"What I wanted to do was spend a little time getting to know the third stone from the sun; it has been my home for...years, but I have spent much of it confined in the settlements. I wanted to explore and examine, I wanted to interact –- yes, in the broadest, most spiritual sense, I wanted to go mountain climbing."
Paul Quarrington
My first night in Paris I was doing my usual nightly routine of removing my makeup...when I realized I hadn’t put any on that day. That was when I knew it was time for a break. So the next day I got myself off to Chartres, which is a place I’ve wanted to visit ever since I read about it in a History of Civ class at BYU.
Chartres is a smallish town (population 40,000) about an hour southwest of Paris. It’s built around a cathedral with possibly the most beautiful stained glass windows in the world. (Every time I’ve seen such things, I’ve always thought “Yes, but this can’t be as beautiful as Chartres...”) I was excited to go and find out!
Marc Chagall, one of my favourite artists because of his use of colour (among other things), had designed the windows of the Chartres Cathedral. At least that’s what I’d thought. When I arrived I spent a while walking around the outside, admiring the look of things, but also mentally preparing myself for what was sure to be one of the best artistic experiences of my life!
Here's a bit of what I saw:
Beautiful, yes, but, I was not blown away. “Mysterious colourful half-light...light transformed by the stained glass, linking humanity to the divine....” I liked the description, and I kept wandering around, but I was still not blown away. By the time I got back to the entrance, one hundred and seventy-six windows later, it was clear: Chagall had not been here. I hoped the women at the gift shop didn’t think I was a complete idiot when I casually inquired, as if I was making polite conversation, where Marc Chagall had worked. Turns out he was in Reims and Metz, each a couple of hours from Chartres. Zut alors!!
But I’m still glad I went to this city. It was a lovely town and a nice break from the bustle of Paris. And there was a fantastic moment with a French man. He was about 80. With a small dustpan and hand broom he was sweeping the street as I crossed the street from my hotel. All he said was that it was a beautiful morning and very windy; but his smile was radiant and his face was full of joie di vivre. It was the best conversation of the day.
My first morning in Paris began with a man kneeling before me with a gold ring, placing it on my finger, and dramatically kissing me (technically my hand) with a great flourish!
Where do you go from there....
It was a great performance, and he thought so too, because ten seconds later he was demanding euros for a coffee. I think this is one of the French men I was warned to stay away from!!
It's quite a clever scheme, really. If you're a practiced beggar/con artist like this guy, you place a thick gold band on the sidewalk near a major tourist attraction (in this case, within spitting distance of the Louvre). Wait for an unsuspecting tourist to walk by and -- your timing has to be perfect -- act like you just found the ring and pick it up. Show it to the tourist, ask them to help you read the engraving, and when they don't claim it...well, you know the rest.
I was still processing the whole experience as I walked away when a woman came up to me...and tried the exact same thing! I cut her off pretty fast.
I had no sooner passed the courtyard when it happened a third time! By this point I wanted to yell lasciami in pace - not French but hopefully the gist of leave me alone would have been clear!
So the lesson learned is this: too good to be true is still true. Don't go around accepting gold rings from strange men. At least go on some dates first.
For the weekend I took a train through the English countryside to Bristol, on the west coast of England (London is on the east). I met up with Stephanie, a friend from Ontario who is also spending a year abroad. We toodled off to Cardiff, Wales for the day!
We met her friend Melissa and had a good tour of the city. It’s small but quite nice. They’ve recently built the Millennium Stadium for rugby and concerts and they’re very proud of it. Also beautiful: Bute Park, north of the castle.
We spent some time in the National Museum as well. I’m finally getting old enough to appreciate museums. I don’t know if that’s good or bad!
For lunch we tried some Welsh cheese (very good) and Welsh cakes (like flattened raisin scones with sugar on top).
The highlight of the day was finding a cathedral in Newport (near Cardiff) which some of my ancestors attended! Mom, hope I took enough pictures for you.
