Chapter 3 - Iceland
Rob and Leslie’s Adventures in the Nordic Countries and London
18 February 2023 to 18 March 2023
In mid-February 2023 Leslie and I left on a month’s holiday in the Nordic countries. I wrote a bit about our adventure each day. I’ve broken this story into its four parts:
Chapter 1 - Finland – Click here.
Chapter 2 - Norway – Click here.
Chapter 3 - Iceland – This webpage covers the Icelandic part of our trip.
Chapter 4 - London – Click here.
If you’d like more details about this trip, please feel free to contact me.
Rob Landsberry – August 2023
Day 18 – 8th March 2023
Well here it is, Day 18. And today is the day when Leslie and I leave Oslo and fly to Iceland.
And the good news is that I’ve caught up with my days. Sorry to hit you with two emails in one 24‑hour period.
I was asked by a couple of people whether it’s a burden to write something every day. Actually, the process is not that much of a hassle. I usually make a few notes during the day as we travel, then when we have a break between activities, or in the evening when we have some down time, I bash something out on my mobile. I don’t have much time (if any) to review and edit what I’ve written, so it’s likely riddled with typos and such. But I do like to write. So it’s all been part of this fabulous trip. It’s also great to get the odd bit of feedback from people, and sometimes I even steal some of the stories and insights they share.
This one from cousin Wendi I particularly liked: “A hangover suggests a great night, jet lag suggests a great adventure” – J.D. Andrews
To be honest, not much happened today as it was mainly about travel. Things started well at breakfast, as all the women at the hotel (and remember this was many hundreds) received a red rose 🌹 as it was International Women’s Day.
Well, I say ‘all the women’ but I meant ‘all the women EXCEPT Leslie’. We only found out that she hadn’t received one, when Lynne (a fellow traveller on our tour who’d also stayed an extra day in Oslo) told us on WhatsApp.
That bad start was exacerbated when we boarded the FlyToGet train to the airport. As we sat chatting, suddenly the guy sitting behind us did a massive, guttural, phlegmy throat clear. I glanced behind to see if it was renowned snorter David from our tour group. It wasn’t David, but an equally friendly chap, who appeared to be chewing something rubbery. What am I, some sort of mucus magnet?
When we arrived at the airport, Leslie and I had checked in, tagged our own bags, done the baggage drop, cleared security and were inside the terminal sitting having a drink in about 12 minutes.
I used to HATE the whole process of doing your own bag tags and baggage drop - it’s a bit like scanning your own groceries at Colesworths. I’m retired - do I really need to be doing the job of an airport check‑in person or a supermarket check-out person? But I’m warming to it - there seems to be way fewer queues, so that can’t be bad.
Then Leslie suddenly looked at me and said, “Hang on, we didn’t even show our passports and we’re right here at the gates.” How does that work, we wonder - after all, this is an international flight. Well, let me tell you.
There are 36 European countries in something called the Schengen Group, and if you have a valid Visa in any one of those, you can travel to any of the others without your passport. It’s just like traveling state to state in Australia. It’s the largest free travel area in the world. Brilliant.
The Schengen Area
And there’s no customs check on arrival. There’s the usual ‘Nothing to Declare’ and ‘Something to Declare’ options, but the former is just an unmanned door to the outside world. How could they ever have a reality TV show about people getting randomly caught for bringing in 15kg of dried fish, a live exotic parrot, a bag of guavas, an ivory helmet, a puffin or the like? It just wouldn’t work.
Anyway, we board the plane, and as usual Leslie gets the window seat, and I’m in between her and a young man on the aisle. I make it sound like I’m a bit annoyed at Leslie for grabbing the window seat, but not at all. She’s been very fair about it - she has the window seat until 2050, and I have it from then on. 👍
Five minutes after sitting down, guess what? The guy beside me starts with the coughing and the throat clearing. He’s relentless. This is now starting to get silly. Am I on some sort of candid camera show? Do they know I put up with years of this from my Dad?
Maybe it’s one of those whacky Japanese shows - you know the ones where they get a guy to stand on his head in the sun with no shirt on, and then get a magnifying glass and go about burning his nipples. Or they attach a fencing mask to a guy and drop a rat in there.
Maybe this array of sputum specialists is my torture, and it’s being secretly filmed. Anyway, it will not do, so I move to one of the free seats.
It’s particularly distressing to have this all going on around us, as we just found out that both Gordon and Nelly have COVID and are currently enjoying the many and varied sights of London from the tiny window in their hotel. I’m guessing Clive and Jens maladies may also have been the dreaded COVID.
Anyway, we arrived safely at the delightful Apotek Hotel in the centre of Reykjavik’s old town centre and had time to do a quick exploratory walk and pick up a local SIM for my phone.
For the life of us we couldn’t find anything like the little dooverlacky you need to open the SIM slot on the iPhone. We tried all manner of shops, and even asked a lovely waitress who searched high and low for a paperclip or a pin. But nothing - nada, zip, zero.
