Sesar and Skuggi

A cozy first night in the tent, on this trip.

As easy to set up as ever.

An absolute bombardment of hungry bugs.

Alas, the fun has deflated.

Sunlight breaking through just around the mountain slopes.

It's some kind of petting zoo I think?
Julie Andrews is standing somewhere on there, spinning around, about to burst into song.
Mountain slope cut into a wedge by the clouds.
Marching into the misty distance.
Glass insulators on the giant power lines.

Hello horses!

Stopping to put on some warmer gear.

This bridge apparently leads straight into a thicket.

The plaque remains even though the information has slid off!
I have to wonder... Are there so few white stones here because tourists have been stealing them away, a few at a time, for years?
I guarantee you this cat lived a good life. Iceland is paradise for cats.
Frida lived a mere 12 years, but I bet they were good ones.
Oṃ Maṇi Padme Hūṃ is a Sanskrit mantra, representing a condensed form of the Buddhist teachings.

I was very tempted to go hiking off into this!

Warning: Big trucks parked really badly across the whole dang highway, ahead.

Oh boy! Another local cat!

Local cat pettings are the best.

All local cats are called into service in the summer months to spread fuzzy love.

I was a bit curious about this place but skipped it in the end.

The two skulls are the owners of the bakery, cackling over a treasure chest of bread!

So this is where Nick keeps his ice cream!

A weird reminder of home, hanging on the bakery wall.

Headed East

Time to leave civilization for the rugged frontier of slightly less civilization!

I find this map - printed on the side of a van - highly amusing.

Said goodbye to my host.

Birgir is an awesome host, and he's a fellow cyclist too!

Gave him a test ride on the recumbent.  It was not adjusted right for him at all but he went a good 50 meters on it.

Rode to the coffee shop to assemble my final set of paperwork and make a decision about whether I should visit a print shop today or later on in the trip.

Enjoyed the mocha at the coffee place for the last time, then rode up the peninsula to the hardware store and bought two batteries for the speed and cadence sensors on my bike.  The clerk thought I’d purchased the prior batteries at the same store and apologized for “the trouble” of me supposedly having to come back because I bought the wrong ones.  It was too late for me to correct him; I’d already paid.

Took a route out of town similar to the one I’d taken before, at first.

Rode along a riverbank for a while which was quite pleasant.

Replacing the batteries in my cadence and speed sensors. I love data!

Yes, it has fish collagen in it. Or at least, that's what it claims.

Looking over to the island - and archaeological site - of Videy.

Vatnagarðar harbor. Modern shipping is indispensable for maintaining Iceland’s first-world affluence.

On the way out of town!

This sign is brought to you by the local gangs "FLORA" and "KGB"...?

Saw lots of buns.

THERE ARE BUNS
Lazy bun-day!

Stopped at a fast food gas station joint and did some tourist watching.  The olympics was on the TV screen.  Got a “memphis” burger which turned out to be a cut-rate fast-food style burger with barbecue sauce added.

Oh well, it was protein and calories, and it was convenient.

Accidentally rode onto a patch of dirt road.  Passed a group of girls riding horses.  The road got very bad, and they all turned around and went back the other way.  I waited with my bike parked while they passed me, to avoid spooking the horses.  They waved.

It has no button. It just runs perpetually. Well, unless it freezes I assume?
Bike tools are everywhere!
I enjoy signs like this.
I thought it would be easier than the highway. I was wrong!
Just when I thought the road couldn't get worse...

The bushes were quite thick on both sides of the road.  When I went ahead the road got even worse.  Possible riding for a horse but not pleasant for such a packed-together group.

I turned north onto the main road.

No winter service! Good thing I'm nowhere near winter!

It went up and up for hours, following a pipeline.  Then it went WAY up, suddenly, and kept wiggling.

I listened to lots of Goon Show and had a good time.

Ate a bunch of fish.  Ranted to the wind that saving money on hotels means I can spend money on fish.

Floridana: Produced in Iceland. Hilarious!

At the 1300-foot mark it finally peaked.

The downhill side was monstrous.  I was very glad I didn’t need to climb it.  The road was striped with tire marks, some of them moving alarmingly around the road.  People overcorrecting, or lane-wandering, or just letting the speed get away from them and panicking at the next curve.

The road behind, with the city beyond.
The road ahead. Up and up it goes!
Some steamy action in the distance!
Now we're pretty high up...
Check out the little joint at the bottom to handle shifts in temperature.
I call this rock "Pointy Gap Rock". (I also call it my temporary bathroom.)
Ugh, when will the climbing end?
Holey Muckei!! That is well beyond a 15% grade!! ARRRGH!

