Iceland Page 2

A first ride around Keflavik

For almost all of the next day I worked on putting the bicycle together. It’s a dirty business. I had to pause to wash grease off my hands about ten times!

This is one of those weird things that sets touring cyclists apart from other people: They’re perfectly willing to give up a big chunk of their vacation – perhaps an entire day – hunkered down in some room carefully reassembling a bicycle from a box of parts. They don’t want to make a mistake or lose anything so they make it part of the schedule. It’s good planning but it’s also bizarre. Assembling a bike is tedious work that people usually pay someone else to do, and who wants to work on a vacation? Who would want to make that their first activity upon arriving in an exciting new land with limited time to explore?

I admit it. I’m weird. But I really love my bike.

There were two points in the process where I couldn’t find a tiny part that would have made the bike unusable if it was missing.  One was a tiny threaded ring that attaches a steel plate to the rear axle, and the other was a little interconnecting piece of the under-seat rack. I got quite annoyed and a bit panicky … And then I found the parts squirreled away in other luggage.  I’d been too tired when I packed them to remember where I put them.

Once the bike was put together and sitting there in one piece, I stood back and marveled at the fact that I hadn’t actually lost anything. Not even a single bolt. I was honestly a bit surprised.

Later on as I rode through Iceland I would discover how important this was: Many supplies, parts, devices, and even pieces of clothing are almost impossible to find anywhere in the entire country, and must be ordered online and shipped in slowly or at great expense. When you come here you better have specific, conventional activities in mind for which you can rent all your equipment, or you’d better be fully prepared and arrive with everything you need.

Anyway, with the bike finally together in a new country, it was time to take it for a spin.

Valoria out and about for the first time in Iceland.

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Valoria out and about for the first time in Iceland.

Since I was just going around town I only needed one set of bags, and my “around town” set of gear. It’s what I’m used to carrying around in Oakland on a typical day, plus the fancy camera.

This is the light outside at 11:11pm. My kind of place!

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This is the light outside at 11:11pm. My kind of place!

The fact that it was nearly midnight did not matter. There was still light in the sky, and a number of places open for business in the nearest town.

I probably won’t ever forget what it was like heading out of that hotel on the bike for the first time, just like I won’t forget the first day in New Zealand, or Colorado.

I set out wearing full rain gear, because the report promised rain in a few hours. For now the sky was exhaling a constant mist of tiny drops that churned silently around in the air before touching down and coating everything, like spores descending from the dome of a giant mushroom. It wasn’t fine enough to completely obscure things like fog, but it gave everything more than a hundred meters away a slightly blurred and somber look, like an aged painting. As I rode out into it I could feel the mist colliding with my face, and plunging into my nose. After only a few minutes I reached up to wipe my beard and a splash of water rolled off my hand.

I navigated the empty lamp-lit streets to the edge of the complex, and the edge of the hill looking down into the city of Reykjanesbær. (The first of an endless parade of names I can only flail desperately at pronouncing.) I could see plenty of lights on, but no movement. The most recognizable building was the massive shipyard, a cluster of industrial buildings right on the water, dominated by a dome-like structure open at two ends and large enough to cover an entire cruise ship. One was just visible inside, halfway through a restoration. At the top of my hill I estimated that I was just about twice as high as the roof.

Above me the clouds split and scattered as they moved out over the ocean. The sun was somewhere beyond it, below the horizon, sending up a blue-tinged wave of light that filtered through the clouds and illuminated the land below without casting any shadows. A perpetual twilight. This is as dark as it would ever get in the month of July, and it’s only this dark because of the mist.

I paused for a moment to take it in: The lumpy clouds, the dark ocean, the curving hillside entirely devoid of trees, the town below — all washed out in blue light, except for the pinholes of the phosphorescent yellow lamps and the rare unblocked window. Plus one more lamp, punctuating the view: A spotlight embedded in the ground, throwing up a dramatic beam turned solid by the mist, illuminating the cross of the town church.

The wind picked up from the ocean, buffeting my face, like a hand patting it in affectionate greeting. Then it died away, leaving the smell of salt. Welcome to Iceland.