One last shop - but again, nothing. And then Leslie shouted, “Earrings!!!”, attracting an assistant who was quite thrilled that Leslie was so interested in their array of puffin earrings and brooches of the northern lights. “Sorry - I didn’t mean to shout”, she said. It was when she saw the display that it twigged that we could use the post from one of her earrings. And lo, it came to pass that the earring post didst work, just as a treat.
Earring version (top) of the SIM tray remover (bottom)
This sort of resourcefulness is just one of the many reasons I keep Leslie close at hand at all times. That and her relatively recently acquired excellent taste in men.
And that’s a wrap for Day 18. Nothing much seemed to happen. But look closer and there’s always something.
So, as they say here in Iceland, ‘RÚSÍNAN Í PYLSUENDANUM’, which translates as ‘the raisin at the end of the hotdog’, which is used like this: “Glacier hiking to the ice caves was the raisin at the end of the hot dog.” It’s like “the icing on the cake”, if the cake was made of unidentifiable processed meat products, iced with a single raisin.
Cheerio
Leslie and Rob
Day 19 – 9th March 2023
Holy shit! Iceland is like nowhere we’ve ever seen. And what a Day 19 we had. We started at 7am with a quick breakfast, then jumped on an 11‑hour tour of Southern Iceland with a small group, following that with a ‘Chase The Northern Lights’ trip from 8:30pm until half past midnight. Almost 20,000 steps.
But first, I want to share a short story from my cousin Mary, who was commenting on my story of the Pasinelli painting ‘Roman Charity’ in my Day 17 email. It seems that Tom Keneally wrote a book called ‘Three Famines’. The first famine is on Gorta Mór, the great hunger of Ireland, which began in 1846. The second is the less well-known but more deadly famine that struck Bengal in 1943. The third is the Ethiopian famine, which first sprang up in lethal form in the 1970’s. Tom recounts a tale from the Irish famine of a mother faced with an impossible choice. Her elder son is old enough (late teens) to go out labouring, and earn the money the family needs to survive, but there’s no food except her breast milk. Does she feed him or her baby? She hasn’t got enough milk for both. So she lets the baby die and feeds her son, so most of the family can survive.
A tragic story. But maybe this was more common in desperate times gone by. We’re all so lucky to be living in the place and time we are. It’s good to be reminded of that.
So, back to Day 19.
Our guide for the Southern Iceland tour was Monika. Monika came to Iceland from Hungary about 10 years ago, for a three-month working holiday, and never left. And let me tell you why. “I just LOVE the nature…it’s INSANE.”
In fact, throughout our day pretty much everything was ‘INSANE’ to Monika. Waterfalls, glaciers, mountains, islands, steaming vents emanating from the very core of the earth, a leaf, a small piece of litter - all of these were INSANE!
Monika was a rabid enthusiast, in the same way that Pol Pot was a rabid dictatorial killer, but she was much jollier. She drove our small bus, did all the commentary, and chose all the music, all the while teaching a new person to be a guide. And throughout all of this, and for 11 straight hours, everything was just INSANELY fabulous, and she smiled nonstop.
I’ve only met one other person with this sort of relentless positivism in the face of almost anything. And that’s Jane, the co-owner of SMI, which was Leslie and my last full-time job (hi Jane!! ❤️). I often said of Jane that if she was at the doctor, and he said, “I’m sorry Jane, but you only have 3 months to live”, Jane would say, “Three whole months! That’s fabulous!”
Well, that’s also Monika.
She starts by answering a phone call and laughing her head off, after which she tells us that she’s stolen this bus. It was allocated to a fellow tour guide, and she just took it. She thought this was the absolute funniest thing EVER. Actually it was INSANELY funny. She then spots another tour guide from her company with a second group doing the same Southern Iceland Tour. He’s ahead of us. She announces to us all, “But this is not a race”, as she immediately floors it.
Now, as we waited for the tour bus earlier on, we’d met New Yorkers, Scott and his sister Julie. They ended up in single seats, with Scott right at the front of the bus, a decision he seemed to be questioning as Monika picked up the pace.
She was intent on catching her work buddy, while a stiffening and wide-eyed Scott seemed perfectly willing to stay where we were.
There were now 5 vehicles between us and Monika’s mate. She kept sticking the nose of the bus out onto the other side of the road, in that way you do when you see what’s coming and say, “Yeah….nah”. Meanwhile Scott was slamming his right foot on his imaginary brake.
Then, Monika makes her move. She’s out on the other side of the road, floors the throttle to full, and as the engine roars, she takes the first vehicle. This is more than enough for Scott who has now seen his life flash before his very eyes, only to be incredibly disappointed. But Monika’s not done yet. She doubles down on vehicle two, engine pitch rising as she does so.
“Are you sure this isn’t a race”, shouts Scott. Somewhat disturbingly, Monika finds this hilarious, and laughs like a maniac, like John Candy in that fabulous scene in Planes, Trains and Automobiles, where he’s driving on the wrong side of the highway.
Monika continues, until she’s taken all five cars and overtaken her bus driving comrade. Scott has now gone white. There may have even been some leakage of a little wee.
