Copenhagen, here I co... umm.. go.. ?
(the space in front of the question mark is sponsored by Katrín Rut)

Are you kidding? I was so thrilled about the special offers from Iceland Express and was all set to get my one way to Copenhagen.. ready steady go.. couldn’t have gotten it much cheaper! I was considerably less thrilled a few days later when I had a look at the ticket and realised that the flight I had booked was from Copenhagen to Iceland. How this happened, I don’t know but I definitely didn’t feel like the sharpest knife in the drawer when I called to change the flight which doubled in price of course.
But hey, at least I realised before check in.. and I have it doublechecked.. I fly to Copenhagen on the 24^th of October and stop over for about 5-6 days before carrying on my journey to London.

Iceland 103, beginners course

For the first time in a while I am feeling a bit crap.. cold, tired, stiff, uninspired. It’s nothing to worry about.. no need to call out the special rescue cheer-you-up squad or anything. Probably it’s just a little come down from the weekend which had, as opposed to my current state of drowsy- mopey- and heavy-headed-ness, more joy and surprises than an overflowing bowl of Lucky Charms topped with a sprinkle of Cocoa Puffs.

Saturday. Like so many mornings of late I was gently woken up by my bladder (this is becoming more reliable than any alarm clock I’ve ever used.. is it an age thing?). The plan for the day was to go and look for the leftover sheep from the sheep-gathering the weekend before. Helga and I were sent walking up one mountain while the guys went down the valley. It was a nice hike up, not very far and we were lucky with weather. We followed the snowline and looked for sheep-trails. We found all kinds of footsteps in the snow and analyzed them thoroughly, wondering whether they could have been left by sheep, and if so, how long ago. Usually the conclusion was that they had been left by a fox, a mink and in one case I suspect it might even have been a bird. Whether it was because of our rather poor footstep analyzing skills or just because there were no sheep on that part of the mountain that we came back empty handed I will probably never know. I was a great walk none the less, the feeling when you sit in the autumn sun on the edge of a cliff, the din of a waterfall rushing to your side, look over a valley out to the sea and eat a jam sandwich..

Sunday. After a breakfast of apple pancakes and coffee I called Helga and Oliver to see what they were up to. They said they were feeling kind of lazy.. Now, normally I would have expected people to continue such a statement with talk of snuggling on couches, watching films, or playing cards. Not this time! In this case kind of lazy was followed by.. so we were just thinking of hiking up to this little mountain lake, and then maybe go to the swimming pool afterwards. I wasn’t feeling that lazy at all and was all invigorated by the previous day’s mini-hike so I decided to join the expedition despite a bit of a wind and a drizzle. We geared up in woollen underwear, fleece and gore-tex, put some hot chocolate and 80% stroh in the thermos and headed off. As we proceeded onwards and upwards the weather didn’t exactly improve.. and I soon found out that my borrowed gear (although pretty good stuff) was not entirely waterproof. This was not a problem however and we were all pretty warm and having a good time. Comments such as ‘this is definitely refreshing’, ‘I don’t mind being a little bit wet at all’ and ‘this is much more pleasant than I expected’ were made at this point in the trip. We filled our water bottle in a little mountain creek and the rain then really started kicking in (probably triggered by Oliver’s comment that it had almost stopped raining) The conversation that started with ‘imagine, people used to walk through this kind of weather all the time.. just to go to church, and they didn’t have gore-tex!’ went on to ‘of course, people used to die of exposure all the time back then’. Later, there was definitely a moment, when the volume of wind had tied an end to all unnecessary conversation, that we looked at each other and everyone was thinking something along the lines of ‘this lake really can’t be that spectacular’. This moment was followed by the ‘ok, lets just check behind that rise..’. At the next stop we all agreed that we were too close for turning around even to be an option any more.. As we started the final battle through a surprisingly deep layer of snow, with (what felt like) needles piercing our cheeks, we also agreed that we really understood why so many names in the Icelandic countryside included words such as ‘terror’, ‘cold’ and ‘hell’. I thought about the Kate Bush’s Wuthering Heights.

Before you start thinking that this was in any way not enjoyable I must add that I have rarely before felt so empowered and strong. It was an amazing feeling to know that what I was experiencing wasn’t half as bad as I knew it would sound when I described it. There is something so great about the feeling that the only way to make sure you don’t get cold and start feeling bad is to actually keep going.. pressing pause is not an option. Every time it crossed my mind that maybe we should turn round I was so relieved and happy when nobody suggested it and we did indeed carry on.
We spent a few moments in the shelter of a big rock, resting our legs and warming our stomachs with the delicious Stroh infused cocoa soup Oliver had mistaken for hot chocolate powder. Strengthened by the refreshment we walked the last metres to the lake, stood by it and looked for a few moments and then and turned around, running down the mountain side, jumping, sliding in the wet snow and the feeling was nothing less than fantastic. Then sploshing into the wetland, knowing that there was anyway as much water inside our shoes as on the outside until we were warm and slowed down. I promise that the rain and wind has never felt so pleasant on my skin!

I could write about the other things that happened but I don’t think anyone should spend that long reading one persons blog.. in fact most people have probably either stopped reading by now or worse even.. been completely scared off and not even ventured to begin. So if you have lasted this far, here follows your reward.

When Oliver was 13 years old his Christmas present to his father was a red striped woollen condom that he knitted himself. He even knitted a label that was attached to it and said GLEÐILEG JÓL (Happy Christmas). I don’t know how much the condom has come into use but as no younger siblings have been born since I can only assume that it serves its purpose well enough. The label has also been a success in serving his father as the perfect example of dyslexia as Oliver knitted the J the wrong way round.

I award Oliver the prize in the category for the BEST CRISTMAS PRESENT EVER!
If you know of anything that surpasses this, i would love to hear about it!