GL - Kulusuk

June 9                   Thursday        Greenland                          Kulusuk                                                                

Too early… any time I have to wake up to my alarm: it’s too early.  That’s true on holiday, that’s true on work days; that’s just simply a law of nature.  I had to wake up at 8 AM, which wouldn't have been so bad had I not gone to sleep at 3 AM… when it’s midnight and still looks like mid-afternoon outside: it’s tough to get yourself to go to bed.  But I had plans… it was time to get up.

This was my first complimentary breakfast, having slept straight through the past two mornings.  Can’t say I was missing much… just your basic fare: some cereal and a plate of sliced salami and veggies.  I made a small open faced sandwich and grabbed some OJ… while I really wanted cereal, my only milk options were strawberry milk, milk that smelled like yogurt (I am repulsed by yogurt), and powdered milk which I had no desire in figuring out how to rehydrate to proper proportion.   

But enough about breakfast… my rental lady gave me a short ride over to the local airport and I hopped a flight to Kulusuk, Greenland.  As luck would have it, Greenland ended up being warmer than Reykjavik… while technically the thermometer was about 3°C to Reykjavik’s 8°C, the complete lack of wind made Kulusuk seem like quite a pleasant stroll… I even ended up back down to just one jacket left unzipped; having begun fully bundled for winter weather.

But first there were icebergs.  The first time I’d ever seen an iceberg was at Jökulsárlón  and that was really more like seeing an iceberg zoo… they were all just sort of chilling out (no pun intended) and not really doing anything interesting.  Er, except for the one that exploded.

The first thing we saw other than blue ocean was a mass of icebergs, all sort of clinging together.  I was astounded at the immensity of it all: I could only assume it was the fractured up offspring of a massive sheet of ice, reaching out as far as the eye could see.  I’d figured there would at least be some strays before the ice flow… like a gradual approach of a couple ice bergs, then a few more, getting ever-denser until hitting the main ice flow.  But nope: they all stuck together.  And it was huge.  And it was amazing.

And then there were the mountains.  Pretty much all Greenland is is mountains.  As soon as they appeared in the distance: the dozen or so of us on the plane all scampered to one side, snapping photos and probably causing our pilot to roll slightly to the left.  The mountains were phenomenal: I’d never seen anything quite like it… a wall of rock thrusting up from the sea, surrounded by a blanket of ice shattered by the forces of nature.  Our aircraft landed between the mountains onto a dirt runway, where we disembarked and all stared slack-jawed at our surroundings.

Our guides consisted of a man and woman, the man appearing to be in his mid- to late- 30’s and the woman appearing to be in her upper 20’s or younger 30’s… but I’m horrible at judging ages.  I immediately thought about how cute the female guide was… until our “third guide” arrived – a young boy of about 8 or so – and I realised that our guides were a couple.  She was a knock-out, but the husband was really cool, too.  They both used to live full-time in Kulusuk before switching to part-time as they began studies back in Iceland, but they still maintain a home in town.  They knew absolutely everything that stood to be known, answering my questions about transportation, governance, waste management, supply logistics, linguistics of the native language, and even the pedigree history of the local dogs.  Seriously: these two were good.

Our group consisted of a very diverse crowd, but all English-speakers.  Our two guides were Icelandic, one guy was from Germany, and we had one each from South Korea, China, Hong Kong, Taiwan, Japan.  We picked up two older Dutch ladies  as we walked by the Hotel Kulusuk – a surprisingly modern-looking affair about a kilometer from the airport.

From the airport we had a 3 km walk until reaching town.  It was a cinch, with the road cleared for about 99% of its track between the airport & town.  About a meter of snow surrounded us in all directions & our guide pointed out to a flat area and said “that’s the ocean”.  You wouldn't have known it from all the white had he not said anything.

The airport was built by the USA with Denmark’s permission as part of the NATO defense against the Soviets.  Apart from Alaska, these northernmost reaches were the closest border between the Cold War nemeses, causing the USA to invest in a “wall” of radar installations, necessitating the runways to bring in labor and supplies.  A radar installation off in the distance now served as the airport’s civil radar and also sported radio and mobile service… we’re in a town of about 300 indigenous people and they have better service than I get back home.

