Skyr is Here!

Guess who had a happy surprise in Kroger's natural/organic dairy section this morning!?  This girl because Skyr is here!  

Now if you've read the previous posts about my recent Icelandic adventure, you'll know that I sadly did not get to try as much Icelandic food as I would have liked.  Seriously, I generally like to eat my way through a culture but in this case, it was not meant to be.  Most of Iceland's traditional food was either too expensive for me to afford, too endangered for me to feel comfortable eating, or too hurl-worthy for me to endure after The Stomach Bug(TM).  (I swear I would have tried the fermented shark had it been available somewhere other than a flea market the day after recovering from my intestinal distress...)

Skyr, however, was an entirely different matter!  It was cheap-ish, plentiful, and so tasty with its many fruit-flavored varieties.  I think my fave was peach...  Anyway, I was excited to find it at Kroger so that I could share it with the fam.  Mark had had it in the Keflavik airport during our layovers so he was already a fan but the kids had only heard the legend that is Skyr.  I wished that Kroger had had the flavored Skyr instead of just plain but, no matter, the yogurt-show will go on and it will be gloriously tasty!  [insert awesome music here]

So, yeah, anyone who's ever had plain unsweetened yogurt can guess how the tasting went.  Mark and Rowan soldiered through, after adding garlic and chives and looking for potato chips to dip in it.  Eamon wasn't as lucky and went fetal almost immediately.  *sigh*  Ok, Kroger, hurry up and get some of the flavored Skyr, and some wind-dried haddock and horsemeat stew while you're at it, so I can give my family the true Icelanic culinary experience! 

Vacation Blues

It's been far too long since I've posted here.  I have no excuse - other than jet-lag, a 1,000 mile round-trip car ride to recover my children from their grandmother, work duties, domestic duties, reminding my friends that I haven't forgotten their existence and actually do care about them, and just generally trying to get my life back on track since returning from almost 5 weeks away from home.  So, yeah, really no excuse at all for my hiatus.  Sorry! 

Anyway, you may be thinking that this post refers to the post-vacation blues.  Well, not so much.  I'm referring more to the during-the-vacation vacation blues.  The thing is, I really wanted to love Iceland.  And before I go any further, let me just say that Iceland was GORGEOUS and its people were nothing but kind and accomodating to us.  The fault for not loving it entirely was mine and mine alone.  My unpreparedness, my frailties, and my inability to adapt is the only reason that I didn't fall head over heels in ÍSLAND love.  

So let me just break it down.  Iceland is COLD.  I know, you're thinking, "Um, yeah, that's why it's called ICE-land..."  No, you don't get it.  It is SUPER-FREAKING COLD.  And this is only their summer weather!  I've always prided myself on my adapatbility so I thought the weather would be no problem, especially since I was visiting in June and July, their warmest months.  Weather.com predicted days in the 60's and nights in the 40's.  And I used to work outside all day in the Kentucky winters when it was so cold that my breath would freeze on its way up my face and frost my eyelashes and eyebrows.  So surely a little outdoor Icelandic sightseeing in my heavy parka wouldn't bother me, right?  Yeah, it did bother me.  A lot.  

Although weather.com predicted 60+ degree days, it actually never got out of the 50's and of course the nights were colder.  But what weather.com didn't factor in - or I didn't look for - was the windchill factor.  Windchill became my most hated and feared nemesis. Maybe my ability to tolerate the cold is forever ruined because I've lived in toasty warm South Carolina for thirteen years now.  Or maybe I just couldn't make the transition from hot southern US summer to kind of warm UK summer to cold Icelandic summer.  Regardless of the reason, I suffered!  It also didn't help that I picked up a stomach bug before leaving the UK, which didn't kick in until my second day in Iceland.  Cold wind and rain really doesn't help much when you're clinging to porcelain, just wishing it would all end, one way or another.  

So, yeah, let me just go ahead and say right now that I am not as sturdy as I thought and that if our country ever gets into a "situation" with Iceland, we should just go ahead and surrender immediately because these people will kick our fancy-car-seat-warmed tushies - while eating ice cream and clad in nothing but Speedos.  Our only hope would be to lure them into a desert and melt them...  But being from the land of volcanoes, I'm not sure that would bother them either!  

This picture just kind of says it all... ;)

Airports to Avoid

This was actually meant to be the first post of my trip but due to a questionable internet connection at what is quite possibly the world's suckiest airport, I thought I'd lost this and only recently realized that I hadn't...