I spent my first day in London atop a double-decker bus on a sightseeing tour. [It brought back a lot of memories -- I worked as a guide on one of those for two summers in Toronto.] I learned a lot of interesting things. For example, did you know that the word “hangover” comes from the time in England when public executions were popular (and carried out by the court)? All the townspeople would come, drink, watch someone get hanged, and drink some more. It was a big party (as public executions often are), but the next day, they’d all wake up with horrible post-hanging headaches, or "hangovers". (This sounds like a bad joke but it’s true!)
The next morning I watched the changing of the guard from St. James Palace to Buckingham. Normally I don’t much go in for pomp or circumstance, but I have to admit it was kind of fun to march beside the band as they made their way down the mall. And their music selection was rather surprising: it was the theme from Hawaii Five-O! (Watch the video if you don’t believe me.)
I took a river cruise down the Thames – great view of the city that way. St Paul’s Cathedral (where Prince Charles and Princess Diana were married) was one of the highlights. I also made it to evensong [a short worship service featuring the choir] at Westminster Abbey, which was quite gorgeous. There are a lot of very famous people buried there; I saw the markers of Charles Darwin, Isaac Newton, and the composers Edward Elgar, Ralph Vaughan Williams, Benjamin Britten and Henry Purcell. That is a lot of history when you consider that Purcell, for example, died in 1695!!
I spent a glorious few hours at the Tate Modern (Museum of Art). The building used to be a power station and much of the original fixtures have been kept, so it’s an interesting space. The exhibits were fantastic! I saw a lot of inspiring works. My favourite was a display of electrified kitchen utensils. Pick one of those babies up and you’d be electrocuted! (Which comes close to the level of suffering I sometimes feel in the kitchen...) The artist, Mona Hatoum, said “Being raised in a culture where women have to be taught the art of cooking as part of the process of being primed for marriage, I had an antagonistic attitude to all of that.” No kidding.
Something I did not try in England was any of the plethora of meat-flavoured “crisps” [chips] Britons seem to love. Neither the “honey roast ham”, “sausage”, “roast beef and onion”, or best: “roast ox”, really appealed to me. At all.
The two and a half hour flight to London on Tuesday was uneventful but I can’t say the same for the arrival. I almost didn’t get into the country (not a joke).
I had assumed that UK border guards would be similar to Canadian ones: friendly, easygoing, not too concerned with one of their own. [Which I practically am, considering we have the same Queen!] This one was none of the above. He didn’t appreciate that I had no address for where I’d be staying, that I didn’t know where I was going after the UK, and that I didn’t know how long I’d be in Europe. (Perhaps all that jiggling atop a horse earlier in the day had dislodged some brain cells, as duh, maybe I should’ve been prepared with some better answers.)
At first I laughed to myself, thinking that any minute he’d break into a smile and say, "Gotcha! Good one, yeah? Welcome to the UK!" But the more detailed the questions got and the longer I stood there, I began to wonder if I should actually be worried.
After about 20 minutes of interrogation and extensive note-taking he stood up and left his desk. He came back with a big, black, ominous-looking stamp. Sternly he said, “Well, I’m not extremely impressed with what you have to say.......but I am going to allow you into the country, this time. You are on our watch list, however, and the next time you try to enter the UK, you better have much firmer plans.”
So I received an entry stamp in my passport, and also a big NOT ALLOWED TO WORK OR ASK FOR WELFARE stamp. And how about that: I’m important enough that the government is going to watch me! I wonder if I should’ve offered my blog address...
That experience combined with the task of schlepping a 1,000-pound suitcase halfway across London on the tube made for an unpleasant start to my stay in England. (“Could you have left the anvil at home, do you think?” I was asked.) But two things perked me up: an ice-cream bar vending machine (with a teeny-tiny freezer), and my English SERVAS hosts, Pam and Ian. [SERVAS is a world traveller organization that, once you join, you can either host visitors or stay with hosts basically anywhere in the world. It was founded after the Second World War to encourage understanding and friendship between nations.]