Our walking approach gave us amazing views over the town, nestled in among the rocks and along the Atlantic shoreline.  It was certainly bigger than I expected, but that’s not to say this was a sprawling metropolis by any means.  The people are of Inuit heritage, being descended from ancient Mongolians, and live a very simple life of subsistence fishing and hunting.  Apparently the people of Kulusuk were among the most isolated peoples of the modern world, having gone several centuries without foreign contact – right up until Greenland’s east coast was first explored in the 19^th century.  Subsequently, the people not only look very Asian and not at all like the Eskimos or other Native American tribes us Americans know so well.  Their language is also apparently very distinct, having had so little influence from the outside world.

The town’s buildings were rustic but pretty, with chipping paint but painted in bright colors.  This was the sort of Nordic town I’d been picturing, with simple wood homes in such bold colors.  Iceland consisted mostly out of sheet metal as timber is rare to come by.  The people of Kulusuk, however, receive timber shipments from Denmark... so, somewhat oddly, they ended up having more Scandinavian-like architecture than the Scandinavians.

The grocery store was a bit bare, with new supplies still being a couple weeks away from arrival.  We had some time to tour about, so I departed to explore the town.  Some of us wandered over to the school, which appeared to be having recess at the moment.  The kids – of a variety of ages; the oldest being a girl of perhaps 12 or 13 – were all jumping rope & seemed pretty used to the presence of tourists.  The adults watching over also smiled and said “hello”.  Most people speak their local language & can also speak in the dialect of Greenland's West Coast, with Danish being a second language and some also possessing a decent command of English.

They weren't the technologically-backward “tribe” I’d somewhat been expecting… rather they all wore modern clothes and pretty much everyone had a mobile phone.  The place even had internet.  Granted, small pipes running along the ground ferried electricity from two diesel generators… and they had to fetch water & use facilities (showers) at a central building; even waste had to be collected to be disposed of at a slightly-distant dumping site.  They lived off the limited fishing & hunting game such as polar bears, walruses, seals, foxes, and other local fauna.  It was a hard life; but they weren't “backward” in the slightest.  Having grown up around the Amish, I could certainly appreciate having a stereotype like this be broken.

We were under the watchful gaze of a sled dog which didn't seem too pleased with us being around the kids.  I continued up a hill to get a view over town, after a few moments descending and climbing up yet another hill… this time crossing over a still snow-covered dirt road.  A bulldozer was on hand gradually working to clear off the snow bit-by-bit, letting the sun take care of the rest… which resulted in massive puddles along a large portion of it.

As I descended this second hill: my leg decided to give out… well not entirely give out; I didn't fall.  But my ankle has not been happy since Akuryeri, where it all of a sudden started hurting as I ascended the church stairs.  No slip or anything then; I think my ankle had just had enough.  Likewise here: my knee just seemed to have had enough.  My rear-end has also been sore after hurting myself back in Skogar… and my constant movement hasn't let it heal too well, making sitting a less-than-pleasant activity.  So my body just wasn't too enthused about descending… good thing this is really the last of  my intense hikes for at least a week or so.

My descent was watched by sled dogs at pretty much every turn, but they weren't nearly as concerned as the dog near the school.  These dogs were all sleeping in the sun with such reverence that even lifting their head to look in my direction seemed a chore for them.  To use the old proverb: I let the sleeping dogs lie.  The dogs were adorable, though – apparently they were the closest modern relative to the dogs that the ancient Inuit used across North America.  Whereas most other dogs were crossbred with European dogs to produce breeds such as huskies (our guide pointed out that “husky” and “Eskimo” are actually the same word; English speakers of yore just butchered the two into seemingly-separate words).  Meanwhile, Kulusuk’s isolation – in addition to preserving so many other unique aspects – also kept the dogs in much their original form.

We rejoined and made our way to a Danish guy’s house.  The Danish man was in his 50’s or 60’s and quite entertaining: a big belly, a thick mustache, and an immense Midwestern accent overpowering his Danish accent.  Think rural Canada sort of accent… the sort of Midwestern accent that’s even more Midwestern than our American Midwestern accent.  He owned one of only two vehicles in the town, not counting the snow-clearing equipment and airport maintenance vehicles up the road.  His wife, a native of Kulusuk, showed us some of the traditional dances whilst wearing the traditional fashion.  The dances included what I’d best described as a celebratory dance, a dance used between two fighting women, a dance used between two fighting men, and a dance used to pick up a mate.  What I gathered from the fighting dances & her description: “fights” back then really were a bit like West Side Story… but today: the alcohol-abusing folk tend to get a bit more physical.  It was a rather touristy affair, but I suppose it was still a worthwhile part of the trip & the couple were incredibly friendly.