I coasted down the hill in a dramatic rush, blinking my eyes as they were battered with tiny raindrops, and followed the road as it curved onto the main street of Njarðarbraut. (Good luck pronouncing that, fellow Americans. Just let your eyes drift over it…) At first it seemed like everyone was asleep and I had the town entirely to myself, but every five minutes or so a car would come drifting through, audible in the thick air long before I could see it. Sometimes the cars slowed down and I could tell the drivers were inspecting me; whether out of suspicion or just curiosity I couldn’t tell.

I’ve only been out one day and I already have a favorite hangout spot!

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I’ve only been out one day and I already have a favorite hangout spot!

Pretty soon I arrived at my destination: A coffee shop that claimed to be open until midnight. Personally, I couldn’t see why all businesses didn’t just stay open 24 hours, since it was light all the time anyway. But I’m biased by my night-owl nature.

Back in the Bay Area this would have cost me ten dollars. Here it cost a little under seven. Iceland is expensive to most people … to me it seems more affordable!

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Back in the Bay Area this would have cost me ten dollars. Here it cost a little under seven. Iceland is expensive to most people … to me it seems more affordable!

I arrived just as people were finishing up for the night. It was 15 minutes until closing time, but the barista said I was welcome to order something and then linger while she cleaned the place up. This led to the following conversation:

And sure enough, I held my iPhone close to the receiver, and it beeped and registered a credit card payment. Just like at home.

It was the Apply Pay system, and I soon found out that it had been integrated all over Iceland, for all sorts of things. I did eventually get Icelandic money from an ATM because I naturally assumed that somewhere out there was a store or a hotel or a campground that didn’t take contactless payments. There wasn’t. For the entire trip I used my “Travel Rewards” credit card, which converted Icelandic Krona to US Dollars at the current exchange rate without any fees, and I didn’t even have to take my wallet out of my backpack. Except for a few times when I handed farmers cash for sleeping in their fields, I could have gone all through Iceland without ever touching the money at all.

Anyway, back to the coffee shop.

There wasn’t any real food available, but I got a donut, a slice of cake, and a swiss mocha, for the equivalent of about nine dollars. That’s basically 3/4th of what I’d pay in Oakland for the same thing.

Yes, I’m visting Iceland, a country notorious for being an expensive place to vacation, and it actually feels less expensive than my home town.

Everyone else left and the barista began clearing dishes and organizing. I asked her if I could put the cake in a container and she said, “Stay here! It really is okay; I have lots to do!”

It felt a bit strange, honestly. It was just her and me alone in the shop. I was obviously not a local. And she was – what – 20 years old?

I shrugged and took my time, then asked her if I could fetch my camera and take some pictures of the place. She agreed.

Adorable! But not for sale!

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Adorable! But not for sale!

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Stuff like this on the walls, you know a place is hip and cool.

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Stuff like this on the walls, you know a place is hip and cool.

Then I took a detour to the bathroom, and found this on the wall.

A rather clever map of the town.

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A rather clever map of the town.

Pretty nifty! I liked how I could see the church and the shipyard as little symbols. I wonder if they made maps like this for every town in Iceland?

Rain will strike anywhere, anytime.

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Rain will strike anywhere, anytime.

The famously variable Iceland weather had struck while I was inside the cafe, and my bike was coated with a layer of rain. Good thing my bags are rainproof.

I rode out again, this time just wandering with no destination in mind. I’d given up on the idea of finding something real to eat. It was well past midnight and even the American fast food joints had closed down.

And you thought you could get away from American food?

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And you thought you could get away from American food?

I don’t know what “svooogott” translates to but I can guess.

I was closer to the ocean down here, and the smell of it was stronger. Combined with the eerie silence and the luminescent cloud cover, the smell brought me visions of ancient sailors on primitive boats, thrashing around in angry seas, hauling wet ropes and shouting into the wind … and seeing weird half-human shapes gleaming in the water, and wrestling with scaly monsters crawling over the rails, black and barely visible in the moonlight except when a flash of lightning etches their horrifying bodies in chiaroscuro along the deck, with claws reaching out…

My imagination gets a little out of hand sometimes.

Anyway, I eventually blundered into a Subway sandwich shop that was open very late, and used my magic phone once again to buy a tuna sandwich.

The teenager behind the counter saw my bike and made a very un-Icelandic move by actually asking me a curious question:

He nodded in agreement, then went back to making sandwiches.