So things settle down a little, primarily to let Scott recover.
Monika continues to point out the amazing sights of Southern Iceland, and believe me, they’re jaw droppingly amazing. Perhaps even INSANE.
And as Monika talks, it becomes apparent that her pronunciation and turn of phrase is a beautiful combination of her Hungarian background, her 10 years in Iceland, her current study of Spanish, and grappling with the complexities of English.
Some fabulous phrases are:
To the right you will see that this is super eunuch.
I’m looking for a large nutless gentleman, when I realise I should really be looking for something that’s ‘super unique’.
And when she points out the flowers growing in the greenhouse, she uses this charming non‑native English speaker’s expression:
If you look to the left, you will catch the head of the roses with your eyes.
And then there’s this classic:
When you go down onto the Black Sand beach, you must see the buzzard columns.
She kept mentioning these columns as we approached the Black Sand beach. I check where buzzards live - and it’s not in Iceland. So WTF is Monika talking about?
Fifteen minutes later Leslie and I are standing looking at these amazingly naturally sculpted rock formations guarding a deep cave, as the waves crash behind us. Not a bird to be seen. Neither seagull, nor buzzard. But then Leslie says, “Hang on….aren’t those columns made of basalt?”. And the penny (or krone) drops. These are the famous ‘Basalt Columns’ - not the slightly less famous ‘Buzzard Columns’.
Despite her linguistic gymnastics, Monika was freaking brilliant. She loves Iceland. She loves her job as driver/guide. She loves Icelandic music. And just like the last 247 tour groups she’s led, she LOVES US!!! All of us. No exceptions.
It was all just INSANE!
We saw massive rock formations which had curled and risen to their 60-metre height from the very core of the earth millions of years ago, and then suddenly frozen into waves of stone.
We saw mighty waterfalls which simply refused to freeze, until they hit the ground, when they instantly turned to ice.
We saw massive columns of basalt in perfectly geometric shapes, that nature had carved out over tens of thousands of years.
We saw one of the outlets of Iceland’s two massive glaciers - a glacier that’s almost the same size as Hungary. We heard the glacier groan, like whale song, echoing across the valley as it moved micro millimetre by micro millimetre.
We saw two beaches covered in fine black basalt that’s been broken down over centuries, and where uniform waves roll in consistently until suddenly a ‘sneaker wave’ comes in at 4 or 5 times the size. They often completely surprise unsuspecting tourists checking their photos, sweeping them into the ocean.
And on the way back, Monika pointed out all sorts of fascinating sights, including the old asylum where the mentally ill used to be locked away. “They locked them away here for the rest of their lives”, said Monika, and then without any sense of irony, she added, “It’s INSANE!!”.
In Iceland, even the insanity is INSANE.
More soon, and sending love to all our family and friends.
Leslie and Rob
Day 20 – 10th March 2023
So, I missed a couple of bits from Day 19, because the email was getting too long even for me.
A couple of days ago, Leslie and I watched ‘The Volcano: Rescue From Whakaari’, the Netflix documentary about the White Island eruption in New Zealand that claimed 22 lives. Strongly recommended, but perhaps NOT when you’re touring through Iceland with a crazy guide taking you through ‘allegedly’ dormant volcanoes, steaming vents, geysers, and teetering slabs of ice.
“It’s INSANE”, Monika would say with a massive grin, “we are standing right where the ground opened up just 6 years ago….and it could happen again at anytime.”
And, “This slab of ice we’re standing under weighs over 30 tonnes and the force of the glacier moving just 1 millimetre could make it drop on us at any time…now that’s INSANE.”
My mind was reliving scenes from the ‘White Island’ doco on high rotation.
And one final thing from yesterday. Despite having just been on an 11‑hour tour of Southern Iceland with Monika, just an hour or so later we doubled down, heading off to hunt the Northern Lights on a crystal clear, crisp Reykjavík evening.
Our guide took us to a remote area in the national park not far from Reykjavík, where we all hopped out, eagerly looking towards north, cameras and phones in hand. It was cold - that’s a given. But the beautifully clear night meant it was even colder, and to top that off, there was one of those winds that’s so powerful it has a personality. But that’s not enough. Standing still means you have nothing to keep you warm. So it was what our guide called “ferken kult”.
The wind was hitting my face so hard and cold, that my eyes (which were pretty much the only things not covered) actually felt like they might freeze. This can happen - the blood vessels of the eye can constrict in super cold weather, causing the cornea to freeze. This is incredibly painful and takes some weeks to return to normal, during which time you’ll have major problems with your sight. Oh yes, and when it’s that cold, your contact lenses can freeze onto your eyeballs.
I mean, who is born here and doesn’t immediately want to escape as soon as they can walk? And why are the Icelandic people so freakin’ happy, and proud to be Icelandic? This is a place where your eyeballs can freeze, for God’s sake!
Anyway, we finally see the Northern Lights. They’re not super bright and they disappear from one spot fairly quickly, only to appear in another spot almost immediately. We grab some photos, and our guide takes some of each of us also. How’s the one below of the two of us looking like we’d just been caught shoplifting? We were told to stand super still as it was a long exposure – 4 more seconds and we could have become ice covered statues.