That was our last event before returning to the airport, but three of us opted for a bit of a unique trek back.  I joined the guy from Stuttgart and the girl from Hong Kong on a dogsled for a ride across the Atlantic Ocean.  Well, across one of its reaches between the mainland and island of Kulusuk.  The three of us just sort of hoped that the ice was thick enough to hold us, but our guide & the dogsled driver both assured us it was fine, with the guide saying it’s safer than our flight to & from here.  Wasn't sure how to interpret that.  When it comes to knowing ice, I’ll put my faith in these guys… but every little bump or slight tilt had all three of us thinking we were headed in for a really cold swim.

The snow was wet from the warm sun, meaning the dogs were pulling through slush.  On the one hand I felt bad for them pulling such weight, but our driver – in his broken English – assured us that they could easily do much more for far greater distances.  There was no doubt that the dogs loved what they were doing – even if they were clearly exerting quite a bit of effort.  At departure: the dogs who weren't pulling a sled were clearly dismayed; the dogs pulling the sled were anxious to go; and the dogs at the airport leaped and danced in hope that it was their turn for the trip back.  I’m an immense dog lover and have spent my whole life around them: had I sensed that they were in any pain or didn't enjoy what they were doing, I’d have quit at that very moment… but the whole way through they seemed in great spirits.  So yeah, I rode a dogsled across the Atlantic Ocean to get back to the airport.

I slept much of the flight back, but not before once again admiring the departing Greenland landscape & associated icebergs.  Reykjavik was sunny but also windy, making some of us yearn for the surprising warmth of Greenland.  I walked back from the airport (only about a 30 minute walk; not shabby at all) and collapsed onto the floor of my room, turning on my laptop to find an email from the guy out at the Mall, where I bought my camera.  The batteries I’d also requested had arrived.  Which meant I was headed back outside… but at least one trip to the mall later: I’m now loaded with batteries & got a tasty burrito from the food court before taking a taxi back (I was short on bus fare & didn't feel like waiting in the wind again, having missed a bus by seconds on my way out to the Mall & having to wait about 15 minutes).  The rest of the night would be quiet relaxation, letting my leg recover a bit as I fiddled on the internet & read up on tomorrow’s trekking about Stockholm.

As I reflect upon Iceland: a couple random suggestions to the country… first, use wind power: you certainly have no shortage of it.  Might as well complement your other renewable energy sources.  Also: you need more frequent pull-offs along roads.  Consider regularly spacing them along the Ring Road & also provide them were tourists want to pull off: particularly at vistas overlooking mountains, fjords, etc.  They need to be better sign-posted, perhaps framing them with pylons of a different color than the typical yellow roadside markers.  These roads are literally “high”-ways, with areas to pull-off without being unable to get back on the road generally limited to oddly-situated picnic areas as well as unexpected gravel driveways.  Oh, what I would give to be a traffic engineer in Iceland...

IS - Blue Lagoon

June 8                   Wednesday               Iceland                 Reykjavik                                                           

It was camera time.  It was sunny and not entirely cold out… not quite comfortable, but at the moment wind was rather calm; or at least just a soft breeze.  A perfect opportunity to ride the bus out to Kringlan Mall.  I’d thought of walking until I realized that my room is about a two minute walk away from the bus versus an hour walk to the mall.

The mall was pretty standard… it could be transplanted into America and fit right in.  Actually, I heard a good chunk of English while I was in there.  Then again, throughout Reykjavik I’ve been hearing English.  I hadn’t run into Americans at all in the rest of the country apparently because they’re all in Reykjavik.  And while I’m on the subject of language: if you’re coming to Iceland and apprehensive about language barriers… don’t be.  Everyone speaks English.  Seriously: every single person; exempting only those relatively recently emerged from the womb.  Icelanders also pretty much all speak German and French, too, in addition to smatterings of Nordic languages for hopefully-obvious reasons.

