Smaratun shortly after 3pm. We checked in and got settled into our room, then drove back to Hvollsvollur to check out the Saga Museum. It was an impressive museum that was largely dedicated to Njal’s Saga, the favorite Icelandic saga. It was quite interesting. In the museum shop I asked the woman at the reception if there were any other shops or things to see in town and she mentioned a handicrafts shop and a wool shop. Unfortunately the handicrafts shop was closed and the wool shop was underwhelming.
We stopped for coffee at a funky pottery studio/café before heading back to the guesthouse. I opened a bottle of sauvignon blanc that I’d purchased earlier and Simone and I enjoyed a couple of glasses of wine. Around 7pm we walked down to the restaurant for dinner. The dinner special was a salmon appetizer, a lamb and roast potato entree, and a fruit dessert for $42. We weren’t planning to have the dinner special, but a few minutes after we sat down the salmon arrived. It was too late to say no to the meal, so we went with it – and it’s a good thing we did! Yum! The salmon was amazing, the lamb was exquisite, and the fruit was delicious. It was by far the best meal we’ve had in Iceland. After dinner we spent some time checking email, repacking, and drying clothes before heading to bed.
After breakfast we headed out to the car but got sidetracked petting the farmer’s dog, Koppir, and talking to the farmer about Icelandic politics. He had very strong opinions about the collapse of Iceland’s banks, Iceland’s recent application to join the European Union, and the future of the world economy. It was interesting to get his perspective on recent events, but it was clear that he would be happy to talk for hours and hours. At about the 20 minute mark we were able to get a word in, and Simone quickly thanked him for the chat and shook his hand, and then we made a beeline for the car.
The lovely Koppir:
We had a really short day so we took our time driving south west along the coast. Our first stop was Vik, where we visited the Reynisdrangar black sand beach. At the west end of the beach are “sea stacks” which look like rock fingers reaching out of the sea. Simone ventured down to the beach for photos but Mom and I stayed up on the path to avoid getting our shoes full of black sand.
The sea stacks:
The black sand beach:
Our second stop was the Skogafoss waterfall. You can walk right up to the waterfall and stand in the large vapor cloud created when the water hits the river bed below. You can also climb up to the top of the waterfall. Simone hared off up to the top of the waterfall right away. Mom and I stayed below, but after a few pictures I decided to give it a try.
Skogafoss waterfall:
The stairs up to the top of the waterfall were a bit rickety and fairly narrow, just wide enough for two people to pass each other. To make things more interesting, there was only one handrail and it was blowing a gale. At one point I stepped away from the handrail to let someone pass. Just then there was a huge gust of wind. I nearly fell off the stairs and tumbled to my death. Half-way up, the clouds decided to release all of the moisture they’d been holding and I was quickly soaked to the skin. By the time I’d made it up to the top of the stairs my camera lens had fogged up and I couldn’t take any photos. Oh, well. I chalked the climb up as good exercise and headed back down the stairs.
Mom and Simone were waiting for me in the car. They clapped and gave me the thumbs up. They also gave me two towels. By that time it was noon and we were hungry, so we stopped for lunch in the restaurant/café next to the Skogar information center. After lunch we drove to the nearby folk museum, but balked at the $10 entrance fee and decided to give it a miss.
We arrived at the Farm Guesthouse Smaratun shortly after 3pm. We checked in and got settled into our room, then drove back to Hvollsvollur to check out the Saga Museum. It was an impressive museum that was largely dedicated to Njal’s Saga, the favorite Icelandic saga. It was quite interesting. In the museum shop I asked the woman at the reception if there were any other shops or things to see in town and she mentioned a handicrafts shop and a wool shop. Unfortunately the handicrafts shop was closed and the wool shop was underwhelming.
We stopped for coffee at a funky pottery studio/café before heading back to the guesthouse. I opened a bottle of sauvignon blanc that I’d purchased earlier and Simone and I enjoyed a couple of glasses of wine. Around 7pm we walked down to the restaurant for dinner. The dinner special was a salmon appetizer, a lamb and roast potato entree, and a fruit dessert for $42. We weren’t planning to have the dinner special, but a few minutes after we sat down the salmon arrived. It was too late to say no to the meal, so we went with it – and it’s a good thing we did! Yum! The salmon was amazing, the lamb was exquisite, and the fruit was delicious. It was by far the best meal we’ve had in Iceland. After dinner we spent some time checking email, repacking, and drying clothes before heading to bed.