I sat down to eat mine. At the cafe earlier, and now at this sandwich shop, I was leaving the bike parked outside with all my gear on it, visible 10 meters away through a window. The few people that were around mostly ignored it.  If I was still in Oakland, I would feel completely insane doing this. If I was in a place where I was worried about theft I would unload the entire bike and take the baggage inside, and carry it around with me or leave it somewhere safe.  And lock the bicycle up of course. But here? At 1:30am in Iceland? Meh.

As I ate, the loudspeakers in the shop played “Eye Of The Tiger”, then “Two Princes”, then “Don’t Stop Believin'”, then “Another One Bites The Dust”, then a string of 90’s hits that I knew but couldn’t name. This was the beginning of a pattern. All over Iceland, in any restaurant or cafe, the music had the same focus: America or the UK, 30 years in the past. I wouldn’t find out why until later when I visited the Viking World museum.

Part of the answer was actually right in front of me, though I didn’t know it at the time. On the way back up to the hotel I passed by this:

The air force is well established here.

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The air force is well established here.

Apparently there is a military base here?

As I approached the hotel I also grabbed one final photo for the day, just down the road from the photo of the plane. It turned out to be another clue:

BRUGGA BRUGGA BRUGGA

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BRUGGA BRUGGA BRUGGA

Irregular sleep patterns and late-night shopping

I woke up in the late afternoon, still wrestling with jetlag, and went out again immediately. Now that I had the bike assembled I wanted to look around. Also, there was no food in the hotel except for a breakfast buffet that was very spartan and only for the desperate.

My first stop was an expensive Thai restaurant just a few blocks away from the cafe I visited last night. The prices were absurd – averaging 17 dollars per dish – but it was the only Thai food for at least 30 miles in any direction.

I brought my laptop to catch up on work messages.

First time I’ve resolved my IP and seen the Icelandic flag…

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First time I’ve resolved my IP and seen the Icelandic flag…

There were ten tables in the restaurant, and about half of them were occupied:

• A couple talking in Icelandic in the corner.
• A couple talking in Mandarin in the other corner.
• Two UK English speakers, smiling and talking with a lot more animation than the Icelandic couple.
• Four French speakers, talking loudly, all in their forties or fifties.

The French group nattered over the menus, then asked the waiter “what is a curry?” and what the differences were between each kind. They debated with each other in French for quite a while before ordering, then they changed their order three times, calling the waiter back. I hope they left an enormous tip — but I doubt it.

Also, why would you go on a vacation to Iceland and then go to a Thai restaurant, if you didn’t know what a curry was?

The portions were huge which helped to justify the cost, and I had plenty of leftovers. I packed them up and went riding casually around. There were some little bits of equipment I needed to look around for but I figured it was pointless until I got to Reykjavik. Perhaps I could visit a market and buy some snacks?

I conjured up a market on my phone, and rode in that direction.

Fluffy Icelandic cat! SO FLUFFY! I’m pretty sure it’s a wizard in animal form.

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Fluffy Icelandic cat! SO FLUFFY! I’m pretty sure it’s a wizard in animal form.

Interesting coastal Icelandic style. Sunken first floor that doubles as the foundation, corrugated steel walls protected with paint, steep roof to reject snow, plenty of rain gutters to cut down on ice. A lot like houses I’ve seen in the Pacific Northwest except far less wood involved here. … Because, where you gonna get it??

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Interesting coastal Icelandic style. Sunken first floor that doubles as the foundation, corrugated steel walls protected with paint, steep roof to reject snow, plenty of rain gutters to cut down on ice. A lot like houses I’ve seen in the Pacific Northwest except far less wood involved here. … Because, where you gonna get it??

The market was a 24-hour joint very much like a 7-11 back home. There was no soda fountain, but there was a nice little collection of candy bars and other chocolatey snacks. I went plundering through the aisles, gathering up at least one of every weird-looking thing I found. The ones that looked especially appetizing I got two of — one for me, one for my nephews to fight over. I still needed to mail my bicycle boxes back home and I could easily throw some snacks into the package as well.

Dark chocolate rice cakes: Awesome!

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Dark chocolate rice cakes: Awesome!

This is my favorite of the various crazy Icelandic candy bars I’ve tried. I dunno who this Prince Polo is, but I like his style.

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This is my favorite of the various crazy Icelandic candy bars I’ve tried. I dunno who this Prince Polo is, but I like his style.