So at the mall I end up in a Sony store where I find my Canon cameras… a bit pricier than if I bought it in the USA, but at least I get to claim the 15% VAT refund when I leave.  That helped bring it back to about the same price… though the conversion fees I’ll be paying to Navy Federal may hike that up a bit.  At least I got myself a new camera: a Canon D60; a step up from my old T1i.  I must say: the leap is a bit like how I felt when going from VHS to DVD… I didn’t see a difference until I actually changed; now I don’t know how I could ever go back.  In just my first couple shots of some high-contrast sunsets: the quality was spectacular.  With my T1i I’d have either washed out the sunset or had a black foreground.      And this is still only a lower-mid level digital SLR.  One point of thanks: the dude at the store hooked me up with a free lens cap for my massive lens, saving me from the ravages of the rental car’s penchant for lens caps. 

I grabbed dinner at Ristorante Ítalía.  My Italian craving still hadn’t diminished, though I was kind of hoping they’d have some aglio e olio and perhaps some gnocchi.  In the absence of that I went with a fusilli dish… meh, it kind of felt like Olive Garden: lousy pasta dish loaded in a thin red sauce without flavor but tasty garlic bread.  Granted, this was real garlic cheese bread; as opposed to Olive Garden’s garlic-seasoned bread.  So I loved the bread; hated the dish.  With a restaurant name that strives so hard to make itself Italian: I’d wager there’s not even an Italian chef or owner behind it all… places with such names – or anything with Bella or Roma – tend to be run by non-Italians.  Hey, when it comes to ethnic food: I’m an ardent racist.  I don’t want white dudes making my Chinese.  But Italian food is especially near and dear to me.  At least the bread was good.  The waitress was kind of cute, too, but I couldn’t tell if she was anxious for me to strike up conversation to lessen her boredom or if she was just anxious from boredom itself and was only waiting to go home.  Note there’s a theme in Reykjavik here… no one in the service industry so far seems to like their jobs.

After eating I walked over to the BSI bus station and hopped onto a Reykjavik Excursions bus I’d booked to take me to the Blue Lagoon.  I figured I had to do it once, given it’s the things to do on a visit to Iceland.  It was quite well-run, though I prefer the Mývatn Nature Baths.  The water here was a milky blue, whereas Mývatn was more a crystal blue with a bit more of a rainbow effect.  The temperature at the Blue Lagoon was a bit varied, with hot and cold spots moving all about… you’d often feel both at the same time; and in general the hot spots were a bit too rare.  At best the water tended to be lukewarm through most of it.  At Mývatn: the water nearest to the inflow was consistently toasty; and you could move away along the thermal gradient to change your temperature without worry of hitting a surprise cold spot.

Also: the demographics were far different.  Mývatn had a pretty good local presence, whereas the Blue Lagoon seemed almost exclusively tourist.  Makes sense: right near the airport & a bit distant from the city for most Reykjavik locals to bother.  Subsequently, the average age upon arrival was perhaps about 60 among its couple dozen swimmers.  I’m not much of a narcissist, but I had to be among the best-looking people there.  I settled in at an inflow spot and squirmed at the varying bursts of scorching water & ice-cold water, watching as employees set up DJing equipment.  I figured they put on some tunes for the sunset… but then all of a sudden a cloud of white emerged on the deck.  The average age of the swimmers suddenly dropped into the 20’s.

A flurry of activity on the deck as young woman after young woman emerged from the clubhouse in a bikini, immediately lunching through the cold wind to grab a bathrobe.  They dined on some hors d'œuvres before disrobing back to their bikinis & hoping in.  The men in the water all congregated on the walls facing the stairs & watched, and yes I have to count myself among those wallflowers… just staring and trying to figure out why busloads of women in their 20’s and 30’s kept pouring out of the building.  Not that we were complaining.

It was later announced that they were the “500 best ladies of Iceland”, though I never did figure out what they were the best at.  They really weren’t the most beautiful… a couple cute ones here and there, but by and large they were really just women in bikinis… and thanks to testosterone that’s pretty much enough to keep men gap-jawed.  I think the “500 best” was just a marketing ploy to sell products to tourists at the pool, which was first theorized by one of the pool employees & seemed to fit the bill pretty well.  Go figure that I had to leave after only about 30 minutes to catch the 9pm bus back to Reykjavik… ahh, if only I still had my own car!

The night again ended pretty nonchalantly, with me writing this and then heading to bed in preparation for an early rise tomorrow: day trip to Greenland!  Moral of this day is the same as the previous day: if you only have a couple days in Iceland, go to Akureyri.   Mývatn is an easy day trip away from there.