Pam lives exuberantly through not taking herself, or anyone else, too seriously. She is a cheerful, witty and loquacious 60-year-old counsellor. Complementing her well is her partner Ian, a socialist magician. Yes, you read that right. Whereas David Copperfield is content with little tricks like making the Statue of Liberty disappear, Ian Saville aims at the much more ambitious goal of making International Capitalism and exploitation disappear. True, he hasn't quite succeeded, but recent developments are encouraging. The act is funny, magical, thought-provoking and topical. It is a celebration of Socialism. (from his website)
Here’s a taste:
Needless to say, the three of us hit it off right away. Also because Pam has a clock with a different birdsong for every hour.
Pam had a Barney with Ian, which is a British expression that means to have an argument with someone...or in this case it means they had a son of the same name. Barney is a very active activist (-) and as such has been involved in clashes with the police on numerous occasions. When a friend asked Pam what his most recent courthouse appearance was about, Pam said she replied, “I don’t know; how am I supposed to know every time?”
Conversations with Pam, which I greatly enjoy, are like a Choose Your Own Adventure book, except you don’t get to choose. When a story starts off it could go in three different directions and you don’t know which way it’ll go or if you’ll ever be able to make it back to where you left off!
One of the best ways to get to know a new country, I feel, is to read the local newspapers. Scanning the pages of the London Evening Standard, I couldn’t help thinking that Britons are a bit odd! Here are some of the headlines I saw: Londoners won’t go outdoors (more than 4 out of 10 people in Britain have never ridden a horse or swum in natural waters [0 out of 10 have done both at the same time]) London now has the fattest schoolchildren in Britain (1 in 9 children starting school in London is now obese) Don’t call an ambulance if you are drunk, World Cup fans told
And my absolute favourite:
“I like mentally unwell people because they make me laugh – I think how did that person get to that point?” – Helena Bonham-Carter on choosing her characters
Also, did you know that there’s such a thing as the British Sandwich Association? And that they give out annual awards? (“I’d like to thank my mustard for always being there...”) There was a full-page ad devoted to Marks and Spencer’s two sandwich awards this year, one for Best Sandwich Retailer and Best New Sandwich (in the “mini roll” category). ???
Started off the day with a quick run to the Icelandic bakery with Sylvia and her daughter Soffia. (I’ve decided that “Icelandic” is my new favourite adjective.) We had giant buns covered with caramel icing – a real chore to choke down, let me tell you – and kleinur, which I was tickled to discover have exactly the same taste and texture as a Jamaican festival! The only difference between these sweet, deep-fried balls of dough is the shape (the kleinur is the bottom picture).
After that thoroughly nutritious breakfast Soffia and I were off for a bit of Icelandic :) horseback riding. You know, your usual Tuesday morning routine. These horses are known for a special gait called the tölt, which has to be Icelandic for “super-bounce”. (Incidentally, Icelanders seem to have a real love for this activity, as there were giant trampolines in almost everyone’s backyard.) I’m embarrassed to admit I’m such a city slicker that this was my first time on a horse. It was a lot of fun!
We booked the “Elfins Tour”, described in the brochure thus:
“On this tour we see places populated by Elfins. We pass the small cleft Alfakví and the old sheep´s house that cannot be removed without serious consequences. During this tour, if we are lucky we can hear the elfins sing in their church at Skjólklettur.”
Which sounded pretty cool...but unfortunately none of this was actually pointed out to us, as our guide seemed very anxious to get us back in time for lunch (apparently our bus arrived late). Oh well.
Iceland was absolutely wonderful: the people, the land, the food, everything. I will take great memories with me. Takk fyrir to everyone that made it such a great experience!
Monday was a Golden Circle Excursion extravaganza! Our guide was a retired US Air Force officer who trained on a three-year Iceland tour guide course...so he had to be good (and he was).