6.8.09
SEYTHISFJORTHUR TO HVOLL
We were up before 7am and on the road by 7:30am. The fog had lifted slightly and we were amazed at all of the waterfalls and gorgeous farms that were hidden from view the day before. The road was less frightening once I could see where I was going.
We had decided the day before that we couldn’t follow the instructions in the Hostelling Iceland itinerary for the east fjords, simply because turning onto the side roads to see the fjords would have added 200+ kilometers to the already outrageous drive we had planned. So, we stuck to the main highway and headed directly south.
The highway was good at first and I was “hauling ass to Hofn” at a good 125 km/hr (the speed limit it 90 km/hr). We were all shocked when we saw a sign that said something like “malbik endar” and we suddenly found ourselves on rough gravel. I drove the Yaris like a rally car around – and sometimes over – the millions of pot holes and ruts. The road continued like that for what seemed like a very long time and we were starting to wonder if we’d taken a wrong turn. Just as we were starting to get concerned the gravel road ended and we were back onto the regular tar road. Shortly after that we entered a small town and the signs confirmed we were still on the main highway.
The dreaded "malbik endar":
We were on and off the tar and gravel roads for another hour or two. Eventually we made it to Breithdalsvik, at the south of the east fjords, and began our drive south west toward the Vatnajokull glacier. We reached Hofn by noon and, with the help of the Lonely Planet, found a nice restaurant where we stopped for lunch.
Taking the Yaris 4x4-ing:
Gorgeous stormy beach along the coast:
Mom enjoying the view and the chance to stretch her legs:
After lunch we continued heading south west through the Myrar valley. At the end of the valley was the Jokusarlon lagoon, where the Breithamerkurjokull finger of the Vatnajokull glacier calves off icebergs that float out to sea. As we turned off the road to the lagoon we knew it would be a major attraction because the parking lot was full of tour buses and cars and people dressed in their finest cold-weather outdoor gear.
Zodiak and bundled-up tourists:
The lagoon was amazing. The mini-bergs were blue on the bottom, white in the middle, and often covered with dirt on the top. It made for a strange sight. I tried to take good pictures but I found that the range of my lens just wasn’t cutting it. I really wished I had a wide-angle or a fish-eye lens so I could capture more of the lagoon in each shot.
Three views of the lagoon:
Some tourists got to see the mini-bergs up close on an amphibious bus/boat. The vehicles drove up to a ramp where the tourists boarded. Then they drove off down the shoreline and entered the lagoon. They couldn’t get very far into the lagoon, so each trip lasted less than 20 minutes. However, it must’ve been really cool to get up close and personal with the bergs.
The amphibious bus/boat:
We pressed on, travelling through the Oraefi valley past the turn off to the Skaftafell national park. From there it was a straight shot to Vik, and onwards to our final destination, the Farm Guesthouse Smaratun at Hvollsvollur. Simone was a speeding machine until we got into Vik and she set off what I thought was photo radar. It turned out to be a warning light, thankfully. After gassing up, Simone handed off the keys to me for the final drive to Hvollsvollur.
(Simone here: As we entered the town the posted limit was 50 km so I slowed down accordingly. There was the equivalent of a ‘veloci-meter’ that showed drivers what their speed was as they passed through. I didn’t think anything of it until Rowena exclaimed “It just flashed twice and I think you had your photo taken!” I felt sick. After a whole day of driving (and yes, sometimes over the limit), I was going to get a ticket for doing the 53 km/hr that was on the screen when the flashes occurred. “Poop!” I thought (ok, well not ‘poop’ but you get the idea). It turns out that the ‘veloci-meters’ are merely that - a good visual for drivers to get them to slow down. Phew! It certainly got my heart rate up.)