I passed a hot spring with a sign warning about the extreme temperature.

I love the politeness of this sign.

It got quite dark.

Wandered to the back of the camping area at the campsite.

Some older guy with a daughter waved a flashlight at me and went “weeeooo weeeoo it’s the police, haahaha ha hahahaa!”

I scowled at him.  Then I picked up and moved my tent further away from him.  No one likes to be messed with at night.

Thoughts in a Reykjavík Cafe

A hundred years ago, when international travel was rare and difficult, everyone considered “race” and “geographical origin” interchangeable. In modern times we’ve driven a wedge between these things and started to whittle down the importance of “race” as a carrier of behavior and value, which strikes me as a positive change. This change is not comprehensive though. People with the same origin but a different appearance are still treated quite differently, within their own communities.

Some of this is inevitable, because stereotypes are a very natural shorthand. They’re how we operate in communities larger than a few hundred people, where it’s impossible to personally know everyone we meet. A cab driver can be expected to know the traffic. A frail senior citizen would appreciate your seat on the subway. An angry-looking man in a giant shiny 4×4 is probably not a defensive driver. If that man has a bumper sticker reading “MAKE AMERICA GREAT AGAIN,” he probably doesn’t march in Pride Parade. Et cetera. Without stereotypes, society couldn’t function in real-time.

Stereotypes become even more obvious when we travel. If I meet someone from Saudi Arabia I am fully prepared to assume they pray to Allah multiple times a day, because that’s what modern sociology has prepared me to assume. If I think of the Vikings that sailed around in the North Atlantic, I think “socially conservative, environmentally destructive, and violent in their settling of disputes,” because that’s what historians have repeatedly told me. And despite knowing that people from different places can be all shapes and colors, if you asked me to picture these people in my head, I would conjure up specific clothing, facial hair, and skin colors.

And that’s where things can go sideways, because that’s where “race” gets involved.

I think we should all continue to drive that wedge in, between race and stereotypes, to reduce friction in our connected world. But how do we do that, on our own personal scale?

If I meet a Black man on the street in Oakland, I bring to bear a decades-long and complicated accumulation of assumptions about how that man perceives me, how other people who look like me have treated him, and how I can present myself so as to show I am not bound by those assumptions and will treat him with dignity and camaraderie. It took quite a while for me to be aware of that baggage of stereotypes, not just on an intellectual level by reading about it in a book, but on a behavioral level from living in Oakland. Sorting through the baggage I kept asking myself, “how can I act that actually helps?” I wanted to act in a way that would move the interaction beyond the fear and suspicion and get somewhere else. I didn’t want to just signal that I was what people used to call “woke”. That would make the interaction about the stereotypes, or even about me.

Sometimes I’ve asked myself, in this kind of situation, would it be better for both of us if I was completely unaware of any stereotypes, like my young nephews generally are? Then I would be guaranteed to treat him like anyone else. A little bit yes, a little bit no. It’s likely I am more helpful when I see what we’re all working against. Plus I can avoid saying or doing something stupid by accident.

Like, say, excitedly asking the Icelanders I meet if they can teach me how to forge a sword and build a longboat.

Answering the question of “what helps?” is often difficult, but I find that a good place to start is with another question, “what do I have to offer?” Sometimes the answer is, your social standing is what you can offer, by finding a way to make it transferable.

An easy example: Several jobs ago I was asked to collaborate with a group of software developers, one of whom was a Black man, a first-generation American whose family was from Morocco. Where I live, it’s extremely rare to meet a software developer of that ethnicity. He was shy, very hard to read, and kept his head down in design meetings, but he could write good code. It seemed like he had grown used to being kept at arms length by other developers, and felt that since he would inevitably be marginalized, why fight it? Since I was joining the group in a lead capacity, I had a chance to do something about that.

We worked together one-on-one for a while, establishing some trust. A month later I began to deliberately defer to him for advice during meetings, which raised his social standing just a little bit to the rest of the group each time. Eventually he was comfortable making arguments and presenting his work just as often as everyone else, and I was glad for it. It didn’t just make him more comfortable, it made all of us better at our jobs.

(As an aside, there are people who will actually try to denigrate this sort of action by declaring me a “white savior.” I poked at that for a while and found there was a reasonable conclusion: Those people are jerks!)