When it comes to sucky airports, Boston's Logan International Airport has quickly moved to the top of the list, second only to the one in Tegucigalpa, Honduras.  (Although to be fair, Tegucigalpa's rating is due more to sheer terror from the lack of runway than general suckiness.)  When we finally arrived in Boston at 9pm after the first flight on our way to Scotland, I thought we still had a chance to make our 9:30 flight to our next layover in Iceland.  Silly me!  Little did I know that the airport's terminals are widely spread and can only be accessed by leaving the secured area, getting into the regular airport arrival/departure traffic, and catching a bus to one of three or four other terminals, depending on where your next flight is headed.  Of course we landed as far away as possible from the terminal that we needed to depart from.  Bye-bye Iceland plane! :(  

I'll spare you all of the details of trying to find an Iceland Air staff member to re-route us and getting sent back to the original terminal only to be told that US Air could give a rip about us being stuck in Boston for 24 hours and losing what was to be our first day in Scotland.  The good news was that at least half of our luggage had definitely made it to Boston with us.  Probably.  We wouldn't know for sure for another two days once we finally made it to Glasgow, Scotland.  (We later learned that Mark's bag seemed to be the one in question and was apparently drug all the way from North Carolina!)

The silver lining in all of this was that my cousin and her signifant other live in Boston!  And she even answered my plea to be rescued from the airport!  (I have a feeling she might think about answering calls from me in the future though... ;)  Despite it being the middle of the night, all the highway tolls, airport fees, and crazy Boston traffic which apparently never sleeps, Erica and Tony drove from Belmont and rescued us from the airport of doom.  They even let us sleep in their home, although at that point, I would have been happy with the backseat of the car!  So even though our vacation was delayed for a day, we were fortunate enough to spend a little time with family and not be suck in limbo at the worst airport ever!  (On the way back from our trip, Mark got to spend even more time in the Boston Logan Airport when he had to lock himself into a bathroom stall to try to get some sleep since that seemed to be the only truly safe place for him and his luggage.)

Just say no...

Rough Riders: Part Tvær

When good ponies go bad...

Who knew that three days after our epic friendship fest, my association with 'As the Icelandic horse-pony would land me in hot water with U.S. Customs.  Did you know that question number 12 on the U.S. Customs & Border Protection form asks if you have been in close proximity of (i.e. touching/handling) livestock?  I didn't either.  Unless the Customs officials have been reading my blog (unlikely, right? that's the NSA, isn't it?), they couldn't prove that I was in close proximity to livestock.  But still I saw no reason not to be honest with my government officials - my first mistake - so I naively checked the "yes" box and wrote "horse" next to where it said "livestock."    

I started to realize that I may have screwed up when I got shunted over to a line that was suspiciously longer than the line the rest of the passengers from my plane were in.  My suspicions were confirmed when I got an irritated-looking agent who started grilling me not about item # 12, but about item # 13, carrying currency or monetary instruments over $10,000 into the U.S.  Seriously?!!  Did he not know how to read the damn form I spent so much time filling out!?  The conversation went a little like this:

Evil Agent:  "You're bringing in currency or goods valued over $10,000?" 

Me:  "What?  No, I have a few souvenirs but they're not worth any more than $100.  I checked 'yes' to the livestock question because I rode a horse in Iceland."

E.A.:  <flipping the form around but being no less intimidating>  "You rode a horse?"

Me:  "Yes, in Iceland but just for two hours."

E.A.:  "Why were you traveling abroad?"

Me:  <feeling like we were back on safer ground>  "Just for leisure."

E.A.:  <intimidating stare>  "Leisure?"  

Me:  "Yes, my husband and I went to Scotland and England to celebrate our anniversary and then I flew to meet my sister in Iceland."

E.A.:  <looking around>  "Where's your husband?"

Me:  "He's at home in Columbia, SC."

E.A.:  <looking like he'd finally caught me red-handed>  "He's not with you?" 

Me:  "No, he flew home after England.  But he's going to pick me up from the airport later."  <I really hoped I wasn't dragging Mark into whatever sordid international incident this guy was trying to fabricate!>

E.A.:  "So your sister lives in Iceland?"

Me:  "No, she flew to meet me there and we traveled around together."

E.A.:  <exasperated>  "Where is your sister now?!"

Me:  "In Kentucky, where she lives.  She just arrived there.  We had separate flights since we were going to separate destinations."

E.A.:  <bending back down to my form and getting extra condescending>  "You say you bought a necklace that only cost $10?"

Me:  "Yes, it was just some beads from a craft store."

E.A.:  <finally getting to the point>  "Did someone give you goods to carry in your luggage?!"

Me:  "No, of course not!"

E.A.  <unrelenting>  "Do you understand the severity of what I'm asking you!?"