A few kilometers out of Vik, Simone flipped through the folder where we were keeping the Hostelling Iceland itinerary, various maps, and print-outs of hostel and hotel reservations. Out of the blue, she asked “What day is it?” It was Wednesday the 5th. There was silence for a moment and then she said “It says here that we’re staying in the hostel in Hvoll tonight.” That warranted pulling over for confab.
Sure enough, I’d gotten confused about the date. We were indeed staying at the hostel in Hvoll that night, not at the Farm Guesthouse Smaratun in Hvollsvollur. Unfortunately, we were now a good 200 kms past Hvoll. To make things worse, the reservation sheet for the hostel said that they would only hold our room until 6pm. It was now 4:30pm. I turned the Yaris around and started burning rubber back east toward Vik and Hvoll.
Simone suggested stopping at the Vik hostel to have them call ahead and save our room. Good idea, right? The only problem was that we couldn’t find the hostel. We drove around for a bit and then gave up. Our only option was to speed like we’d never sped before, which we did. We arrived at the hostel in Hvoll a few minutes before 6pm, absolutely wrecked from the long day, which turned out to be longer than necessary.
The hostel turned out to be a large out-building on a working farm. It turned out to be one of the nicest hostels I’ve ever been in, with nice rooms, several private kitchens, and a large communal dining area. Dinner was a camping packet, since we didn’t have time to stop and get supplies in the panic to get to the hostel. We also had some left-over pasta from the previous night. After dinner we headed up to the room. We were shattered and we all hit the sack (or, in this case, bunk) by 8pm.
We had decided the day before that we couldn’t follow the instructions in the Hostelling Iceland itinerary for the east fjords, simply because turning onto the side roads to see the fjords would have added 200+ kilometers to the already outrageous drive we had planned. So, we stuck to the main highway and headed directly south.
The highway was good at first and I was “hauling ass to Hofn” at a good 125 km/hr (the speed limit it 90 km/hr). We were all shocked when we saw a sign that said something like “malbik endar” and we suddenly found ourselves on rough gravel. I drove the Yaris like a rally car around – and sometimes over – the millions of pot holes and ruts. The road continued like that for what seemed like a very long time and we were starting to wonder if we’d taken a wrong turn. Just as we were starting to get concerned the gravel road ended and we were back onto the regular tar road. Shortly after that we entered a small town and the signs confirmed we were still on the main highway.
The dreaded "malbik endar":
We were on and off the tar and gravel roads for another hour or two. Eventually we made it to Breithdalsvik, at the south of the east fjords, and began our drive south west toward the Vatnajokull glacier. We reached Hofn by noon and, with the help of the Lonely Planet, found a nice restaurant where we stopped for lunch.
Taking the Yaris 4x4-ing:
Gorgeous stormy beach along the coast:
Mom enjoying the view and the chance to stretch her legs:
After lunch we continued heading south west through the Myrar valley. At the end of the valley was the Jokusarlon lagoon, where the Breithamerkurjokull finger of the Vatnajokull glacier calves off icebergs that float out to sea. As we turned off the road to the lagoon we knew it would be a major attraction because the parking lot was full of tour buses and cars and people dressed in their finest cold-weather outdoor gear.
Zodiak and bundled-up tourists:
The lagoon was amazing. The mini-bergs were blue on the bottom, white in the middle, and often covered with dirt on the top. It made for a strange sight. I tried to take good pictures but I found that the range of my lens just wasn’t cutting it. I really wished I had a wide-angle or a fish-eye lens so I could capture more of the lagoon in each shot.
Three views of the lagoon:
Some tourists got to see the mini-bergs up close on an amphibious bus/boat. The vehicles drove up to a ramp where the tourists boarded. Then they drove off down the shoreline and entered the lagoon. They couldn’t get very far into the lagoon, so each trip lasted less than 20 minutes. However, it must’ve been really cool to get up close and personal with the bergs.
The amphibious bus/boat:
We pressed on, travelling through the Oraefi valley past the turn off to the Skaftafell national park. From there it was a straight shot to Vik, and onwards to our final destination, the Farm Guesthouse Smaratun at Hvollsvollur. Simone was a speeding machine until we got into Vik and she set off what I thought was photo radar. It turned out to be a warning light, thankfully. After gassing up, Simone handed off the keys to me for the final drive to Hvollsvollur.