IS - Golden Circle

June 7                   Tuesday               Iceland                 Reykjavik                                                           

Today was my day to finally hit the so-called Golden Circle: the main tourist track for those with but a day or two to see Iceland.  This began with Þingvellir National Park, the location of first parliament of Iceland (indeed, perhaps the first parliament in the world) many many centuries ago.  It’s just an undeveloped area today, but the signs do a good job at making the historical significant interesting.  The area is located right along a series of fissures between North America and Europe, enabling me to once again find myself switching back and forth between continents. While it had been sunny in Reykjavik, it was a bit more dreary here among the mountains… but fortunately it was just cool rather than cold & otherwise dry.  That likely contributed to my somewhat greater appreciation for the area than if I was in a more miserable condition, as there really isn’t much to see & one wouldn’t want to stand around reading signs as they get soaked & frozen.

Þingvellir largely consists of moss, which I’d really say should be Iceland’s official plant (if it isn’t already).  Given the historical significance of the area, there are plenty of signs telling people not to venture off the paths… first you may damage the moss and grasses which help prevent erosion, second you might damage the rockface if they’re loose, and third you might hurt yourself by falling into a fissure.  But really I’d say the first one is the only real thing they’re concerned about.  So I say this to preface the next paragraph…

Want to be overcome by Anti-Americanism?  Just watch an American family at a tourist site.  The more delicate a tourist site: the more they’ll tramp all over it.  Even worse is an American tour group: they’re full of American families, inevitably wearing dumb hats and t-shirts with cars on them.  At least the people who wear t-shirts with wolves on them don’t leave our country much.

As for other tour groups… British tour groups always stand around asking dumb questions that even other tourists could readily answer; Japanese tour groups are always in the way but will move instantly upon request; and then there’s German tour groups… now I love German backpackers; mostly because they’re awesome like every other backpacker but also because I have a bit of an affinity toward German stuff.  But German tour groups: they march in formation and won’t budge for anyone.  You can be walking all the way to the edge of a path & they’ll still occupy the entirety of it & plow right through you, with nary an “Entschuldigung” or “Verzeihen Sie mir” to follow.  Sure I’m stereotyping, but thanks to group mentality: such stereotypes often seem to be remarkably accurate.  For what it’s worth… awesome groups have always consisted of Norwegians & Swedes, partly driving much of my affinity toward giving them due respect in the coming weeks.

After Þingvellir was Geyser… that is, the geyser for which all other geysers are named.  I drove past it; it was seconds from the roadside and didn’t look as interesting as some others out there… and frankly I was short on time… and really, I’m just not much of a geyser person.  Unless it shoots high enough to reach another layer of the atmosphere: I’m not interested.  Not that I wouldn’t watch… but it’s like trainspotting: I absolutely love the moment the train is going by but loathe the 30-60 minutes (or more…) of nothingness.

So next was Guilfoss.  It was OK, but not worth my time coming all the way out here.  It’s pretty neat with its pair of cascades, but really I’d seen so many waterfalls by this point that it just wasn’t jumping out at me as something I needed to spent all day to visit.  However, this was one case where I’d say a sunny day may have significantly altered my opinion… the amount of mist getting kicked up would have surely fared wonderfully in direct sunlight, but alas the mountain clouds persisted.

By “not worth my time coming all the way out (t)here” I refer partly to the sheer distance from Reykjavik, but moreso to the speed at which I travelled to get there.  Tourist traffic.  I hadn’t had any tourist traffic at all up until this point.  On the rare occasion I needed to pass someone, I’d just do it… no problem; it’d be one car & there’d be no opposing traffic.  Heck, I’d go an hour and maybe see one car.   But the Golden Circle, despite being posted at 90 km/h, moved at about 50 km/h.  For the non-metric folks: I’ll convert for you and say that’s 30 MPH.  Odds are you go faster than that in your own neighborhood.  And I couldn’t pass because no one else would pass… while there was a steady stream of opposing traffic, there were enough gaps that if I was passing only 2 or 3 vehicles: I could totally do it.  But I had about 11 vehicles in front of me, eventually getting that to 7 as I passed a couple folk who were leaving big gaps ahead of them… but no gaps in opposing traffic were big enough to make that final sweep.