Me:  <getting desperate> "Yes, but all I did was ride a horse in Iceland!  It was just two hours!"

E.A.:  <grudgingly>  "All right, you can go."

Thank goodness because he was so determined that I was starting to think that maybe I was guilty of something!  :P  From now on, I will have to think twice about hanging out with strange foreign ponies...

Homeward Bound

Home again, home again, jiggity-jig!

My thirteen hour layover in London's Heathrow airport was actually kind of nice, kind of homey - thanks to Costa Coffee's many, many accessible couches and their inability to secure their open-floor-plan-space from vagabonds such as myself!  :D  With ear plugs I was even able to drown out the ever-present sounds of construction and PA system's quarterly warnings of the evils of letting your children play on the baggage trollies. 

I wanted to repay Costa Coffee this morning for their hospitality, however unintentional, so I ponied up for an iced coffee and a cherry tart as soon as they opened and settled in to feed my daily internet addiction as well.  I may have spent a little longer there than intended but I still wanted to avail myself of the United Airlines Club, for which I had a pass, so I set off to get checked in and get some freebies.  (And by "freebies" I mean snack food that my United Airlines Card fees have paid for many times over!)  However, if I had known how good their spread was, I would have availed myself a lot sooner!  In addition to the many pastries, breads, meats, cheeses, cereals, and yogurts, the had the full hot English breakfast - eggs, sausage, hash, tomatoes, beans, and mushrooms!  

As I attempted to hoard some of this yummy food for later (hey, don't judge - I'd been traveling for 24 hours, with 12 more to go!), I happened to look at the departures screen.  My flight was listed as Closing.  Oh. $#!%.  I have - knock on wood - NEVER missed a flight due to my own tardiness and sure as hell didn't want to start now.  Thirteen hours at Heathrow was plenty, thanks!  So as I was sprinting down the moving sidewalk, I noticed the weird sensation of things hitting the floor at my feet.  I turned to find that my back pack had come unzipped, spilling my food hoard - and thus my shame - onto the moving sidewalk.  Clumsy AND classless all at once!  What can I say, I AM the total package!  ;)  

So what did I learn from that embarassing, nearly disastrous airport incident?  Why, to be sure to arrive earlier to free food buffets in the future so that I'll have more time to securley stow my ill-gotten goods! :)

 My own little London flat at Heathrow! :D

Rifted

Learning from the Master

When it comes to traveling, Erica and I have studied and apprenticed for years at the feet of the master - our mom.  Her technique is relatively simple:  cram as much sightseeing & activity as you possibly can into your allotted time, foregoing physical comfort and sleep if necessary.  We've gotten pretty good at the deprivation part but still need to work on the sheer volume of vacation-related activities we try to fit into the schedule.  For that reason, we devised our own Mom Travel Grading (MTG) Scale.  For example, sleeping past 8 a.m. on vacation will get you a C, with half a letter grade off for each hour after that.  Waking up at 6 a.m. and taking a nature walk to look for animals will get you an A.  Picking up and throwing away any trash you find along your way, will earn you bonus points! 

With that scale in mind, Erica and I were pretty excited to have gotten on the road Tuesday by 8 a.m.  Considering we had to get dressed AND break down the tent, that was quite an accomplishment for us.  (It's amazing what you can do when there's no wifi to tempt you into slothfulness...)  A+ on the MTG Scale!  Despite the loss of points we knew we would accrue, we decided to reward ourselves for our early departure with a little coffee, if we could ever find a place close to the road that was open.  (You should know that no extra points are given in the MTG system for completing vacation-related activities without the aid of coffee.  In fact, in our mom's coffee-free world, coffee acquisition and ingestion is a crutch that costs valuable vacation time and money so it will actually lose you points!)

Like addicts who've found a fix they didn't know they were looking for, Erica and I discovered that in addtition to caffeine, the roadside coffee shop was peddling free wifi.  Uh-oh...  An hour - or two - later, after Erica and I had inundated the internet with our latest selfies and witticisms, we finally disconnected and got back on the road towards Þingvellir National Park.  C- on the MTG for that blatant loss of time.  

By the time we finally made it to Þingvellir, after hours of driving on a rainy gravel road, we were not in an awe-struck mood.  I really wanted to be.  We could see the actual rifts between the North American and Eurasian tectonic plates from the car!  "How cool is that?!" I thought, trying to work myself into a vacation frenzy!  Despite the pouring rain, I decided that I could not miss seeing this amazing phenomenon up close.  I would suck it up, put on my cheap plastic poncho, hike the short distance to the top of the rift, take a million pictures, and do my mom proud!  