(Simone here: As we entered the town the posted limit was 50 km so I slowed down accordingly. There was the equivalent of a ‘veloci-meter’ that showed drivers what their speed was as they passed through. I didn’t think anything of it until Rowena exclaimed “It just flashed twice and I think you had your photo taken!” I felt sick. After a whole day of driving (and yes, sometimes over the limit), I was going to get a ticket for doing the 53 km/hr that was on the screen when the flashes occurred. “Poop!” I thought (ok, well not ‘poop’ but you get the idea). It turns out that the ‘veloci-meters’ are merely that - a good visual for drivers to get them to slow down. Phew! It certainly got my heart rate up.)
A few kilometers out of Vik, Simone flipped through the folder where we were keeping the Hostelling Iceland itinerary, various maps, and print-outs of hostel and hotel reservations. Out of the blue, she asked “What day is it?” It was Wednesday the 5th. There was silence for a moment and then she said “It says here that we’re staying in the hostel in Hvoll tonight.” That warranted pulling over for confab.
Sure enough, I’d gotten confused about the date. We were indeed staying at the hostel in Hvoll that night, not at the Farm Guesthouse Smaratun in Hvollsvollur. Unfortunately, we were now a good 200 kms past Hvoll. To make things worse, the reservation sheet for the hostel said that they would only hold our room until 6pm. It was now 4:30pm. I turned the Yaris around and started burning rubber back east toward Vik and Hvoll.
Simone suggested stopping at the Vik hostel to have them call ahead and save our room. Good idea, right? The only problem was that we couldn’t find the hostel. We drove around for a bit and then gave up. Our only option was to speed like we’d never sped before, which we did. We arrived at the hostel in Hvoll a few minutes before 6pm, absolutely wrecked from the long day, which turned out to be longer than necessary.
The hostel turned out to be a large out-building on a working farm. It turned out to be one of the nicest hostels I’ve ever been in, with nice rooms, several private kitchens, and a large communal dining area. Dinner was a camping packet, since we didn’t have time to stop and get supplies in the panic to get to the hostel. We also had some left-over pasta from the previous night. After dinner we headed up to the room. We were shattered and we all hit the sack (or, in this case, bunk) by 8pm.
5.8.09
AKUREYRI TO SEYTHISFJORTHUR
We hit the road at about 8:30am. Our first stop was the N1 gas station, at the junction of a large bridge that crosses a narrow point on the fjord. From there we headed east toward Lake Myvatn. According to the Hostelling Iceland itinerary our first stop was Gothafoss waterfall. Again, we saw what looked like water vapor in the distance but nearly drove past the waterfall. Actually, thinking back on it, we did have to reverse down the highway a few meters to get back to the road leading to the waterfalls.
The sign for Gothafoss:
Gothafoss Waterfall was amazing. It wasn’t wide or tall, but it was pretty. Like many other attractions, there were no level paths leading to view points or even rails preventing you from going over the edge. Simone climbed across to a fairly large rock overlooking the falls but Mom and I stayed well back and took pictures from afar.
A full view of the falls:
Above the falls:
After the photo op at Gothafoss we got back on the road. We blasted past Lake Myvatn, not realizing that there were only a couple of places where you could pull off to admire it. As we were hurtling down the road at 110 km/h I saw a small sign to the right and managed to read “Dimm...” I slammed on the breaks and turned around. The sign was for Dimmuborgir lava park, the next attraction on the day’s itinerary. We turned the Yaris onto the unassuming dirt road and headed up the hill. As we rounded a corner a large parking lot appeared, along with a large building housing washrooms, a gift shop, and – most importantly – a café that served fresh-brewed coffee. Simone and Mom hadn’t had their morning caffeine fix so they were in desperate need.
After they had their coffee we headed down the trail into the lava park. It was like walking into Mordor. I took so many pictures that I nearly drained my camera battery. We spent about 45 minutes walking around the park. We could have spent hours there, since some paths covered kilometers of the park. However, we had to press on so we returned to the car to continue our journey.