I heard this rumor that my nephews like chocolate… Let’s see if I can help them out…

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I heard this rumor that my nephews like chocolate… Let’s see if I can help them out…

I made a purchase and then sat on a bench just inside the shop, looking out at the parking lot. There I saw another customer arrive, and do something with his car that people back home in Oakland would never do.

He got out, leaving his keys in the car with the engine running and the doors unlocked, and went into the supermarket to shop. He did not appear to be in a hurry. I was confused for a moment, then remembered that for most of the year this country is bitterly cold, and by leaving his engine running he was preventing it from freezing to the point where it might not start again.

Of course, in Oakland, this behavior is an invitation for grand theft auto. You take your keys, you lock your car, you make sure nothing expensive is visible. You peel the faceplate off your radio and set your car alarm if you have one.

Funny how you can get used to stuff like this, either way.

“I wonder if vehicles in Iceland even have car alarms?” I thought. Ten minutes later I got a nasty surprise when I heard a car alarm going off just down the street, and run for a long while before shutting off. “Okay, that’s one question answered,” I muttered to myself.

A police car pulled up. Two cops emerged and went into the store. Unlike the other customers, they shut off their engine — but they didn’t roll up their windows. They completed their shopping and one of them went back out to the car while the other one went over to the eating area where I was seated and banged a frozen burrito into the microwave, then spent an entire minute struggling with the really badly designed controls on the front of the thing. He couldn’t get it to start, and I was tempted to reach over and just smack the side of it like a badly-tuned television, sharing in his frustration. But I didn’t know how he would take it.

Instead I went back and bought a few more candy bars, plus some carrots, a bell pepper, and some milk – being careful not to accidentally buy the cultured milk with the fruit mixed in, which dominated the dairy section with six different kinds – and sat back down to answer some questions I was getting from friends about my trip.

Icelanders don’t seem to smile or laugh much when talking to each other.  They are very buttoned-down and it my be my tin American ear deceiving me but they also seem slightly passive-aggressive in normal chit-chat. But when they realize I am an American they seem to open up a bit more, both the men and the women but especially the women, who smile and make jokes and seem to enjoy the fact that I am smiling back. The majority of them speak excellent English, and some of them barely even have an accent.

That said, the accent itself is interesting, and the sound of the native language even more so. For example, I’m at a store right now, and I just stood in line to buy groceries, and when I got to the cashier – a pretty girl aged about 18 I think – I deliberately said nothing so she would speak to me in Icelandic.  It was just brief things like “hello there”, “is this everything?”, and “your total is 1210 kroner”, but since she was speaking casually and not enunciating for a foreigner, to my untrained ear it came out of her mouth as a series of weird melodic chirping noises and trills.

It was fascinating from a linguistic perspective because I could concentrate entirely on the sound without language comprehension obscuring it. But also, I’m a little ashamed to admit, her voice was electrifying. I felt a rude compulsion to just stand there and tell her “Say more stuff!! Read the phone book; I don’t care! This is music!”

And that, of course, makes me think of Björk.

I can lose any one thing and compensate pretty well, with the exception of certain bike parts that would stop my tour cold. Also there are places I’ll go where losing two or three things at once could seriously jeopardize my life. Like going through the highlands, and cracking my front rim and losing my jacket and my sweater at the same time.

Even then, in Iceland that would not be terrible, because I could wrap myself in my unzipped sleeping bag and walk to a place with cell signal and call for rescue, then hunker down in the tent. Lots of gear means multiple solutions to problems.

As ever, just like my daily commute to work, the real threat is cars.

Any other season but the summer and it would be a different story of course.

I haven’t seen the lights myself but my boss at work has, and he told me the story. It was an arduous trip to the northern edge of Canada, and he says it was absolutely worth it, and one of the most amazing things he’s seen in his life. We compared our stories of solar eclipse viewing, and he agreed it was like that, only more impressive. Now it’s on my list for sure.

With a pile of snacks packed away, I got back on the bike and meandered up the hillside to the hotel.

Lots of construction going on around here. Lots of hotels coming up around the airport. Tourism is exploding.

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Lots of construction going on around here. Lots of hotels coming up around the airport. Tourism is exploding.

Tomorrow would be a busy day, since it was the last day I could get the bike boxes mailed out.