However, the second I stepped out of the car, the furiously blowing wind tried to suffocate me with my own poncho.  I had one of those "Oh, this is why they say not to put plastic bags over your face!" moments.  I would have called Erica over to rescue me except that she wouldn't have been able to hear me through the plastic being forced down my throat.  And she wasn't available anyway since she was emptying her bladder onto the amazing natural formations of the park, while trying to avoid detection by tourists and park rangers.  After freeing myself from my homicidal rain gear, I decided that my near brush with death was all the excitement I needed for the moment and that pictures of the Rift from the safety of the dry car would be just fine after all.  C- on the MTG for not getting up close and personal with the national park but A+ for survival skills, which averages out to a solid B.  

Not bad for a car shot, huh? ;)  A- on the MTG Scale!

Rough Riders

When ponies think they're cats....

So know I am committing a major faux pas by referring to Icelandic horses as 'ponies' but they're just too dang cute to be called horses! I refer to most dogs as 'puppies' and they've never taken offense so I'm sure the Icelandic 'ponies' won't either.

Anyway, Erica had the brilliant idea that we should ride horses in Iceland. Riding horses on vacation would be cool in and of itself but apparently Icelandic horse-ponies are extra special cool because they have an extra gait, whatever that means. I guess it's like those manual cars that have 6 gears instead of 5. Whatever. As long as it has a mane on one end, tail on the other, and saddle in the middle, I want to ride it! :)

My pony for the duration of our trip through the fields of (hardened) volcanic lava was `As, pronounced Haus. And he thought he was a cat. When I was not on his back, he gleefully used me as scratching post for his head and leaned against me. Yes, he literally leaned his big horse-pony body against me as if we were old buddies staggering home from the bar together. I'm sure that is animal-speak for, "Yeah, you think you're in charge but let's see how you like it when I sit on YOU!" But all I could think, in that part of my mind which is still an 8 year old horse-crazy girl, was, "He likes me! He really really likes me! And he wants to be my lap pony!" :)

We took a few selfies and then finally called it a day. I can tell you, there is nothing in this world like tölting around the lava fields on your very own drinking buddy/lap pony!

My lap pony and me! :)

Good News-Bad News

My thought process upon arriving at last night's campground-

Bad news: For the second night in a row, our campground doesn't have a shower.

Good News: There is a natural hot spring bath here!

Bad news: It is full of moss and algae! Like sitting in a steeping cup of moss tea... wait a minute!

Good News: Icelanders drink moss tea! Therefore, if this is ok for them to DRINK, it's ok for me to marinate in, right? Right?!

Bad news: Ohmigod, did I mention there's no shower?! :/

Yep, that's moss and/or algae and/or green parasites floating in the water...

But at least we can enjoy a nice view while we're soaking up the mossy parasites! :D 

Update:  It only took a mere three years to add these photos to the blog post.  

Totally worth the wait.  :D 

Saxhóll

A volcano with a name like Saxhóll has a lot to live up to. At the very least you expect a little boiling magma, the smell of brimstone, and maybe a creature lurking in the shadows muttering something about his precious. You certainly don't expect to look into the crater and see... grass?! Flowers even?!  What kind of volcano is that?! It was freaking' Ferngully up in there!  Some volcanoes just don't live up to the hype. :P

See, doesn't seem like it would be full of doom and gloom and orks?

Nope, those are flowers in there! :P

Update:  Well, it only took me three years to add my own pictures to this post (oops!) but here they are! 

Drive Time

Why I do all the driving all the time

Aside from the fact that Erica can't drive a stick shift, there's another reason that I do all of the driving.  Apparently my sweet little yogi sister has a bit of road rage buried inside her, as evidenced by yesterday's conversation. 


After an oncoming car in my lane on the highway prompted me and another car to move to the shoulder...

Me:  "Really?!?!  I guess I should stop being so surprised at idiots trying to pass and doing it badly."

Erica:  <with quiet menace> "And you should stop being so nice.  That was our lane."

Me:  "I'm sorry I didn't feel like having a head-on collision today!"

Don't let that sweet smile fool you...

Where in the World is Marti?

Down & Out in Iceland

I'm back!  Hopefully you noticed that I was gone...  But here I am again, for better or worse, after several days of spotty internet connection and a nasty stomach bug - apparently the British are still infecting us colonists with virulent strains of things their bodies have no resistance to!  Thanks a lot, Chantele!  ;) 

Anyway, I made it to Iceland with my Kronur intact.  It's beautiful here, although I don't know how Icelanders do it.  If the cold doesn't get you, the wind will!  I can barely handle a summer day and yet they do this 365 days a year - sometimes 366!  I think after this trip, I will stick to admiring their fortitude and sturdiness from afar! ;) 

Don't get too excited - each of these bills is worth less than $5 American! :P

Erica's first proof of Elf existence in Iceland, near Hvolsvöllur, Iceland.