I wish I had a better lens. This just doesn't capture the vastness of Dimmuborgir:
Rock and sky:
Simone sitting on the rock throne:
In the land of Mordor:
Mom was sad because we didn’t stop at Lake Myvatn, so after consulting the map and discussing our schedule, we decided we could afford to turn around and head back to the lake. As we approached the first view point we were absolutely gob-smacked to see 5 tour buses and about 30 cars parked there, and at least 150 people walking around the hills above the lake. That’s when we realized we’d missed another attraction – the Skutustathir pseudo craters which line the banks of the lake. We found a place to park and then headed down the path with all of the other tourists.
I led us slightly astray by taking the right branch of a path instead of the left. We eventually realized we’d passed the crater that we wanted to see and turned back. As we walked up the path to the lip of the crater we mingled with a gaggle of Italian tourists from one of the tour buses. They were absolutely astounded to see me walking along in sandals, shorts, and a t-shirt. They were all bundled up in sub-zero parkas, pants, hiking boots, and toques. I could see how they might need a few more layers because they’re so used to warm temperatures. However, I thought the parkas and toques were overkill.
Tourists standing on the edge of the pseudo-crater:
"Look, rocks!":
By the time we finished touring the pseudo craters we were all feeling a bit peckish. I consulted the map and saw that there was an N1 gas station at the turn off to Egillstathir. We decided to stop there to grab a quick and cheap lunch. However, when we pulled in to the gas station it was clear that it didn’t have the large cafeteria that we were used to. Instead, it had a small supermarket. I wanted something substantial for lunch so I made the executive decision to drive on to the next group of buildings to see if we could find a café. We did find a café, but once inside we vetoed having lunch there because of the outrageous prices.
Back at the supermarket we were inspecting the grim selection of baked goods and pre-packaged sandwiches when I noticed a board on the counter advertising burgers, fries, hot dogs, and paninis. Bingo! I ordered the burger and fries, Simone ordered a panini, and Mom ordered a hot dog – all for less than $20.
According to the Hostelling Iceland itinerary there were no more attractions along the road to Seythisfjorthur. However, when we descended from a mountain pass we saw a huge parking lot full of tour buses and cars, and we knew we needed to stop and take a look.
The parking lot was for the Namafjall geothermal hot springs. These weren’t nice hot springs, but rather boiling mud holes giving off noxious gases. The wind was strong so thankfully the gases were whisked away quickly. I’d hate to visit the site on a windless day. Peee-ew! Nonetheless it was worth the stop and we did get some amazing photos of steaming earth painted yellow and blue by minerals.
Lovely-looking mud hole:
Steam rising from the ground:
We spent the rest of the afternoon burning up kilometers in the Yaris. We made it to Egillstathir around 2:30pm. Egillstathir is the capital of East Iceland. It has about 1,500 inhabitants and is one of the newest cities in the country. We had decided against staying there because it lacked much history or culture. Instead, we had booked a room at the hostel in Seythisfjorthur, an historic fishing and trading village located about 45 km away on the edge of a fjord.
We turned onto the road to Seythisfjorthur and it soon became clear that to get to the village we’d have to drive over a mountain pass. About halfway up the mountain we ascended into a cloudbank. The rest of the ride was somewhat miserable because I could only see 10 m ahead of me at the best of times, the road was twisty, and the inclines were butt-clenchingly steep. I was very relieved to descend into the valley and turn off onto the road leading to the hostel.
The hostel was described on the Hostelling Iceland site as funky and artsy. They forgot to mention that it is also old, with thin walls, and creaky bunkbeds. Oh, well. I liked the somewhat slap-dab look of the place and the homey furnishings.
View from the hostel to the fjord:
Waterfalls and fog on the mountain behind the hostel:
The authors of the Lonely Planet guide books raved about the arts and crafts in Seythisfjorthur, so we were eager to get out and explore the shops in town. We asked when the shops closed and received a somewhat quizzical look before learning that they closed at 6pm. I looked up a couple of shops in the Lonely Planet guide book and we headed off.
I got a bit turned about in town but we eventually found the Skaftafell Cultural Center, which was described as the artistic hub of the community. We discovered that it also had a bistro/café on the ground floor. We walked through the bistro/café to the gallery and were quite taken aback by the crappy installation artwork. I should have taken a picture of the main “piece” – it literally looked like someone had had explosive diarrhea all over the wall, ceiling, and floor.