Also not helping: Iceland’s radio kind of sucks.  It’s geneally bad EuroPop; not that it matters since within five minutes you’ll lose the station.  Only two maybe-OK stations were Bylgjan & Ruv.  The former had immense variety (and I don’t say that as a good thing)… a mix of Europop (some good; some bad), American dance music from the 80s, and bad American pop from the last few years… I don’t mean bad as in stuff that’s popular but I dislike it; I mean bad in the sense that it maybe hit the airwaves a few times a week before it was pulled off for good reason.  Think the B-sides to any pop-punk band over the last 10 years.

In the absence of anything good on Icelandic radio (with the exception of occasional Quarashi), I've been belting out tunes by the Wallflowers, Nine Inch Nails, Green Day, Girl Talk, Depeche Mode, Guns N’ Roses, Blur, and pieces from Zelda games.  I’ll also add in “Live and Let Die”.  As for Guns N’ Roses: I especially find myself singing Patience when stuck behind a convoy of tourists doing half the speed limit.  Plus Sweet Child O' Mine is awesome to scream at the top of your lungs when the only other sound in the car is silence.  Speaking of which… that’s probably where Depeche Mode came from.

This was my last day with the rental car: from here on I became dependent on my own two feet & Reykjavik’s bus system… which to be fare is actually not half-bad.  Not half-good, either, but not half-bad.  It covers pretty much everywhere of interest, has reasonably direct routes, and headways of about 15-20 minutes… better than America but worse than most of Europe.  Anyways, I pulled into the Dollar / Thrifty place among the Reykjavik sprawl and delivered the keys to a bottle blonde, who then drove me back to my room.  Just like my waitress the night before: she seemed utterly disinterested in her work & desperate for something else; or at least to go home.  I tried to strike up conversation during the drive & learned that she’s from a small town in the northeast & apparently moved to Reykjavik pretty recently for this job.  It was tough to keep the conversation going… not so much for lack of interest in her continuing it, but it seemed her morale had been so-sapped already that I just couldn’t get any good leads to keep the chat going.

It was time for some chow.  Bæjarins Beztu is a hotdog stand just behind the restaurant I ate at last night.  It’s just a tiny cart on an otherwise empty lot, except for a picnic table and plastic trash bin keeping it company.  It’s also Iceland’s most popular eatery.  Basically I’d best compare it to Ben’s Chili Bowl in DC… except the prices here were actually pretty darn good, whereas Ben’s – while admittedly tasty – really isn’t worth the price except for special occasions or if you’re on U Street and really drunk.

You order with “eina með öllu”, which translates to “one with everything”.  I asked the guy – the first well-mannered attendant I’d yet come across in Reykjavik – if that’s just something the tourists say… tantamount to Geno’s in Philly, where only tourists visit & only tourists order their cheesesteak (and I use that term loosely) by saying “wit” if they want cheese.  Philadelphians just kind of laugh at the folks that do that… whilst simultaneously cringing that people would actually patronize Geno’s.  Anyways, the guy affirms that yes: locals even say that; it’s not just a tourist thing… actually most tourists don’t even know to say that, anyway.  So win for me.

“Everything” comes with mustard, rémoulade, fried onions, and a touch of ketchup.  First up: I looked upon the rémoulade with hesitation, but it was pretty darn good; and the fried onions were an amazing addition.  The ketchup was very faint, but it was actually quite good ketchup… amazing considering that other ketchups in Iceland (indeed: most of Europe) are downright horrendous; some countries actually bringing you marinara sauce if you request it.  Conversely, those same countries seem to put ketchup on pasta.  As John Kerry heads the Foreign Relations Committee and also has ties to the Heinz family, I personally feel he is best poised to give up on all the idealistic dreams the committee currently pursues & actually go for something realistic: shipping vast amounts of American ketchup to every country in Europe.  Except the German-speaking countries… they’re pretty good at ketchup even if at first they give you mayonnaise.

I made my way to the main house of my lodging and relaxed in the hottub for almost an hour.  As I made the scenic 5-minute stroll back to my room – enjoying the lengthy sunset – my camera, a 2-year old Canon T1i – decided to bite it.  I’d said in yesterday’s post that I knew its end was near; now its time had come.  It’s an easy fix back home, but less so here… tomorrow would be dedicated to getting myself to the mall & buying a new camera.

Moral of the day after doing the Golden Circle: if you come to Iceland and have only a couple days… hop a flight to Akuryeri.  You’ll enjoy yourself so much more.  Also: get yourself a hotdog.