FYI: it takes way too long to upload photos to this site, so from now on I’ll put them up on Picasa and provide the address. It is: http://picasaweb.google.ca/1Aleesa/Iceland#
Our tour was packed full of interesting sights. The first stop was Þingvellir National Park [Þ=th] including the site of Iceland’s (and the world’s) first parliament, circa 930. It also had something creepy called the “drowning pool”. Eighteen women in the 1500-1600s were killed there for crimes of incest and fornication, drowned by being stuffed into sacks filled with rocks and thrown into the pool (their dead bodies were removed afterward for burial). [Men guilty of the same crimes were executed at another location.] Quite the capital punishment.
Next was the sight of an actual glacier! There are adventure tour companies that offer ski-dooing on the glaciers here, which I’d love to do if I had the time. Today we just looked.
For lunch another first: lamb soup. I haven’t yet come across an Icelandic food I dislike; mostly because I haven’t tried any of the traditional winter festival dishes like boiled sheep’s head (eyeballs and all) or fermented shark, eaten after months of burial in the ground. Have I mentioned how much I love summer??
Sylvia and I enjoyed a very leisurely lunch, including spending time at Gullfoss (or Golden Waterfall). It was so leisurely, in fact, that when we finally strolled into the parking lot, our bus was nowhere to be seen!
Thankfully it didn’t take long before we were redirected to another parking lot where we did find our bus...and 18 people wondering where we’d been and if we’d ever return. “Time runs slower in Canada, does it?” said one. [Hah.] Best not to both fall asleep when the tour guide gives helpful instructions on when and where to meet up!
The highlight of the trip was Geysir (pronounced gay-zer), the fourth-highest in the world. It was quite the kick to watch a pool of hot, bubbling water spontaneously erupt! It was also a kick to discover that there was another Torontonian on the tour...and not only that, he was Italian! How about that: a tour of Iceland's natural wonders and Italian speaking practice to boot. Thank you, Ottavio!
We also saw dormant volcanoes, solidified lava flows, and even an “implosion crater” (sinkhole). It’s wild to think there’s so much going on below the surface here.
We went back to church tonight for a YSA dinner and FHE. Although every Icelander in the room was fluent in English, they still held the meeting in Icelandic. I had a translator (thank you, Johannes). As he put it: “We’re proud Icelanders.” I understand that, also coming from a nation with a lot of land but not a lot of people; people who need to work to preserve their own identities and culture in the face of bigger, more powerful countries.
Speaking of Italian-Iceland connections, there’s a popular Italian-Icelandic singer here called Emiliana Torrini. Check out this video of her song “Jungle Drum”, which is a big hit right now.
Unfortunately I didn't go here for church (this is the Lutheran Hallgrímskirkja, which can be seen from most of Reykjavik). I went to an LDS (Mormon) service instead.
Church got off to a good start after just a slight mishap on my part. Sylvia asked me to play the organ, which was fine, and I got to wear translation headphones for the first time, which was wild. See any potential for problems with that combination? Well, I didn't, and happily turned to the opening hymn the translator said was on page 83. I had an Icelandic hymnbook and was about 4 bars in before I realized I was playing "Away in an Manger"! One of my actual split-second thoughts at that moment was "Do Icelanders celebrate Christmas in June??" Well, obviously not. I stopped dead, said "that can't be right" (everybody had a good laugh), and quickly found the correct hymn (not, as it turns out, on the same page as the English hymnbook!).
The members of the branch (maybe 40 in total) were extremely welcoming and friendly. I received an interesting gift from the senior missionaries: a DVD called Fire on Ice, the story of the Saints in Iceland. Did you know that approximately 400 Icelandic Saints heeded the call to Zion and emigrated to Spanish Fork, Utah in the 1800s? (Apparently there's also a small group of Icelanders in Winnipeg, Manitoba!) And who knew that President Hinckley visited Iceland in 2002?