We left the gallery and drove around looking for other craft shops. We spotted a “handicrafts” sign and pulled in to check it out. The gallery side of the room was okay, with lots of abstract landscape paintings. However, the crafts side of the room was disappointing. Imagine the worst crochet, the ugliest beadwork, and the most old-fashioned knitwear you can. Then add the smell of a second-hand store and the mismatched tables from a church basement, and you’ve got the picture.
Our final stop in town was a small room off a woman’s house. She was actually selling some very sophisticated wool clothing, leather handbags, and silver jewelry. The problem was the cost. Not everyone can afford to spend $300 on a wool jumper.
We hit up the supermarket on the way home and scoped out dinner options. The selection was limited and I ended up buying a small bag of pasta to cook up with a package of Alfredo sauce that Mom brought from home. Back at the hostel we showered, unpacked, and then headed to the kitchen and dining room for dinner. My pasta dinner was rather tasty, and easy to cook in the tiny kitchen.
After dinner Mom and I watched “The Darjeeling Limited” on the computer while Simone read a book. We all hit the sack around 9pm, tired from the long day. We set the alarm for 6:30am because the next day we had to cover 500+ kilometers and we wanted to make sure we had enough time to get to our destination and to visit attractions along the way.
The sign for Gothafoss:
Gothafoss Waterfall was amazing. It wasn’t wide or tall, but it was pretty. Like many other attractions, there were no level paths leading to view points or even rails preventing you from going over the edge. Simone climbed across to a fairly large rock overlooking the falls but Mom and I stayed well back and took pictures from afar.
A full view of the falls:
Above the falls:
After the photo op at Gothafoss we got back on the road. We blasted past Lake Myvatn, not realizing that there were only a couple of places where you could pull off to admire it. As we were hurtling down the road at 110 km/h I saw a small sign to the right and managed to read “Dimm...” I slammed on the breaks and turned around. The sign was for Dimmuborgir lava park, the next attraction on the day’s itinerary. We turned the Yaris onto the unassuming dirt road and headed up the hill. As we rounded a corner a large parking lot appeared, along with a large building housing washrooms, a gift shop, and – most importantly – a café that served fresh-brewed coffee. Simone and Mom hadn’t had their morning caffeine fix so they were in desperate need.
After they had their coffee we headed down the trail into the lava park. It was like walking into Mordor. I took so many pictures that I nearly drained my camera battery. We spent about 45 minutes walking around the park. We could have spent hours there, since some paths covered kilometers of the park. However, we had to press on so we returned to the car to continue our journey.
I wish I had a better lens. This just doesn't capture the vastness of Dimmuborgir:
Rock and sky:
Simone sitting on the rock throne:
In the land of Mordor:
Mom was sad because we didn’t stop at Lake Myvatn, so after consulting the map and discussing our schedule, we decided we could afford to turn around and head back to the lake. As we approached the first view point we were absolutely gob-smacked to see 5 tour buses and about 30 cars parked there, and at least 150 people walking around the hills above the lake. That’s when we realized we’d missed another attraction – the Skutustathir pseudo craters which line the banks of the lake. We found a place to park and then headed down the path with all of the other tourists.
I led us slightly astray by taking the right branch of a path instead of the left. We eventually realized we’d passed the crater that we wanted to see and turned back. As we walked up the path to the lip of the crater we mingled with a gaggle of Italian tourists from one of the tour buses. They were absolutely astounded to see me walking along in sandals, shorts, and a t-shirt. They were all bundled up in sub-zero parkas, pants, hiking boots, and toques. I could see how they might need a few more layers because they’re so used to warm temperatures. However, I thought the parkas and toques were overkill.
Tourists standing on the edge of the pseudo-crater:
"Look, rocks!":
By the time we finished touring the pseudo craters we were all feeling a bit peckish. I consulted the map and saw that there was an N1 gas station at the turn off to Egillstathir. We decided to stop there to grab a quick and cheap lunch. However, when we pulled in to the gas station it was clear that it didn’t have the large cafeteria that we were used to. Instead, it had a small supermarket. I wanted something substantial for lunch so I made the executive decision to drive on to the next group of buildings to see if we could find a café. We did find a café, but once inside we vetoed having lunch there because of the outrageous prices.