Then we head off to another spot. Same routine. And the wind keeps cutting through 4 and 5 layers of clothing. We’d been in minus 21 in Finland, but it was sunny without any wind. This was something entirely different.
After three stops and standing around for 30 to 40 minutes at each one, the freezing cold wind had entered my very soul and frozen my spirit. It had hunted out any tiny corner of my body that was vaguely warm, and snatched that warmth, throwing it into a pool of ice.
But we did get some great views of the Northern Lights - each stop both better (view) and worse (colder) than the previous one.
We got back at half past midnight, and it took three scotches and one hour for me to get the feeling back in my face, and for my eyes to thaw.
Then we rolled into Day 20. It started with a two-hour walking tour around Reykjavík, with yet another excellent guide, Asta. We started at the amazing Hallgrímskirkja, a Lutheran Church which towers 75 metres over the city.
Now, Australia has had some issues with building projects in the past, but the Hallgrímskirkja took 41 years to complete, from 1945 to 1986. Forty-one freakin’ years.
Like most of the Nordic countries, Catholicism was the major religion in Iceland up to the early 1500’s, but they pretty much all converted to Lutheran during the mid-16th century. The Swedes were the prime movers in the switch, with two main motivations - both of which have nothing to do with faith, but everything to do with money. Hey, that’s just the nature of organised religion. Twas always thus and thus will always be.
Firstly, they didn’t want to have to keep paying money to Rome, particularly since they were so far away from them and never saw any benefits.
And secondly, Catholic churches were richly decorated, with vast quantities of gold and silver, and clergy who weren’t averse to putting on a lavishly decorated frock, accompanied by a swag of expensive bling. Just like Jesus would have wanted.
But Lutheran churches are sparse and their clergy dress far more modestly. For some odd reason their focus is on God, rather than funny hats and golden chalices. So, when a king converts a country from Catholicism to Lutheranism, the churches are all stripped of their wealth - and gosh, what should we do with all that treasure. “Look”, says the King, “I’ll look after it for now/ever.”
The tour with Asta was fabulous, and we saw a lot of Reykjavík that may otherwise have remained a hidden mystery.
And later that night we went to the Harpa concert hall for dinner and a concert by renowned Icelandic musician, Júníus Meyvant. Monika had recommended him as one of her favourite artists – rather surprisingly she said that the concert would be INSANE!
Leslie ordered Beef Wellington, which was presented beautifully, but when she took a bite it was lamb. She called our waiter over and said, “I asked for Beef Wellington”. “Yes”, said the waiter. “But this is lamb”, says Leslie. “Yes, that’s right”, replied the waiter. Leslie continues, a wee bit confused, “But when you served it to me, you said ‘and Beef Wellington for madame’”. “Yes, that’s right”, said the waiter with a smile. Rightio.
Later for dessert we had the chocolate pudding, which of course was strawberry cake.
Thirty minutes into the first half of Júníus’ show, something so obvious hit me right between the eyes, like a Viking arrow. We go to concerts because we know the artist, we love their music, and they’re good. Now, if Meatloaf was here, he would ask whether two out of three ain’t bad. But in this case, it was a big fat zero out of 3. Júníus was about as entertaining as a stomach ulcer. And the crowd appeared far from overwhelmed, with modest clapping between each of Mr Meyvant’s drab and dreary songs.
Júníus Meyvant at the Harpa Concert Hall, Reykjavik
At half time, I turned to Leslie and said, “Rightio - we’re off”. “Oh thank the Lord” she said, “I had a horrible feeling you may have been enjoying it!”
But all was not lost - only the $300 we’d paid for the tickets. We stopped at the bar across the road from our hotel, where there was fabulous live music, and we met yet more super friendly Icelanders. The scales tipped back in favour of the good times, and all was back to being INSANE!
I’ll be back tomorrow, but in the meantime, may it be as the Icelanders say: “megi félagi þinn slá þig í höfuðið með gullhamri”, which translates as “may your partner hit you on the head with a gold hammer”, meaning may he/she compliment you.
Cya
Leslie and Rob
Day 21 – 11th March 2023
Why do hotels have to try to be clever? Do they get some sort of perverse enjoyment from hiding the TV remote? Does it really need to be in a cradle in the wardrobe behind the ironing board?
Is there any necessity to reinvent the way taps work? We had one that had a single 20cm chrome joystick, but to deliver water, you pushed it backwards - think about it. Would you design it that way?
And don’t get me started about light switches. Light switch 1 turns lights A and C on, but light switch 2 turns C off and B and E on. But then switch 3 turns B off, the lamp on, and the next-door neighbour’s TV on. It takes 15 minutes to get the right combination to get all the lights off ready for bed. And then I’m sure they change the combinations while we’re out the next day.
The Apotek here in Reykjavik proved to be the most challenging regarding the lighting. Our bedhead fits neatly into an alcove, with just three inches either side separating it from the wall. And of course, the only logical place to put two thirds of the light switches is attached to the side of the bedhead where it’s impossible to find them. What sort of sadism is this??
