Iceland: How Mother Nature humbled me
Every now and then, you experience a place whose awesomeness seeps into your pores and whispers to your soul, reminding you that you are very much alive. I imagine Africa is like that. Nepal is.
Iceland has been one of those places.
To be honest, I had no expectations of this trip. A few nights before I left, I glanced at a map to discover that Iceland is actually an island north of Britain (yep.. my European geography is dreadful). I’d seen a couple of photos of Iceland but nothing prepared me for the spectacular landscapes, sweeping plains, jaw dropping coast lines or the evening light show that Mother Nature puts on in this part of the world.
Birds nesting on the Snaefellsnes Peninsula, west coast of Iceland
So two Aussie mates, Jess and Pip, and I took off on a two week self-drive tour in a CRV (affectionately known as “Honda Hoff”) following an itinerary set and booked for us by a travel agent. I’ve never travelled like that before. It felt very grown up.
We started in the capital, Reykjavik, a small, quirky but gorgeous, European style city with classy restaurants, pretty streets and impressive street art.
Street art in Reykjavik, Iceland
We splurged on our first night and dined at Fish Market, THE place to eat in Reykjavik. With no Saturday booking, they kindly squeezed us in on their sushi bar next to where the chefs work. It was the best sushi I will ever devour.
Chef preparing the most unbelievable sushi at Fish Market in Reykjavik, Iceland
We headed north weaving between snow-capped mountains up the west coast towards the Snaefellsnes Peninsula. Most days we packed lunches, which not only saved cash but probably saved our bacon. Many places are still closed for winter (April is the early shoulder season) and the places named on the map are actually farms – not towns as we thought. You can drive for hours without seeing a soul.
Heading further north to Akureyri, which is not far from the Arctic Circle, the barometer plummeted and it was snowing like crazy. Not ideal for a road a trip despite our larger vehicle and snow tyres. Some roads were just downright scary and Icelandic drivers are nuts.
Eventually, in the middle of a blizzard, we arrived in beautiful Lake Myvatn where you can hike around the top of a volcano. Bugger that… instead we soaked ourselves in the piping hot thermal pools. Arrrgfh!!!
Out of Reykjihid, the main town on Lake Myvatn, you can visit bright blue lagoons too hot to swim in, mud pools and raging steam vents. The area is a volcanic wonderland.
Running out of a geothermal steam vent at Lake Myvatn. Not a good idea considering that I stank like rotten eggs afterwards.
Onwards to Seydisfjordur, a quaint fishing village with a ferry to Denmark, a tiny pub and pizza restaurant, and one absolutely horrendously steep icy road that created so much terror, we were too scared to drive out on.
After two days of waiting for the weather to clear, we headed to the pub owned by a well-known Icelander who brews his own beer. We listened to stories about avalanches in the area, the history of the town and the ever changing effect fishing has on the population. They insisted we try their local liquor aptly named “Black Death” and, after downing a shot, I not only felt like death but was terrified of naked flames.
Some hours later, after someone had broadcast our arrival on Facebook, we stumbled out feeling a little green around the gills, waving our audience goodbye. I don’t think they get many Aussie chicks there.
We eventually felt ready to tackle The Road From Hell, which turned out to be a non-event because the ice had cleared, and made our way east towards Djupivogur, stopping to take pictures of cute little Arctic seals.
East coast of Iceland
The next day we headed south down the spectacular east coast on one of the most unforgettable coastal drives – startling cliff faces, screes and glaciers that have edged their way towards black sand beaches where, in one spot, icebergs have carved off and lie on the beach.
Iceberg beach near Skaftafell, Iceland
Arriving in Skaftafell, we strapped on crampons, grabbed our ice picks and hiked up the edge of the Jorkulsurlon Glacier, scarred with black ash from volcanic eruptions. Amazing!
Hiking the Jorkulsarlon Glacier, Iceland
Staying in Freysnes, a town that hugs the glacier with one house, a hotel and service station, the skies cleared and we prayed for some Northern Lights. Cloudy skies and the lack of complete darkness as Iceland heads toward 24 hours of sunlight had so far made the Northern Lights elusive.
At 11pm, we rugged up and headed outside to see faint movements of light that came and went across the sky but it was still too light. Thankfully our hotel window faced the glacier because suddenly the sky was ablaze with a bright green streak burning over the mountain top. We threw on as many clothes as possible, grabbed our cameras and tripods, and drove a short distance into the darkness to get a better look.
What I saw that night will stay with me forever.
Northern Lights spotted on 24 April 2012 near Skaftafell, Iceland
Over the next hour and a half we were mesmerised by the coming and going of streaks of light across the sky. Mostly they were white with a green tinge. Occasionally they were purple. At one point, they were so bright that the area in which we were standing lit up and the lights appeared to be raining on us like a bright white, fine green and purple mist. They danced and danced across the sky. We were completely surrounded by this electromagnetic energy. My skin prickled with goose bumps – and it wasn’t from the cold.