Back at the supermarket we were inspecting the grim selection of baked goods and pre-packaged sandwiches when I noticed a board on the counter advertising burgers, fries, hot dogs, and paninis. Bingo! I ordered the burger and fries, Simone ordered a panini, and Mom ordered a hot dog – all for less than $20.
According to the Hostelling Iceland itinerary there were no more attractions along the road to Seythisfjorthur. However, when we descended from a mountain pass we saw a huge parking lot full of tour buses and cars, and we knew we needed to stop and take a look.
The parking lot was for the Namafjall geothermal hot springs. These weren’t nice hot springs, but rather boiling mud holes giving off noxious gases. The wind was strong so thankfully the gases were whisked away quickly. I’d hate to visit the site on a windless day. Peee-ew! Nonetheless it was worth the stop and we did get some amazing photos of steaming earth painted yellow and blue by minerals.
Lovely-looking mud hole:
Steam rising from the ground:
We spent the rest of the afternoon burning up kilometers in the Yaris. We made it to Egillstathir around 2:30pm. Egillstathir is the capital of East Iceland. It has about 1,500 inhabitants and is one of the newest cities in the country. We had decided against staying there because it lacked much history or culture. Instead, we had booked a room at the hostel in Seythisfjorthur, an historic fishing and trading village located about 45 km away on the edge of a fjord.
We turned onto the road to Seythisfjorthur and it soon became clear that to get to the village we’d have to drive over a mountain pass. About halfway up the mountain we ascended into a cloudbank. The rest of the ride was somewhat miserable because I could only see 10 m ahead of me at the best of times, the road was twisty, and the inclines were butt-clenchingly steep. I was very relieved to descend into the valley and turn off onto the road leading to the hostel.
The hostel was described on the Hostelling Iceland site as funky and artsy. They forgot to mention that it is also old, with thin walls, and creaky bunkbeds. Oh, well. I liked the somewhat slap-dab look of the place and the homey furnishings.
View from the hostel to the fjord:
Waterfalls and fog on the mountain behind the hostel:
The authors of the Lonely Planet guide books raved about the arts and crafts in Seythisfjorthur, so we were eager to get out and explore the shops in town. We asked when the shops closed and received a somewhat quizzical look before learning that they closed at 6pm. I looked up a couple of shops in the Lonely Planet guide book and we headed off.
I got a bit turned about in town but we eventually found the Skaftafell Cultural Center, which was described as the artistic hub of the community. We discovered that it also had a bistro/café on the ground floor. We walked through the bistro/café to the gallery and were quite taken aback by the crappy installation artwork. I should have taken a picture of the main “piece” – it literally looked like someone had had explosive diarrhea all over the wall, ceiling, and floor.
We left the gallery and drove around looking for other craft shops. We spotted a “handicrafts” sign and pulled in to check it out. The gallery side of the room was okay, with lots of abstract landscape paintings. However, the crafts side of the room was disappointing. Imagine the worst crochet, the ugliest beadwork, and the most old-fashioned knitwear you can. Then add the smell of a second-hand store and the mismatched tables from a church basement, and you’ve got the picture.
Our final stop in town was a small room off a woman’s house. She was actually selling some very sophisticated wool clothing, leather handbags, and silver jewelry. The problem was the cost. Not everyone can afford to spend $300 on a wool jumper.
We hit up the supermarket on the way home and scoped out dinner options. The selection was limited and I ended up buying a small bag of pasta to cook up with a package of Alfredo sauce that Mom brought from home. Back at the hostel we showered, unpacked, and then headed to the kitchen and dining room for dinner. My pasta dinner was rather tasty, and easy to cook in the tiny kitchen.
After dinner Mom and I watched “The Darjeeling Limited” on the computer while Simone read a book. We all hit the sack around 9pm, tired from the long day. We set the alarm for 6:30am because the next day we had to cover 500+ kilometers and we wanted to make sure we had enough time to get to our destination and to visit attractions along the way.
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