Sometimes the thing we have to offer is subtle, like social credit. Sometimes it’s immediate, like protection from physical harm. (That’s come up for me a bunch of times, being out and about in Oakland.) Sometimes it helps just being a witness in a sketchy situation so we can make sure the truth is told later, anywhere from a traffic stop to a classroom to an argument in the street. What’s especially great is that when we move outside our comfort zone to elevate someone else, we are also expanding the range of who we feel comfortable with internally. So, we improve ourselves. We decrease the chance that we might unconsciously be part of a problem.

This is a fine effort. But you know what it demands? Security.

People who do not feel safe – physically, financially, socially – are in less of a position to take risks extending help or protection to people they don’t know, especially people who might respond unfairly. And that means, when you can – when you feel some security – you’ve got to meet people more than halfway.

That’s a lot to hold in your head, when the pace of life and the immediacy of social interaction make things shift around you. Don’t stress yourself out even more by involving guilt. Just think about what you might have to offer in a situation.

Oh, and I suppose this is a bit ironic given where you’re reading this, but … why waste your time signaling virtue online, when you can go outside and have it?

Exploring And Working In Reykjavík

This was definitely a work-cation, and I took advantage of that mobility to explore. But I also needed consistency to stay “in the zone”, which meant working at my new favorite cafe most of the time.

I did visit the one I liked from two years ago, just to get that odd twitch of nostalgia that comes from walking back into a place that I’d etched into my memory only because I never thought I’d see it again.

Back in the cafe from two years ago!

It was a lot less crowded than two years ago, which made sense because of the pandemic. For the first time I sat on the bottom floor, within easy view of my bike, and had a chance to do some people-watching. The people watched me as well — or at least they watched Valoria the recumbent.

Strangers love the bike!

I wrote code without headphones for a while, and the conversation from the next table drifted in. It was a man and a woman clearly having some kind of mandatory socialization meeting for their jobs.  They were both contractors for an international company and the man was newly stationed in Iceland, and still finding his feet.

They were digging down trying to find anything to talk about that wasn’t the usual “Where have you gone; what was it like; where are you going next; blah blah blah”.  I felt sorry for them both.

After a while I wanted to lean over and suggest other topics, just to cheer them up. “Hey, there are 20 things right here on the coffee shop walls that are fun to talk about!  Look at the cover story on the New Yorker sitting right next to you.  Look at that Icelandic woman with the tattoo of Betty Paige getting shot full of arrows on her arm.  Talk about the logistics of sourcing Peruvian coffee out of Iceland in a pandemic…”

They eventually defaulted down to complaining about Donald Trump. Always a lively choice… And a strong reminder for me just then, that where you are on the planet doesn’t matter half so much as where your headspace is.

When tourism shut down last year it was like turning off a money faucet for almost the entire country. Many things have re-opened, but some did not weather the drought. For example the kitschy, vaguely insulting store I saw two years ago on the main street, called “I DON’T SPEAK ICELANDIC”, which was previously full of souvenirs pitched at the more wealthy and less discerning tourists, was now a dusty, empty glass box.

The city didn’t feel any less inviting for it though, and the weather was nice. But I’d only booked this much time in Reykjavík because I wanted to get work done, and potentially see the Directorate of Immigration. I wasn’t interested in the bar scene and didn’t want to do the shuttle-based excursions.

What I did want, was fish:

Fish and chips out of a wagon? You bet I'll try it!

Oh yes, the fish! THE FISH!!

Now this is the good stuff.

Pretty sure this is the best fish and chips you can get in the city.

I also had time for local cats, of course. There were plenty.

Hahaa now this human is my property!
Local cat rubs are the best!
Another local cat!
Do I spy a local cat?

Writing code for hours is often taxing to the brain, and leaves me in a state where I want to ride my bike or take a nap afterward, even when I’m in a city with live music, friendly people, and museums full of curious exhibits. I really should have checked out more indoor things, but I mostly explored via bicycle seat and took photos.

Kids and tipsy adults hopped along this all day long.

A sweeping view of the cathedral.

Here by Tómas Guðmundsson's statue you can listen to Hjalti Rögnvaldsson perform the poems "Hótel jörð" and "Við Vatnsmýri" from the book Fagra veröld, published in Reykjavík in 1933.

Hangin' with the poet Tómas Guðmundsson.