“This will fool them!”
Still - mustn’t grumble. Day 21 beckons. And it’s a big one - a small group Golden Circle tour. And no, there are no pineapple factories here in Iceland, oddly enough.
Leslie attempts to pronounce the name of the street where we’re heading. She gives it a good crack. She tells me it’s 27 characters long and has six J’s in it. “And a ‘K’”, I say, “there’s always a ‘K’”. And next thing, here we are in “Kjlofjaljækjarkjaftjur”.
As we walk to the pick‑up point, we see an empty bottle of bourbon on the side of the footpath. Ten more steps, and there a glass with a thin layer of what appears to be bourbon and coke in it. A little further and there’s one shoe - and believe me, you 100% DO NOT want to be without a shoe in Reykjavik in winter. Then there’s a jacket on the ground. And finally - the money shot. A pile of vomit right at the pick‑up point - with two tourists standing in it. They probably don’t realise what it is because it’s frozen.
Despite the decidedly crisp weather, there are quite a lot of tourists here, and there are many tours across many companies every day. Most start from one of two bus stops, where well rugged up travellers gather and chat. A range of minibuses turn up one after the other, and it’s very amusing to listen to the Icelandic bus drivers grapple with names from around the globe. The funny thing is, every bus has the tour company written on it and a card in the front saying what the tour is, but there are always people who rush up to every single bus.
They shout at the driver, “Is this the South Coast tour by Ice Tours?”. “Ah no” sir, says the driver with the deadpan sarcasm that many Nordic folk seem to have, “Ah no, sir….you will see from this sign with the very big writing on it that this is the Golden Circle tour”, as he walks to the front of the bus to point out the sign, “with Reykjavik Tours, as you can see here on this sign with even the bigger letters in red”, now pointing at the 30cm letters on the side of the bus.
And yet the same guy repeats this every single time, as do many others. Once the drivers and guides have dealt with this human dross, they begin to call names. “Noami….is Noami here”, (no answer), “Noami…where you are Noami”. One British guy calls out, “we ain’t got ‘no ami’ mate, but we might have a Naomi”. And then Naomi suddenly appears, “do you mean Naomi?” And the slightly annoyed reply comes back, “Yes, this is what I say, Noami!”.
Our tour guide turns up eventually - there’s just 12 of us, which we’ve found is a great size for a tour. Our guide is Thor. It’s minus 9 outside, and blowing a gale, so it feels like minus 20. Thor stands up at the front of the bus and introduces himself, and then he becomes very earnest, saying, “I would like to say that it is so brave of you all to take the white-water rafting tour on this day that is so cold and windy.” There’s silence for a few moments, when Thor says, “Of course this is the Icelandic sense of humour.” This guy will be good.
Thor then explains the name of the tour company - but you have to imagine this in a sort of Nordic accent and delivered as dry as a Bond martini. “Now we are not ‘Fantastic Travels’, nei. And, we are not even ‘Great Travels’. We are just nice. ‘Nice Travels’. So, keep your expectations low.”
So, unlike the other Nordic countries, Iceland is sparse. Like VERY sparse. There are very few trees, and those that are here are small, and not evergreen. As Darryl Kerrigan would say, “How about the sparsity?”
Thor explains, “So little number of the trees are we having, that we actually name each one, and each has a birthday. On the birthday, we give them some super phosphate, and say, ‘There you go, Paul. Happy birthday!’”.
Thor guided us through yet more amazing sights on our 11-hour Golden Circle tour - a frozen waterfall, geysers, steaming hot and bubbling pools, massive waterfalls cascading over rocks and ice, glaciers, huge stretches of rock that looked like they had literally come bursting from the earth just last week, and much more.
A particular highlight was walking between two huge walls of basalt to the left and right. These were the edges of the North American and Eurasian tectonic plates. The actual tectonic plates! They’re each moving away from one another at 1cm per year.
Strolling between the North American and Eurasian tectonic plates
At one point we had to walk down a rocky path, and at a particularly narrow part on a curve, I met a lady coming towards me and indicated for her to go first. Bear in mind that we’re all rugged up to the max - and most of us have hats pulled low, and bollocklavas or scarves pulled over our faces. So there’s just a post box slit to see through. Not ideal when navigating a rocky curvy path as a wind straight from Loki’s bottom is bombarding your face.
To prove my point, the approaching lady lost her footing. And in slow motion she pirouetted, hands outstretched as she tried to regain her balance. Sadly, she had the surefootedness of a two-legged giraffe and post-pirouette, she headed towards the flimsy looking rope that separated the path from the valley below.
BAM! She landed across the rope, which was now stretched to its limits across her stomach, with her head looking straight down into the deep valley, her legs in mid-air and blocking the path. “Excuse me,” I said, pushing her legs aside so I could get by. Nei…of course I didn’t!