Basalt columns in Vík í Mýrdal.

Photography Shmatography

Let me be clear:  my husband has many, many talents.  Unfortunately, photography isn't one of them.  For most of us, myself included, the advent of digital cameras has drastically improved the quality of our photos.  You can just shoot, review, and shoot some more untill you get the shot you want, without worry of wasting film or having to wait until it's processed and developed.  However, the key to the whole thing is reviewing and reshooting - or maybe just looking at the view finder screen in the first place, none of which Mark seems interested in doing.  :P

Below we have a picture of me pointing to a road sign to the town of Nairn, for my friend, Chevon Nairn Rosenberry.  So it would be really nice if the roadsign was included in the picture with me.  :/

If you squint really hard and tilt your head to the left... 

you still won't see it.  :P

And who could forget this gem from 2011 of 

the kids and me in front of the Lincoln Memorial?  

(Btw, I had him take this picture twice "just in case" and they are both the same!)

London is for Sprinters

It's been a little while since I last visited London - ok, a long while!  Fifteen years to be exact.  It's slightly different than I remember, some additions to the skyline and more congestion.  In fact, it seems a little more like New York City than I remember, with cars and buses whipping in and out of lanes, cutting each other off, narrowly missing each other, and honking furiously.  Added to that mix are brave - or foolish - souls on bicycles, dressed in everything from professional grade spandex to semi-formal dresses and panty hose.  

What came as a total shock to Mark and I were all of the sprinters darting past us.  Note that I did not say "joggers" or "runners" becasuse neither of those words describes the way these people were bolting towards some imaginary finish line.  Most of them carried small packs on their backs but some were just in button down shirts and slacks.  Mark and I couldn't figure out if they were all training for some kind of race, commuting to or from work, or just late for a train that day.  Regardless of why they were doing it, they were so prolific in number, so fast, and so dedicated, that Mark, with all of his running bona fides, was starting to feel slightly inadequate. ;) 

They were too fast for me to catch on film 

so I had to turn to the internet for this one! 

Murder Mountain

A.K.A. Ben Nevis

Ok, so Ben Nevis isn't really that bad.  Mark and I only started joking about calling it Murder Mountain as we were on our way down when we heard (and saw) a murder of crows nearby making a big racket.  (Did you know that three or more crows together is known as a murder?  Now you do!)  

However, once we returned from the mountain - seven hours later - our B & B host decided to inform us that about four people a year DIE on the mountain!  In fact, in 2013, it seems that 11 people had died on the mountain by February that year.  I knew that it was the highest peak in the U.K. but nothing I'd read indicated that it was treacherous or required specialized equipment.  Apparently most of the deaths occur when people try to summit it in the winter when there's snow on the ground - and can't tell they're getting close too the edge!  

Speaking of which, Mark had a bit of a SNAFU when he was running/climbing the Ben.  He found himself alone, next to a rock cairn, and in the midst of a fog bank.  He didn't see anyone else and assumed he'd made it to the top so he started back down to meet me.  An hour or two later when I finally dragged my carcass up to that point, wheezing the whole way, with him tagging along for his second victory lap, the mist had cleared and he realized that the actual summit was still several hundred yards away, beyond a snowy pass, and by that time, teeming with other climbers.  He hurried to run to what was really the top, adding the additional time on to his original run time, while I continued slogging away to make it to the summit.  We both made it to the top, where much rejoicing and pictures were had but if Mark if continued on into the foggy, snow-covered peak the first time, he might have been one of the Ben's 4 yearly victims.  For once, Mark's impatience paid off handsomely! ;)  

On top of the world!  

Well, on top of the UK anyway! ;)

My conquered foe in the background! :)

Adventures in Driving

And I've discovered that I'm not the adventurous type...

Yesterday was the day, a the day I'd been waiting and training for for fifteen years.  In fact, I had been waiting  so long, that I forgot what I was training for!  Yesterday was the day that I finally rented a manual transmission car in a foreign country so that I could tool around having my own adventures, sans crowded, loud, and-sometimes-smelly public transportation.  And now that that day has come and gone, I'm trying desperately to remember what I had against public transportation!  Oh, right, loud, crowded, smelly, but also big, safe, and able to sleep in!  Why in the heck would I want to give THAT up!? 

Right, I do vaguely remember choosing "car hire" for a few days of our Scotland vacation because I was having trouble with the itinerary.  Basically, I couldn't fit in all of the crap we wanted to do during the time allotted, specifically getting from Edinburgh to Fort William, with some brief stopovers at castle ruins along the way, all in a couple of days.  

