[In July 2013, Kristine and I took the journey of a lifetime to Iceland (Kristine’s choice, not mine.)  Here, now in March 2014 I am beginning to recover from my experience.  What follows are my memories as dictated by my therapist to help in my recuperation.]

-WET-

In Iceland, Cool Ranch Doritos are called “Cool American Doritos.”

I wondered as I stared at the blue bag of corn “crisps” lovingly placed on the Icelandic version of a 7-11 shelf  “Do people in Iceland think Americans taste of ranch dressing?”  In reflecting on the seven days that I spent there, I think they just might…..

Several people have asked me to relate some more about my experiences in Iceland, hence this narrative. That plus I love to hear myself ramble in text.   

I have had several months to recover from our excursion.  Most of my wounds are healed.  I hear they have wonderful creams now that can fade scars.    Even better, feeling has started to return to my extremities.  It’s amazing how much you appreciate fingers when you can’t feel them.  Only time will heal the emotional scars.

Iceland and I definitely had a love hate relationship.

Iceland is diverse. Diverse in that there are multiple shades of black volcanic lava rock which make up about 90% of the landscape.  There are very few trees that dot the landscape.  Those that do exist seem to be stunted to no taller than about 12’.  It rains nearly every day in Iceland.

“Did I mention that it rains nearly every day in Iceland?”

Icelandic rain gives a new definition to the term “wet.”  One excursion had Kristine and me hiking three miles into a hot spring to swim in a warm fresh water river.  The pictures on the flyers show bathing suit clad tourists frolicking in a large crystalline blue pool.  White washed smiles gleaming through effervescent healing steam.  It looked very refreshing!
  

The reality was a hike in gale force winds and biting rain.  Our clothing which was supposedly water resistant proved to be “semi-permeable.”  Gear which in Utah kept me dry for hours lasted approximately 30 minutes.  Volcanic steam, mixed with a thick fog offered those without the need for corrective eyewear a view of about 10 feet.  With my glasses on, my visibility was about 10 inches.  Taking them off I did much better.  Instead of being a big foggy blur everything just became a big blur that made a sound like sheep.

“Oh yeah, in Iceland they open all of the pens where they keep their sheep and they let them roam free.”

So the sheep are everywhere. 

Arriving at the river we found it to be warm.  And that was about it.  Not big at all, and not deep.  But warm.  The dressing room you ask?  The great wide open!  Yep Kristine’s changing room was me holding a big giant wet towel around her.  For me, a lot of people got to know me better than I am sure they cared for.  How very European!

You know that brief moment when you walk from a hot shower and you get that brief chill before wrapping yourself in a warm towel?  OK now imagine that same feeling except the towel is soaking wet and and a nearly horizontal stinging ice cold rain is beating against you.  All this with possibly a dozen sheep watching.  That is what we experienced as we left the warm waters of the semi-inviting geothermic pool.

I have never felt that wet.  Even when swimming.

The hike down was very like the hike up.  All uphill.  Those spots that did ebb in the downward direction were “slip and slide” wet.  You get the picture.

Arriving back at our van we crawled in wet, muddy and exhausted.  Not one piece of clothing that I had on was dry.  Looking back I am pretty sure that even my skeleton was soaked.

Ironically the one saving grace was that I arrived back to an apple flavored juice box.  Not nearly as refreshing as the picture of those tourists frolicking in warm naturally heated water.  But at that point I was willing to take what I could get.

The one thought that kept crossing my mind that day was “If the devil doesn’t live in Iceland, he must have a summer home here….”

Despite how this sounds, I didn’t hate all of Iceland.  Some of it came to grow on me.  Not even in a parasitic way.  More on that to come later.

My next cathartic Icelandic story - Icelandic Horses - That’s so Raven!  

But first a Legend of Pitts Interlude

Let the healing continue.