Icelandic Trivia for 500

Iceland is a funny little country. There, I said it! Composed of a shocking population of just over 300,000 people, the country is relaxed to say the least. But they do have some odd rules. Some of which were luckily posted in the local paper:

It’s illegal to:
-Put the Icelandic flag on a pair of undies
-Box professionally in Iceland
-Give your child an embarrassing name
-Import horses into Iceland

There are a few ins and outs of Icelandic culture one might want to double check before visiting. For example there’s an unwritten rule that if you’re chatting at a pub or night club with a local, it’s customary that you to take them home when the night is through. This sleazy rule has left more than one foreign tourist dumfounded and slightly put off. On the other hand Icelandic couples remain fairly laid back with their relationships; wearing their wedding rings on any finger and lengthy engagements are all the norm.
And of course like any city, you’ve got your crazies.

When I first arrived in Reykjavik I was without cell service (who knew), without directions to the couchsurfer’s house I was meant to stay, and without a payphone (apparently they no longer exist in Iceland). I was out on my ass. Just as I thought things couldn’t go further down hill, a local approached me. When I say local I mean a highly intoxicated stumbling excuse for a man smelling of the streets and sporting the hobo chic garments of the dirty thirties. Knowing this wasn’t going to end well, I began frantically packing my bag, shoving things into any open pocket and zipping every zipper in a mad frenzy. Just as I slung my bag over my shoulder he stopped dead in his tracks and began coughing up a thick black lung before he undid his fly and started peeing in wild zig zags. To avoid a golden shower I dodged the flow left and right until I found an opening and ran like hell with 20 kilos on my back. I left the city center a little worse for wear; my hair was plastered to my face with sweat and my shoulders burned from having been rubbed raw from bearing the weight of my bag. I couldn’t wait for what tomorrow had in store.

Wild and Free

"All Good Things are Wild and Free" Henry David Thoreau

Throughout my trip I’ve been asked a similar question. Why Iceland? Of all the places in Europe, why did I pick the most remote, most undiscovered, and quite possibly the most difficult country to get to? The first time I was asked this question my response was a mere shrug and a puzzled expression. Little did I know that it was questions such as this that fuelled my curiosity, the main factor that gave roots my task of discovering what was Iceland. I had no idea so early in my journey of the wealth I’d find in a country so unfamiliar.

Reykjavik, not only the capital city of Iceland but also the country’s greatest docking point resides on the Western coast of the country. Flagged on one side by the open seas and the other by mere lowlands, the city never really feels quite like a city. Rush hour consists of a queue of no more than two vehicles and waiting is a term not found in the Icelandic dictionary. Even leaving the safety of civilization and exploring other parts of the country left me puzzled. The rocky flat lands just outside the capital are joined by snow capped peaks, vast glaciers, and iceberg inhabited lakes, creating the oddest collage of geographical features known to man.

Its barren strips, although harsh and isolated at times, remained a safe haven for warm villages that nestled against the backside of lonely mountains or welled deep at the bottom of yielding valleys. Deserted cottages showed their ware as they became overgrown by thick peat moss and blown away with the wind. And the most defining feature of all these entities was that they were all at peace with each other. From the affectionate Icelandic ponies to the almost endangered puffins, they all managed to co-exist in a manner that breaks down to just simply belonging.

Iceland is a hard nut to crack; Life times are spent in vain trying to study its volcanic rock, categorize its wildlife, and monitor its seismic activity. I wish I could tell you that I made some great discovery on that island, or that it revolutionized the way I think, it didn’t. But when I look back on my time there I do so with a smile on my face and laugh at myself for having tried to crack the uncrackable.

We've Landed on the Moon: Iceland at a glance

Gazing from afar, just near enough to taste the sulfur that clings to each lung in a diseased clump, the land aims to morph in a grotesque means. Here our path winds to and fro, lost between its many folds and blank canvases. Veiled by a curtain of green velvet carefully swathed over its jagged tips, a city sits patiently. Frayed and forgotten, it waits, but what for, its innocence cannot justify. After being pierced through its deep crimson heart by a Volcanic spire, the city remains pinned to the life it sings to remember. It remains somehow distanced, lost in a pensive thought, wading through a bottomless sea in search of an end. Even a serrated blade could not cut the bonds that mend the two.

On a calm day, when the wind is passive and doesn't bite, you can hear the torn melodies from a city that continues to forget, a city waiting for nothing in particular.

Dare to Au Pair: Round Two

To say my first job as an au pair didn’t go quite as planned would be an understatement. It had its ups and downs just like any other shrill seeking, terror causing, havoc reeking, heart attack causing roller coaster would. So when faced with the opportunity for round two, I first ran for the hills, then hovelled up in a corner with a blanket over my head for a good while until lastly, I faced that scaly dragon in what I can only describe as an act of delirium.