Northern Lights spotted on 24 April 2012 near Skaftafell, Iceland
The only thing that stopped me from standing there all night was the temperature. It was FREEZING! We eventually dragged ourselves away to thaw out and sleep.
The beauty of this country and the magic of Mother Nature has humbled and flawed me. If you add one place to your bucket list, make it Iceland.
For Pip and Jess, my gorgeous travel buddies who made this road trip what it was. Simply magic.
xx
Jess, Pip and I on the Snaefellsnes Peninsula at Ytri-Tanga
[Northern Lights photos courtesy of Pip White]
Scrambled eggs and angels
OK I’ll admit it. I’m unravelling faster than the Australian Labor Party. If you poked a prong into my brain to see what was going on, it’d look pretty messy. A bit like scrambled eggs being blasted with caffeine. My eyes are skittish and I desperately need a haircut.
I’m all over the shop.
Not that long ago I had big plans and bigger dreams. Rest. Write. Work. Travel.
Rest? I don’t think I’ve ever sat still in my life so that was never going to work.
Write? Professionally I’m doing OK but my personal writing is a real worry. I haven’t blogged for ages and when I find the time, I stare at a blank page. It’s not that the words aren’t there. It’s just that they are travelling too fast through the scrambled eggs to snag them.
And the travel?? I’ve got a couple of short trips coming up – New Zealand and Iceland – but I’m yearning for that big travel that blows my soul out of the water.
It’s what happens when you come back from travelling. You have this overwhelming urge to rest for a bit, reconnect with loved ones and unpack. And then you get the shits with it all and want to take off again.
What’s bugging me is that it’s been five months since I returned to Sydney and I’m still living out of a suitcase. Actually, six. I don’t have a car and I’ve chosen the wettest summer on record to rely on public transport.
It’s doing my head in.
Some mornings I wake in a state of zen-like bliss and then spend twenty minutes ripping everything out of my suitcase to find the one pair of clean underpants that I KNOW is in there.
I’ve taken on a lot of work too. I’m scared to say ‘no’ in case it dries up. And, besides, I’m loving it. All of it. But I’m burning the candle. I’m tired and I miss travelling.
Before you wonder if I should be locked up, it’s not all bad. Despite a wobbly brain, a restless soul and a mind that is 95% away with the fairies, I’m still feelin cruisey. I’ll be able to unpack my suitcase in a week and I’ll have a car soon too.
Till then I’ll be a bit like a duck… floating along the surface looking quite calm, letting out the odd squawk. Underneath it’s complete chaos.
Sometimes I feel like sprinting all the way to Bondi Beach, digging a great big hole in the sand, throwing my head into it and covering myself up so it’s just my feet poking out.
But that would require a LOT of energy.
And then… in amongst the madness…. life stops.
Everything goes quiet.
So quiet that the only thing I can hear is my own breath.
A little angel arrives. A new nephew. With dark hair and the sweetest little face in the world. I’ve written a dozen posts about him since he was born and none seem good enough. I’ll find the right words soon. And, if you’ll forgive me, I’ll retrospectively post them on his birth date. Valentine’s Day.
Every day when I look at the blog his mum and dad have built and I see his darling little face, it is a reminder to get a grip. To be kinder to myself. To exercise. To eat well. To listen to music. To write. And to dream.
Because he deserves an aunty that is not such a flake. Less of a fruit loop. Someone who is strong, healthy and focused. And one that has scrambled eggs for breakfast, not for brains.
My darling nephew, Oscar, in a beanie knitted by my mum
[Image of eggs courtesy of Hamburger Helper]
How I became a better writer
Four days of arduous jungle trekking to visit La Ciudad Perdida, Colombia. Worth every second.
Writing is a new thing for me. Well, sort of. I’ve always worked in communications but I wouldn’t necessarily say that I could write. It makes me enormously uncomfortable to call myself a writer.
I started my first blog to fundraise for a charity that I was, still am, passionate about. I sent out a weekly update outlining my running disasters and, as the dollars rolled in, so did the odd comment about my writing.
I wasn’t particularly good at English at school. Science was more my thing.. until it came to doing experiments. Mrs Quereshi, my physics teacher, told my parents that under no circumstances was I to do physics for the school certificate following a nasty incident in the lab where I managed to blow up a power pack.
My interest in writing took off when I started travelling. I LOVED telling others about where I’d been, how I felt when I was there, what I saw, who I met. I blogged to keep my family and friends in touch with my travels. But when a friend told me she felt like she was travelling with me, I suddenly thought ‘Wow’.. if I could take people with me in my travels, how awesome would that be!?
So, not happy with being an average writer, I threw myself into learning how to write and into the blogging world where people like Christine Gilbert of Almost Fearless, Torre deRoche of The Fearful Adventurer, Seth Godin and Chris Guillebeau of The Art of Non-Conformity inspire me with their tales. I rarely miss their posts.