I leapt into immediate action as she appeared to be taking this slender rope beyond its design limits. I leant out and grabbed her by the shoulders and gave a sharp pull towards me, and after some to-ing and fro-ing, I managed to get her feet back on terra‑firma. I sat her down, and checked she was OK, just as her husband caught up. I headed back up the trail, face covered against the relentless wind, and as I did so I believe I heard her say, “Who was that masked man?”
I’m going to wrap up with a story that our tour guide Thor told us, although Day 22 will start with one item left over from Day 21.
So, this from Thor. Before Christianity Iceland had the Viking gods and legends. And they had no concept of hell. The closest thing that the Icelanders had to imaging a ‘hell’, was a poorly built house with an ill-fitting door that faced the arctic winds from the north. But when Christianity came to Iceland, the priests talked about hell as being a hot place, and the Icelanders looked around at the relentless ice and snow, and said of hell, “We’ll, dis sounds pretty nice.” This wasn’t the response the priests had been expecting, so they went back to the drawing board and added some sulphur, fire, brimstone and general suffering to make it clear that it was not so pleasant. “Still,” said the pondering Icelanders, “you did say it was hot, yes?”
Good story Thor, so I decided to tell him a story about his Norse God namesake. So Thor, the God of Thunder comes down to earth, and the first woman he comes across is Ita Buttrose. He takes her in his arms and kisses her, and they make mad, passionate love for four hours. Ita’s exhausted, and says, “Oh my God, who are you?”, to which Thor replies in a booming voice, “I am THOR!!!”.
“You’re thore???”, says Ita, “I’m so thore I can hardly pith”.
And so on to Day 22
Cheers
Leslie and Rob
Day 22 – 12th March 2023
I touched Dylan Moran’s underpants. No, I mean it - I really did. But more on that later.
First, I’d like to apologise if some found my Thor/Ita joke in poor taste. It’s the only Thor joke I know, and I included it only because our guide’s name was Thor. It’s just a silly old joke - I actually think it comes from my high school days.
Now, I mentioned that I’d have one item carried over from Day 21. And this was right up there with walking between the two tectonic plates.
The last thing we did on our Day 21 tour was to visit The Blue Lagoon at 5pm. This was a fabulous experience. The lagoon is a massive pool of water that rises from 2,000 metres underground, arriving in the pool at around 34 to 38 degrees, rich with all manner of minerals.
Remember that it’s minus 10 plus windchill, and you’re in your swimmers. Plus you’ve just had the pre‑pool mandatory shower, so you’re dripping wet. It’s a bit of a mad dash from indoors into the pool.
But you hit that water and BAM! Instant luxury. As you drift around the huge pool, thick steam is continually rising everywhere, and you’re down as low as you can get without being completely under the water. It’s just like Martin Sheen’s Captain Willard surfacing from the river into the mist in Apocalypse Now!
Captain Willard surfacing from the river into the mist in Apocalypse Now!
As we drift around, through the mist we see the swim up bar, so we grab a couple of wines, and drift off again to find the mud face mask kiosk. Seriously, this is luxurious.
At one point I reach up and touch my hair - it’s spiky and sharp. I tell Leslie and she discovers that hers is the same. We both figure it’s something to do with the water and the minerals, until we realize that our hair is frozen. Oddly it doesn’t feel cold.
Blue Lagoon, Grindavik
Two young African American ladies drift by, and one says to her friend, “Oh look…there’s a black man, and he’s actually quite nice looking.” It strikes me as odd, and I laugh. She says, “No, it’s true - how many black people have you seen here?” And I think on it, and even though there’s a lot of people here, I have to admit I’ve only seen these three. I want to ask the two young ladies why they think that is, but like Jack The Ripper disappearing into the London fog, they’ve been engulfed by steam, and are presumably seeking out the only good-looking black man in the pool.
So that rounded off Day 21.
Day 22 started with a visit to the Icelandic Phallological Museum, more colloquially known as The Penis Museum. Asta, our guide from a couple of days ago, had said that her high school history teacher had set it up when he retired, and that it was well worth a visit.
It is, just as it says, a small museum that looks at all aspects of the phallus across the animal kingdom. The ex‑history teacher and now his son, have collected specimens from around 100 different animals, and they’re all displayed, floating in preserving liquid in glass cylinders. The jar holding the member from a blue whale was taller than me.
To use that fabulous phrase from the priest at the Norwegian church we visited, this truly is a cock-o-fanny.
Everything in the museum from the door handles to the excellent waffles and the coffee art in the milky foam of Leslie’s latté - it’s all Penis shaped.
It’s all quite scientifically presented, so not as gross as it may sound. Although a 10-year-old British boy traveling with his Nana, was of an alternate opinion. He just sat down on the floor and said, “You know Nana, I don’t want to look at all these penises - do I have to?”. God, if I had a dollar for every time I’d asked my Nana if I had to look at a bunch of penises...well let’s just say, I’d be a wealthy man.
I want to share a couple of the fabulously written descriptions of the animals’ mating habits. They’re both hilarious and yet deadpan all at once.
The Ram - Mating habits: Traditional but during ejaculation the penis spins.