Some notes on the language. The elders got on our bus on the way to church and one of the questions I asked was how difficult was it to learn Icelandic. The wise guy of the group replied, "Oh, it's easy. It's as easy as brushing your teeth...on acid!"
A disconcerting Icelandic habit is what they say when they want you to repeat something. It's "hah", said in a flat tone with no facial expression. When I first heard it, I thought it was a completely humourless way to laugh at a joke, or a way to tell someone you think they're an idiot. Try it sometime soon, like the next time you ask someone for directions.
A: Which way to the library?
B: Walk down the street, go left at the first set of lights and you're there.
A: Hah.
B: ???
I have found a very simple word I love: /yow/ (spelled já). Say it out loud and enjoy the glorious mix of slippy, slidey consonants and vowel. It means: yes!
Notice how light it is outside; I took this picture of Sylvia and Soffia in front of their house at midnight last night.
Sylvia has not only a spare couch but an entire spare basement apartment I'm camping out in until Tuesday. I've never felt so well taken care of by (once-) strangers in my life!
PS Sylvia introduced me to the man working on her house. He's 32 and his Icelandic name is unpronounceable but translates to "Victory John." She thinks I should marry him and stay in Iceland forever.
We tried the mixed seafood gratin (cod, mussels and shrimp). We tried the skyr brulee. Verdict on all: fantastic!! I'm still thinking about that brulee, in fact.
Expensive, you ask? Well, the bill came to 11,900 Icelandic kronur. The exchange rate is 124 kronur to one Canadian dollar (or 0.008 -- try converting that in your head)...so the answer is somewhat...but the experience: priceless!
Bill Clinton didn't eat at that vegetarian restaurant and neither did we...instead we went to 3 Frakkar (see earlier post). We tried the smoked puffin breast (a lot like salmon but saltier, plus the meat is a dark, blood-like red). We tried the fish chins.
This is Iceland's most famous natural hot springs. It's not every day you go swimming in blue water in a lava field!
The water has a bluish tinge because of all the minerals in it (silica, sulphur, etc.); in fact, you can't even see your hands if they're submerged. The bottom of the lagoon is either volcanic rocks or black volcanic sand. Look carefully at the photos and you can see the white mineral deposits on the rocks. From the pictures you can see we did the silica mud facial (supposed to be very good for the skin). We also tried Iceland's finest saunas at the Lagoon. Steamier than a Harlequin novel...or an opera!
This is the Icelandic Opera performing at the Blue Lagoon. Unfortunately not the day we were there.
Swimming always works up an appetite so we headed to Ikea for lunch. That's right, Ikea in Iceland. The only difference between their hot dogs and ours is a better, spicier mustard and fried onions on top.
The bridge from America to Europe
~ A world-leader-style handshake
Leaving Toronto, Friday, June 4, 2010
~ The welcome party at Keflavik Airport, Iceland!
Magnea, Soffia, Sylvia, Hilmar, Ragnar
I landed in Keflavik, Iceland early Saturday morning. The flight was great: for entertainment there were not only TV shows but twelve movies to choose from (I'll never be able to go back to Westjet's measly three); seven radio stations including one devoted to Icelandic music; and even a "word traveler" game to help you learn the basic of more than 20 languages. Also: my plane was named after a volcano.
The plan was to take an airport bus to Reykjavik (about 45 minutes away) and then call Sylvia, my Facebook friend. Before I left the airport I was looking around in the airport shop when three women came up to me and one asked, "Aleesa?" I couldn't believe it! Sylvia, her daughter and her sister (plus their sons) had driven to the airport to see if they could meet me! Apparently they went all over the place looking for me, even climbing on a tour bus about to depart to call out my name!
I knew Sylvia was a woman after my own heart when she said, "We just made this plan last night and we didn't know if we would find you, but we knew it would be an adventure either way!"
They brought a picnic breakfast with them and I tried smoked lamb for the first time. Delicious!!
To explain about the bridge: apparently the tectonic plates of America (meaning North and South) and Europe are adjacent to each other at this spot.