So it was with a fearful heart and an empty wallet, that I went to find my hired car in the lot at the Edinburgh Airport.  It suddenly dawned on me that I had wanted to do this very thing fifteen years ago and was finally getting my erstwhile wish.  

Back then I had been volunteering as an archaeology student in Greece and was so jealous of the other students who could drive stick shift cars.  They drove the rest of us around all over Isthmia, Corinth, and Ancient Corinth during the expedition and when it was over, a lot of them rented cars to go have their own adventures.  I had this vision of myself driving up and down the Greek coast, finding secluded beaches and laying out in the shade of ruined Greek temples and whatever else college students with cars do in foreign countries.  (Yes, you read that right - I said sunning myself in the shade because, hello, have you seen my pasty skin?!)  Anyway, it because of that experience, that I bought a manual transmission car later that year.  I was determined that I would know how to drive a stick shift the next time I was in Europe - being a naive 21 year-old, I guess thought that would be a yearly thing for me.  :P 

Anyway, I've driven nothing but stick shifts for fifteen years now and wouldn't want to own anything else.  However, the few times that I have made it to Europe since my Greek experience, I've always used public transportation and have had no trouble.  In fact, I have really enjoyed not having to decipher Spanish and Italian road signs, driving rules, etc.  But like I said before, our crazy itinerary made car rental a necessity here.  And besides, all the road signs would be in English and it's not like I was going to drive IN Scotland's big cities, just a few days between towns...  Piece of cake, right? Oh, yeah, there is that whole driving on the other side of the road thing and shifting gears with the left hand instead of the right?  Eh, my Aunt Bonnie did it years ago in Ireland so surely I could too, right?  Yeah, that's what I thought months ago but being faced with the reality of it was a completely different thing.  Regardless, I womanned up and did it!  So this is me putting on a brave face in front of my tiny one litre car that is smaller than some of my son's toys.  

How it all began...

And this is me after a million roundabouts, many wrong turns, and stalling the car on an insane cobblestone hill on the way to visit Stirling Castle, and nearly rolling into the car behind me.  :P  

and how it ended!

As we shakily exited the car, I decided that I would never agan rent a car in a foreign country!  NEVER!!  Oh, $#!%.  I've already reserved a rental car in Iceland for next week for an even longer time period!  Ok, deep-breath-deep-breath.  They drive on the same side of the road as us so it won't be as bad, right?  Just because it's entirely possible/likely that the road signs will be in Icelandic and I don't speak or read Icelandic shouldn't be a problem.  Americans and Brits rent cars all the time in Iceland.  I can do this, right?  I just need to not think about the number of car accidents Icelanders have each year... :P

Edinburgh is Everything

Edinburgh is our new favorite place!  How can you not love a city full of misty mountains, castles, towering Gothic church spires, and the sound of bagpipes wafting through the air?  It's almost like something out of Harry Potter, we said.  Little did we know how right we were but more about that later...

As we were leaving our hotel yesterday to take in the sights of Edinburgh, it began misting heavily, as it does in Edinburgh - and everywhere else in Scotland I'm told.  I was hoping that it would stick to misting and not a hard rain when the following conversation took place:

Me:  "I hope it doesn't rain hard enough for us to get soaked.  We won't be back to the hotel until late tonight and it would be miserable to be wet all day." 

Mark:  "You know, I can't believe that neither of us thought to bring an umbrella."

Me:  "WHAT?!  I agonized over whether or not to bring umbrellas!  I finally decided to go with the ponchos because they would be lighter, cover more, and leave our hands free!  So, yeah, I thought about umbrellas."

Mark:  "Oh."

Me:  "So do you want to put on one of the ponchos that I brought?"

Mark:  "Nah."

Lucky for Mark I didn't have an umbrella or I might have hit him with it!  Hmm, that gives me an idea...  I think we need to incorporate the birthday spanking tradition into wedding anniversaries (husbands only) and/or Fathers' Days.  He would have qualified for a lot yesterday since it was our 10th anniversary AND Father's Day.  ;)

Later in the afternoon, after we'd taken in Calton Hill, Edinburgh Castle, and many other amazing sights, we headed towards Greyfriars Kirkyard. As we turned a corner, the streets there were winding cobblestone affairs, with shops literally on top of and right next to one another, and all kinds of different things displayed outside to lure shoppers in.  I actually said, "This reminds me of Diagon Alley."  Shortly after that, we happened upon The Elephant House, which proudly proclaims itself to be "The Birthplace of Harry Potter," because that's where J.K. Rowling began working on the first book.  And as we wandered through the Kirkyard, we caught the tailend of a tour and found out that many of the names in the Harry Potter books were taken from gravestones in that cemetary, including McGonagall, Tom Riddle, etc.!  Not to mention the private school right behind and visible from the Kirkyard, George Heriot's School, which is basically the model for Hogwarts.  Yep, totally in love with Edinburgh now! :)

The backside of Edinburgh Castle, 

visible from the area where J.K. Rowling used to hang out!