I may be wrong here, but that doesn’t sound so ‘traditional’ to me.
European Wild Boar - Oddities: By the end of mating season, a boar’s weight halves, and the penis is often badly scarred with bite-marks.
That’s some serious commitment.
Springbok - Oddities: After a female accepts a male’s advances, he will tap his leg insistently until he copulates.
I believe this may be like when a guy rattles his car keys while waiting for his partner to change her outfit just one more time.
Hawaiian Monk Seal - Mating Habits: Male mounts female by biting her head and not releasing until he copulates. Oddities: Males often gang up and isolate a single female, then they all mount her which usually results in injury.
Guys, this is the era of ‘Me Too’ - even the seal world needs to lift its game.
There were so many more. But it’s now time to move on to Fly Over Iceland, a three-part visual program, where parts 1 and 2 could easily have been dropped. Part 3 sees twenty of us strapped into airplane seats in a small theatre. The lights dim, the barrier in front of us drops, the seats move forward, and BAM! We’re high above Iceland with a huge screen that almost completely envelopes us - above, below and to the sides.
Leslie, who enjoys heights almost as much as she enjoys eating whale, has stiffened, and is now gripping the bar in front of us to the point of almost doing a Superman and bending steel with her bare hands. Her eyes have widened and are like two saucers.
We fly over massive mountains, and then rapidly descend into the valleys below, sweeping low and fast over glaciers and waterfalls, where water sprays across our face, and all the while our seats are moving left, right, back, forward, up and down in synch with the film. It’s amazing technology that does a great job of fooling your brain.
As our seats tilt back, we pass over a volcanic peak, where a lone climber stands waving, and although the rousing music is loud, everyone can hear Leslie shout, “Jesus, don’t go down there”, as she sees the valley below our feet, “I mean PLEASE, just don’t do it…oh fuck, he’s doing it.” And down we swoop again, as I whisper to Leslie that she’ll see more if she opens her eyes.
After 15 minutes it ends, and Leslie releases her vice like grip on the metal bar, only to reveal pools of sweat in each hand. These are beyond sweaty palms – they’re literally pools that she empties onto the floor. On the way out she shakily suggests to our ‘flight attendant’ that the bar for seat 14 could probably do with an extra good wipe.
We end the day at the Laundromat Café, for a late lunch and some desperately needed washing. And this is where Dylan Moran comes in.
I’m sure you all know Irish standup comedian and star of the fabulous British Comedy show, Black Books which also stars the equally talented Bill Bailey and Tamsyn Grieg. Well, Mr Moran is only sitting right behind me.
Tamsyn Grieg, Dylan Moran and Bill Bailey (Black Books)
I stand up and say, “You’re Dylan Moran, aren’t you”, and he springs from his seat. I’m expecting a handshake and a bit of idle chit chat, when he suddenly says, “Yes I am, can you mind my shit”, and as he dashes off, I say, “Yeah…sure.”
He has a lot of ‘shit’ on his table, and I mind it very well I think. I don’t like to brag, but I think I’d be in the top 10% of ‘shit minders‘ globally. I turn to Leslie and say, “I’m just minding Dylan Moran’s shit”. She nods, like she understands.
He comes back, sits down and says, “Thanks”, going back to his screen. I don’t believe he realises just how good my ‘shit minding’ was. I slink back to my seat.
Later, our paths crossed again, down in the laundry room, where I’m putting another coin in the dryer, as Dylan’s moving his stuff from washer to dryer. A pair of his undies lands on the floor, and I pick them up and chuck them in the dryer, smiling at him. Clearly, I’ve overstepped some sort of line here - and I can see how you could interpret it that way. He glares at me, but then says, “Thanks.”
And there you have it, just as I did with Alison on the Norwegian boat journey, I cracked through the barriers and social awkwardness via a chance encounter at a laundry, and a cheeky touch of a pair of undies. Dylan had spoken ten words to me, and I’ll always treasure that.
Tomorrow sees us leave the aptly names Iceland and head to London.
As Morna would say, cheers big ears.
Leslie and Rob
Day 23 – 13th March 2023
Sorry for the delay - I one hundred percent know how absolutely devasted you’ll all be. I have no excuse aside from us just having too much London fun. 😃👍
Day 23 was a travel day for us - from Reykjavik to London, a short flight of around 3 hours which somehow took 10 hours door to door. Given that, not a lot happened, so I’m going to make this email largely about some leftover thoughts about our Nordic trip.
I will say this about our flight. We all boarded on time, and Leslie and I were slap bang in the middle of a British school tour group of about fifty 15-year-old boys and girls. We thought, “OK, it’s just three hours - we can do this.”
And then Captain Misery gets on the intercom and says, “Well the good news is that we’re all on board early and ready to go”. So far so good. “But there’s high winds in London restricting the number of landings per hour, so there’ll be a ‘slight’ delay in our take off, as we need to get a slot in the queue.”
There was something about the way he said ‘slight’ that made us all get that look of the ponder emoji. 🤔 “So, I’m afraid we’ll be sitting here for mumbly mumbly and a half hours.”