I guarantee this is not the most profitable shop in the city.
This should be in every workplace.
Puddles! I must ride through them.
The Lebowski is still there despite COVID-19.
Houses by the lake. Charming!
Are you enthusiastic about fish? We here in Iceland are very enthusiastic about fish.
This is where you can sit and gaze quixotically out to sea, then go for a short walk and eat a burger.
I dig this vehicle.
Bringing my bike back after a nice day of riding.
This ad was everywhere.

That cheeky Nordic sense of humor??

The economy has slowed for the nordic tchotchke business, but it’s still going!

Sending snax back to the nephews.

Like last time, I mailed a pile of weird candy to the nephews back home. I did not include a middle finger sculpture.

Care for a ginger beer?

This translate app is a miracle of software engineering and also hilarious.

Glass bottles don’t ship well, otherwise I would have included this funky drink. The translation app made the usual amusing hash out of it.

My “coffee, work, and explore” routine continued in the city for another week, and the most traveling I did was switching to a different AirBnB. Every now and then I would spot a cycle tourist, or an advertisement, or a map printed on a wall, and remember that I had an adventure to continue.

Ancient map used as wallpaper in a fish restaurant.

Ancient map spotted on a restaurant wall.

Soon! Soon I will head into the hills.

Where does my brain go at night?

The singer Bjork is eating the roses off the bushes of a house nearby.  It’s just something she likes to do.  I decide they must be tasty and I should try one.  I turn the bike around in the street to go back to the rose bushes but I see my ex girlfriend, walking about 30 feet away from Bjork.

“She’s out here too?” I think.  “Uh oh.  The two of them are bound to get to know each other, and then she’ll will find out that I scheduled a date with Bjork for Sunday.  I think I’m still in a relationship with her. Wait, am I? What’s my situation? Didn’t we break up like, half a year ago?”

I turn the bike back around, knowing that if I get close to either of them they’ll just walk away from me. They want private time.  So, am I seeing other people, or dating again, or am I still with my ex?  I can’t remember.  We need to talk.

I wake up in an unfamiliar bedroom.  I think it’s the house I share with my ex.  I hear kitchen sounds in the distance.  “Well, that’s probably her.  I better get this over with.”  I roll out of bed and pick up my pants, which I have trouble putting on because there’s something jammed in one of the legs.  I reach in and extract my phone.

She walks into the room.  “Okay, here we go,” I think.  But instead of seeming worried like I am, she’s relaxed.  She’s also wearing no clothing except for underwear.

“Follow me,” she says urgently, and walks into a different room.  There’s another bed here.  She dives onto it, then reaches into a bedside drawer and pulls out a condom in a clear plastic wrapper, and flicks it onto the covers.

She wiggles around until she’s partly under the sheets.  I know what I’m supposed to be doing but I’m not feeling into it. Something is still wrong between us. I’m also skeptical of the condom: It looks too colorful, like something you’d find in a bowl at a saucy adult party. “What time of month is it?” I ask her pointedly. Things are already dysfunctional, and having a child on the way might pull us together into a commitment neither of us feels good about. She’s looking at me expectantly, as if to say, “What’s your problem?”

Some friends and relatives of hers wander into the room, carrying groceries and food.  They’re about to throw a Thanksgiving celebration.  She climbs off me immediately.  We can’t have an intimate conversation with all this family around.  Am I the only one who thinks we need a discussion? I get off the bed and walk out of the room.

Night falls instantly.  I’m wandering around the gritty courtyard of a large beat-up hotel.  The walls are charcoal colored, like either a deliberately spooky paint job, or just a phenomenal amount of decay.  People are emerging from the doors and windows of the hotel and wandering around in small groups.  There is a party-like atmosphere.  I look down and see several coins in the dirt, and pick them up.  One is a very thick coin with dull round edges, as big as a silver dollar.  I turn it over in my hand and notice that it is stamped with a year far into the future, somewhere in the next millennium.

Impressed with the coin, I begin waving it around and singing an improvised song, in the style of They Might Be Giants:

Hey look!  It’s:
MONEY FROM THE FUTUUUURE
Who knows what you can spend it on
When all of civilization’s gone?
How valuable is this techno-coin?
Come on everyone, let’s join
The search for
MONEY FROM THE FUTUURRRE
Check it out, it’s
MONEY FROM THE FUTUUUURE

-My brain, 4:30am

Music erupts around me.  Some of the people wandering around turn into band members playing instruments, and when one of them starts a wicked guitar solo, I go running down the street, then jump up onto a wall, then run along it and jump onto a roof.  The music fades in the distance.

“Dammit, now what do I do?” I think.

I wake up.