American Dad

In honor of my husband, just in time for Father's Day! 

As is often the case on foreign trips, the subject of being an American abroad has come up frequently since we left home.  Being former Anthropology students, Mark and I try really hard not to be ethnocentric (i.e."ugly Americans") but rather to fit in and go with the flow.  Of course when we open our big American mouths, the cat's definitely out of the bag because there's no hiding our accents!  

There are other times too when our American shows.  For example, not wearing cut-off jean short-shorts with tights is apparently a dead give-away for me not being Scottish.  And when the locals excitedly exclaim over the prediction of a little sun in the afternoon forecast and we say, "Oh, I hope not because we're really enjoying not having to use sunscreen," is another clue that we're not from around here.  But the big one is, of course, soccer.  I mean, futbol, er, football!  See what I mean!?  It's a mess.  

Today as we were walking through lovely downtown Glasgow, an errant soccer ball came rolling towards us.  Mark "attempted" to kick it back to them, resulting in the following conversation:

Me:  "That kick sucked.  You just proved your Americanism by your inability to kick a soccer ball."

Mark:  "I was trying to be nice!  I could have kicked it across the square."

Me:  "Ooh, you should have and then you could've yelled, 'It's called SOCCER, b*tch!'  Then they totally would have recognized our American superiority!"  

Don't worry, we only joke about our [supposed] American superiority amongst ourselves!  No international incidents on this trip, thanks!  Although we may have to stage one later in England, just to live up to our hosts' perception of Mark as a "typical crazy American."  ;)  Should be fun!  Besides, all we have to do to get out of any trouble is to run to the nearest American Embassy screaming, "I'm an American!" and then a big Marine will step out and save us, right?  I saw that in Val Kilmer's "The Saint" so it must be true.   

Speaking of American stereotypes, we stumbled upon not one but TWO American Candy Stores in Glasgow.  And what is an American Candy Store, you ask?  A store full of nothing but the junkiest of American junk foods and sugary cereals.  In other words, row upon row of Trix and Lucky Charms cereal, a wall of Twinkies, and lots of cokes and mountain dews of course.  *sigh*  This is our legacy to the rest of the world.  :P  

But back to Mark... I had a heck of a time keeping him from creating an international incident when we went to the Palace of Holyrood House in Edinburgh today.  Ok, we were not so much IN the Palace of Holyrood House as BEHIND it since the tours for the day were over by the time we arrived.  But behind the Palace/House is the amazing Holyrood Park, about which I naively asked one of attendants, "What's that and how do we get to it?"  Little did I know that before the end of the day I would have summitted - and nearly fallen down - all of its peaks.  :P  Because when Mark sees a mountainous hill or a hilly mountain, all he can think is up!  It matters not how ill-equipped we are for rocky hill climbing or how bare the treads of my tennis shoes are, Mark must ascend.  And I must tag along, carrying the water and reminding him of the many signs prohibiting climbing on the rocks.  And that's how I ended up on top of this!

Friday the 13th

Things you don't ever want to hear:  

Your pilot on the intercom blaming plane malfunction on supernatural causes.  

But when you're in a country where the majority of people believe in elves, I guess telling people that the flight problems were caused by Friday the 13th only seems logical.  ;)  Yes, that's right - Mark and I were flying to our final destination on Friday the 13th.  Apparently all of our travel misadventures, which started on Wednesday the 11th, can all somehow be blamed on Friday the 13th.  So what's a girl to do when stuck in Iceland at the Keflavik Airport on that auspicious day?  

Why keep calm and enjoy the awesome Icelandic bathroom stalls of course! 

(I've stayed in hotels less nice than this bathroom stall!)

Or you can just start drinking heavily! ;)

Flying the Friendly Skies

After missing our connecting flight out of Boston last night, due to weather delays in Charlotte, Mark and I were bummed about the way our epic vacation was starting off.  Luckily though, I have a cousin in Boston.  And not just any cousin but one that was willing to come rescue us from airport purgatory, in the middle of the night even!  Although I think now when she sees my number on caller ID, she may just let it go to voicemail...  But I hope not because you never know when I may come bearing fermented shark meat souvenirs from Iceland!  ;)  Thanks again, Erica & Tony!  