Everyone looks at one another saying, “What? How long? What did he say?”
“Just to be clear”, says Captain Numbnuts, “that’s two and a half hours that we’ll be sitting on the tarmac here.” Now it’s lunchtime, and we’d bypassed the airport snack, thinking we’ll have something on the plane. And we’re also right in the eye of a ‘fifty-hungry-teenager’ storm. There’s an uprising forming as we all question the logic of getting us all on board just to sit here for 2½ hours.
Captain Soon To Be Dead then goes into a lengthy explanation which came down to this - he had to get us on board so he could issue a ‘ready’ message which would then put us in the queue for a landing slot, and that they weren’t allowed to serve us anything to eat or drink until take-off.
So there we sat for two and a half hours. On the upside, turns out these students were the best‑behaved group of teenagers, and quite good fun to chat with. So we eventually landed in London, already very late. And the group of kids around us on the plane said goodbye to us and that it was lovely to meet us. So rare, and I told their teacher that.
As we went to the station to get the train, there was an announcement that two of the four airport ‘express’ train lines had issues, so the ‘express’ train would be somewhat less ‘expressy’ as a result. Anyway, we made it. Eventually.
Given that I’m still in catchup mode, let me cover a couple of items left over from Iceland.
In a previous email I mentioned going to the Phallological Museum in Reykjavik. The guy who set it up was our tour guide’s history teacher at school. Well, my history teacher, Mr Ostling, also has an interesting story, although less phallic in nature. I don’t know whether he was tattooed back then, but he sure is now - he’s COVERED all over with tatts - and has pledged to donate his skin to the National Museum in Canberra when he dies. So I had Mr Ostling (illustrated man)for history, Brad Hazzard (NSW Liberal MP) for physics and Chris Dawson (renowned dead body hider) for physical education.
Tatts, politics and murder - a well‑rounded education.
While in Reykjavik we noticed quite a few Vietnamese restaurants, despite not seeing any Chinese, Thai or other Asian restaurants. We had the famous Vietnamese soup (phở) at one. When the waiter bought our food over, we commented on how we’d seen so many Vietnamese restaurants, and he told us that they were all owned by his family.
“Wow”, says Leslie, “how did a whole Vietnamese family end up in Iceland?” He looked at Leslie like she was stupid, and said, “We come by plane….how you get here? Walk???” And as he walked away, I could almost hear him mumbling like Benny Hill’s inappropriate Chinese character back in the 70’s, ‘siri iriot’.
I also wanted to mention something that’s been going on for our whole journey. Just before we left, my good pal, Steve Toohey asked us to keep an eye out for an interesting hat for him, which we’ve done whenever we could. But we just haven’t found one. I did see a cap with ‘Iceland’ stitched on it, and I almost bought it for him. But then I thought, does someone really want a hat from a place they’ve never even been to?
Every time they wear it, they’ll be like, “Oh that’s right. My buddy Rob has been to Iceland, but he didn’t invite me.” And strangers will be coming up to him saying, “Oh wow!! Have you been to Iceland too? Isn’t it fabulous?” I’m sure it would be about as annoying as giving someone a ferret.
So, in the absence of being able to provide the gift of exotic Nordic headgear, let me share an interesting story about Icelandic horses. These horses are small, but we were warned not to call them ‘ponies’ as they can get pretty miffed. One American gentleman on a tour nearby shouted, “Holy moly…look at these cute little ponies”, when he first saw them, only to be surrounded by a an angry equine mob which proceeded to kick the shit out of him.
[WARNING - impending Dad joke]. We heard later that he was in hospital and that one of the kicks had struck his trachea, causing him to become hoarse, but that he was in a stable condition and would be up and about soon and back in the saddle. [END].
So most horses have three gaits - the walk, the trot and the canter/gallop, each of which involves a different pattern of leg movement. But your Icelandic horse has two extra gaits - yes that’s right, TWO!! I know, I was pretty stunned too.
The first is the tölt which is a very smooth, four-beat lateral and natural gait. While riding tölt you will never feel uncomfortable at any time.
The second is the flying pace. This is a very fast movement, where a horse can go up to 48 km/h over a short distance, with all four legs off the ground at the same time. A bit Pegasus-like.
These two gaits are fabulous for grappling with the ridiculously rocky and slippery Icelandic landscape. The Vikings had been breeding these horses through a process of selecting breeding pairs who had these two extra gaits, and when they came to Iceland many hundreds of years ago, these were the only horses they brought with them. The breed continued to evolve through natural selection, growing a fabulously thick coat for winter and enhancing their 5 gaits.
This is science and nature working just as Darwin predicted. Not that I ever doubted Chuck.
And that’s all I have for now, as the end of our trip is coming into focus.
More soon.
Leslie and Rob
And so ends our time in Iceland. For the London (and final) chapter of our trip, click here.
Leslie and Rob’s Adventures in the Nordic Countries and London (holiday travel)
Written by Rob Landsberry, with photos by Rob Landsberry and Leslie Jolley, last updated 12 August 2023