Some may ask, why if I was so unhappy with the first family would I put myself through the same kind of hell? Well, I can answer that in three short and bitterly sweet words: I was broke. With no prospective employers ringing my cell and not a dollar (Sorry, Euro) to my name, I was up shit creek without a paddle. So I got on the old Google machine, and through a very selective process, found the family that was going to rock my au pairing world.

I was in over my head, they said with despair. Three young boys would surely do my head in. And they did. Aged one, two, and three, these blonde haired and blue eyed wonders tested my limits every day. They pulled my strings along with my hair, but they also grew on me. Unable to rouse an angry thought, they could transform my day with a simple hug. We spent countless hours playing peek-a-boo, discussing tractors, and drawing pictures; singing songs and hanging clothes out on the line; chasing birds out of the house and baking cookies; drinking tea, spilling it, and cleaning it up; and it never once dawned on me that this was my job. I wanted to spend my days off at home, chasing those monkeys up and down the hallways and couldn’t help but detect something missing when they weren’t around.

But after four months it was time for an end to this run-on fairy tale. I wanted to stay, I really did; A part of me knew I somehow belonged smack in the middle of this trio. But the voice of reason became louder and louder and I soon realized that as much as I wanted there to be, there was nothing left in Ireland for me. I had made great friends, seen wonderful things, and my experiences would always be in my back pocket, but there was a world waking up outside those doors and I knew I couldn’t pass that up. So with one last hug to each of them, I watched as my heart was split and sealed into three equal pieces and locked away for a rainy day.

A Naked Norwegian

Norway is home to some of the most interesting architecture in all of Scandinavia. From its iceberg shaped Opera House to its bejewelled parliament building, Oslo never ceases to amaze. But one display of Norwegian art has people undressing...I mean talking. Slightly hidden on the outskirts of the city centre, Vigeland Park acts as a barrier between right and wrong. Now don't get the wrong impression; there are many different kinds of wrong, and this particular case of wrong rides the thin line between shocking and entertainment and occassionally crosses over into outlandish country.


Inspired by Frognerparken's obsession with nudity, the Vigeland Park entrance is scattered with bits and pieces reflecting his life's work. From his experiences with angry baby syndrome to creating the world's biggest orgy. Frognerparken's hands work wonders.

The best part about the whole thing is that while sheltered tourists flock to the park with draw dropping anticipation, camera in one hand and smelling salts in the other, the locals couldn't be bothered. On a sunny day the Norwegians all seem quite at ease with this appalling display of nudity. They spread themselves out on the green for a quick nap, catch a few rays next to the angry baby, and throw plastic discs between rows and rows of buns of steel.

With many of us growing up in "shh" societies, I can't help but wonder if we've gone one step too far in covering up what we were never meant to hide. It was exhilarating to say the least to let loose nad have a little fun, to embrace an art form we really shouldn't get all sweaty palmed and flush faced about. So I say hats off to the Frog man for showing us the goods and reminding us all of what's hiding beneath those trench coats and galoshes.

A Note on The Norsk

Thanks to Ryanair, the close proximity between Norway and Ireland, and my ever growing impatience at being stationary for so long, I packed a single carry-on bag and jetted off to Oslo for Easter holidays. This new ound sense of spontaneity left me feeling light hearted and more enthused for Scandinavian culture than ever before.

With my knitted scarf knotted tightly around my throat, my jacket buttoned all the way to my chin, and my body braced for a wintry blast, I steppe doff the plane and was greeted by none other than a warm ray of golden sunlight. No harsh winds encircled me, and I need not make any effort to trudge through knee deep snow. It was 25 degrees in Norway in april and I was a little over dressed.

During my spasm of impulsive behaivour, I had failed to investigate anything about my destination and my lack of research left me standing deer eyed and covered in my own sweat and ignorance. To be perfectly honest, I was a little disappointed with the lack of Arctic weather, but I shed the extra layers and headed towards town anyway.

Now before I start contradicting myselfself, let me just say that Oslo is the most expensive city in Europe. And yes, many people claim this for cities throughout the continent, but let me tell you friends, teh Norwegians mean business. A simple pint of beer can cost you up to 10 Euro, the bus ride from the aiprport to the city centre maybe 25, adn even the cheapest hostel will ride the 30 Euro line. The only thing free in oslo is the air, and even that comes with a polluted price.

Because of my little wallet and Norway's greedy hand, I became what we all do at some point while backpacking; desperate. Despite my previous frustration with couchsurfing, I logged on with a fresh start at my finger tips and finally found two Norwegians that were willing to take me in. They were kind hosts, and their efforts exceeded their wants, but I still felt like something was missing. It was difficult at first, trying to fit the mould of a perfect guest. But what I found as the days dragged on was that adaptation is the key to every traveller's survival. Being flexible, open-minded, and downright elastic is what allows you to keep going. So I searched my backpack for even a shred of silver lining and in turn took that extra step out of the way, allowing me to get back on track and well on my way.