But not everyone has been as friendly to us during our airport (mis)adventures.  For example, as Mark and I were trying to get out of the airport shuttle today, an older woman was taking up the entire aisleway, while gathering all of her luggage.  Although I didn't want to cut in front of her or accidentally bump her, I also wanted to get clear and avoid further bottlenecking.  I saw an opening and quickly darted around her.  She looked at Mark, not realizing we were together, and said, "Some people are so pushy!"  In typical Mark fashion, he smiled broadly and said, "Tell me about it.  I'm married to her!"  He said the woman couldn't decide if she was embarrassed about her faux pas or sympathetic to his plight.  ;) 

Hopefully, the people we meet on the rest of our journey will be friendlier - if we ever make it out of Boston!

That's a lot of bull... ;)

Packing Wars: Part þrír*

Doing the right thing is overrated.  

I'm trying so hard to do the right thing (i.e. pack early).  So hard!  Here I am a week out from the trip and I'm already buying travel-sized toiletry items - and spending ridiculous amounts of money doing so may I add!  I'm encasing everything in Ziploc bags, and, most importantly, I'm actually packing.  I've broken out multiple suitcases, duffel bags, and backpacks from their hiding places and am auditioning them, if you will, to see which is going to be the most amenable to this excursion.

First, the good news:  I have three items packed!  Yay!

And now for the bad news:  This is what three packed items in my suitcase looks like!  Augh!

*hyperventilating*

*deep-breath-deep-breath-deep-breath*

And now for some more slightly good news:  This is what my huge heavy winter coat looks like in its Ziploc Travel Bag!  Yay!

As long as I can wear this, my hiking boots, and a sleeping bag 

wrapped around me for the entirety of the trip, I am set!  

So as I am contemplating packing for three weeks, three countries, two different climates, and two different traveling modes, this is what my husband posts on Facebook:

Mentally pre-staging for the Scotland and England trip:

"I'll be gone two weeks, so that's ... 3 pairs of shorts, a couple of race shirts, socks, underwear and running gear. DONE."

Yeah, Marti's probably gonna kill me when she reads this. 

 No one will blame me if we don't make it to the 11th anniversary, right?  ;) 

* þrír is Icelandic for three.

Packing Wars: Part Tveir*

The games have begun...

In case you didn't read my first post about packing for vacation or you did but you didn't fully understand the message that I was trying to convey, let me be very clear:  I HATE PACKING!  To me, it's the most nerve-wracking part of the trip.  Let me just give you a glimpse into my vacation thought process:

Spending hours crammed in a tiny seat while flying across the ocean?  Sounds peachy!  Figuring out how to take public transportation in country where I don't speak the language?  Piece of cake!  Deciding between the rain poncho and the evening gown?  Omg, omg, OMG!  How am I supposed to know whether it's going to rain or if I'll be invited to a formal dinner while I'm there?!  Augh!  Just pack it all!

I'm not proud of my "condition" but I have learned to live with it over the years.  Most of my recent travel has been in the car and you can really shove a lot in the nooks and crannies of a car so my last minute overpacking has gone largely untreated.  (Did you know that you can shove an entire collection of sandals underneath the seats of a 4 door car if you really try?)  But all good things must come to an end.  With this long international trip coming up, I knew that I was going to have to face my fears and do some early packing.  And that's why I am so excited to show you what I've been working on today!  Tah-dah!  A nearly completely-packed suitcase!  

What's that you say?  Why is the mesh pouch full of what looks like Angry Birds underwear?  Um, well, it's certainly not because this is Eamon's suitcase... No, really!  *sigh*  Ok, that is Eamon's suitcase and this one is mine.  

Hey, at least I have one thing in there!  That's a personal best for me. ;)

*Tveir is Icelandic for two

Armful of Countries

Just in case my last post didn't fully convey the wanderlust saturating my very DNA, I offer you one final bit of proof.  My dad criss-crossed the world during his Navy days (and after) and he loved to share his travels by bringing back amazing souvenirs.  

Below is a picture of the charm bracelet he created and brought back to his baby sister, our awesome Aunt Bonnie, who very graciously gifted this to my sister and I.  He even wrote a list of the countries that each charm represented, all of which he visited.  (The UN flag charm from NYC in between France and Italy didn't make the list though)  

Italy?  Check!  Greece? Check!  Spain?  Check!  

Guess I'll have to add the others to my bucket list!  ;)  

(And from that list, Erica's been to France, Greece, and Spain)  

And this is his list of currency exchange rates (mid 1960's rates) so that 

he'd be ready for shore leave in whatever port they hit.