The BIGGEST goal of all
Hang-gliding in Rio de Janeiro, Brazil
From as early as I can remember, I’ve been compelled to grab life by the goolies. It’s horrendously cliched but I try to live life to the max while keeping one eye on the future.
I think about death a lot… Morbid, huh?! I don’t like watching the news because it propels me into that sort of headspace and mentally it’s not a great place to go. Having said that, working in communications is not conducive to ignoring the news so I try to find the happy medium (dreadful pun).
I guess thinking about death can be a good thing. I don’t take anything for granted. I often wonder whether people consider their own mortality. Is it normal to think so much about death? Do we think about it more as we get older? Probably.
In 20 years of working in health, I’ve nursed elderly people on their death bed, witnessed babies being born by caesarean, and watched open heart surgery, brain surgery, kidney transplants and autopsies.
Love is… goose bumps
I digress… I hope you’ll forgive me.
I came across this beautiful Vimeo today called LOVE by Jason Silva, a young Venezuelan-American filmmaker. He describes love as “something you want to stretch on forever”… that it is like “goose bumps”.
This month would have been my grandparents 60th wedding anniversary. They had 8 children and 25 grandchildren. Nana was a strong woman with a massive twinkle in her eye. I think she had a secret passion for travel… the St Christopher she gave me is one of my most treasured possessions. She baked me afghans when I visited her. Every time.
I adored both my grandparents.
Grandad suffered for many years with cancer and I wonder whether Nana had prepared herself to perhaps be the partner left behind. She had started to go on short trips with her girlfriends.
A girl’s guide to happiness
Torres del Paine National Park, Argentina
Everyone seems to have a theme at the moment. Words like ‘building’ and ‘fierce focus’ are rattling around on blogs. As I wrote my bucket list for 2012, I thought about why I put it together. Sure it’s about setting goals and making the most of the year ahead. But, actually, what it really boils down to is happiness. I’m ticking those things off because they make me happy.
And so I’ve decided to make that my theme for 2012: HAPPINESS. If it doesn’t make me happy, it’s outta here.
So here’s what will be guiding me towards my year of happiness:
Stop worrying what other people think
Yep. I’m 36, single with no kids, no mortgage, an inability to sit still and a passion to write. I’m rocking this life the only way I know how. By living it LARGE! The mortgage (and the man) will come if and when I want it to.
My bucket list for 2012
2012 is so full of promise. Rather than set New Years resolutions, I’ll be crossing a few items off my bucket list:
Scuba dive medical clearance
I have a confession to make. I’ve put off getting a scuba diving licence for years because I’m nervous about getting medical clearance – as in, I don’t want to be to be told that I can’t do it. Years ago I had a collapsed lung and I’m scared unsure whether that will prevent me from diving.
Iceland baby!
This stunning country has been at the top of my bucket list and in the pipeline for a while. I desperately want to see the Northern Lights. When my photographer friend Pip White asked if I wanted to join her on a photographic journey of Iceland with some Aussie chicks, how could I say no? We leave in April!
Perito Moreno Glaciar, Argentina – a beautiful place on earth
One of the most beautiful landscapes that Patagonia has to offer - Perito Moreno Glaciar is 30 kilometres long, 200 metres above sea level and 500 metres below sea level. Just stunning.
Why 2011 was my favourite year
If I had to pick my most defining year, 2011 wins. This year I shed an old skin. I got rid of a dry, itchy outer layer and emerged a fresher version of myself. It feels amazing.
I saw in the New Year with my dear friends Cath and Paul in London, singing to their Christmas tree before passing out from too many champagnes. I was jaded and still reeling from the shock of thrusting myself back into corporate crapness after nine months of incredible travel. I was also recovering from a broken heart and had convinced myself that moving to the opposite side of the world would mend it.
I moved house six times in 12 months and travelled to Barcelona, Paris, Munich, Zurich, Edinburgh and the Isle of Wight. I saw so much live music that it rocked my soul. And in a moment of complete and utter madness, I applied for a charity spot in the London Marathon and was accepted. F@#*!
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Tags: Location independent, Travel | 
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What Antarctica taught me about myself
18 months ago I stood on a pier in a tiny town at the southern-most tip of the world and stared out towards an ice-breaking ship that would sail me to Antarctica.
I was beyond excited.
I have always wanted to go there… to Antarctica and to Galapagos. I am a total wildlife nut. I could sit and stare at strange creatures (non-human ones) doing their weird and wonderful thing all day long. Most of the time I forget to take pictures.
When our ship eventually sailed away, I stood at the back of the boat watching Ushuaia get smaller and smaller. And eavesdropped.
“Bon voyage,” said one passenger. “Hope we make it back.” (*nervous laughter*)
“Wonder if I’ll puke the whole way,” said another. (*more nervous laughter*)
I guess it’s not a trip for the faint-hearted. It involves crossing one of the roughest passages in the world, the Drake Passage. And ships sink there… tourist ships.
