Mountains and Moxie

It is a quote by Mr. Rogers which is going around the internet today, as it too often does.  He says that his mother always told him that when terrible things happen to “look for the helpers.  There will always be helpers.”  And indeed there are.

I knew I’d do my final post of this trip at the airport and that meant that I was going to have to jam a lot into it: our glorious glacier hike, where we were blasted by the icy beauty of this country while being unable to avoid the reality of global warming and the dramatic loss of glaciers; our visit to the black sand beach in Vik to see the stunning basalt columns and dramatic seas, which was cut short by an angry tour guide who yelled at us to stay out of the surf despite our not being part of his group; awe-inspiring waterfalls, one of which we hiked behind while the sun went down; and finally, the obligatory trip to the Blue Lagoon where we soaked away our sadness of the coming end to the trip.  We hugged good bye at the geo-thermal spa and as they headed to the airport, I jumped a bus back to Reykjavik.

On another day I shall talk about the differences of traveling alone versus with others.  For now, I will only say, I loved being with them and I was excited for my own time.

In Reykjavik, I happily wondered the city, which I’ve always thought looked like Aspen if it were by the sea and decorated by Ikea and children (there’s a lot of whimsy in Iceland).  As the sun went down, I grabbed a hot dog and headed to Harpa, the performing arts center on the water, which glitters in the sun like the Northern Lights.  The Iceland Opera performed the Barber of Seville with a small cast and sparse set, and a sense of humor never seen at the Met.  I chatted with the mostly Icelandic audience over wine during intermission and happily wound my way back to the hotel in the chilly air, and through the hoards of bar hoppers after.

Back in my room I learned the sad news of the attacks in Paris.  Facebook’s check in was welcome to make sure the couple friends I have there were safe, and I watched in horror as the news seemed to keep getting worse.  I woke lonely.  I’m not often lonely when I travel, but I felt far, far away from those who give me comfort on sad days.  While I was tempted to stay in my room and videos I’d downloaded for the trip, I knew I’d be better in sun.  I found a cafe I’d been to on my last visit and quickly found myself welcomed to a table with young Americans, Brits, and a German.  We drank lattes and talked of Paris and of the beautiful souls who’d opened their homes there for the frightened and alone.  We talked of NY, where a spontaneous group had gathered in Union Sq (where I found comfort after September 11) and sung the Marsaillaise.   We talked of Iceland and our families, and the delicious pastry.  And we all felt hopeful.

I am so grateful to that group, but I’ve found them so often around the world and back home.  The helpers Mr. Rogers mother was talking about are those in Paris running into the fire to save their fellow men, but they are also those who smile at strangers, who offer a welcoming word or a jolly handshake.  I was recently accused of being naive when I said that I thought people, the vast, vast majority of us, want to be good and want to help others.  Despite yesterday’s horrible reminder that there are those who want to harm, I believe more than every that I am right and that people are good.

Iceland doesn’t have much that is native to the country.  They’ve adapted well – the seafood is beyond belief and they do amazing things with lamb (more on that in a minute), but veggies are hard to come by.  Yogurt is keeping us in balance and there are usually hot house tomatoes and cucumbers on the plate, but we were pretty thrilled when micro greens appeared last night at our fancy hotel (the only one on the trip).

The road from the Peninsula to our hotel took us through my favorite little seaside town and a museum where we learned the brutal saga of Egil – a viking poet who periodically when berserk and killed people.    We also visited the Medieval home of Egil’s biographer Snorri, who also came to a bad end.

Arriving at our fancy digs, we hit the outdoor hot tubs for a couple hours, splurged on dinner and got pretty heated at hearts (I’m currently in second place in our trip long battle).

This morning we rose early and headed out to the Golden Circle, the tourist must-see stop featuring geysers, waterfalls, and tectonic plates.  First though, we hit the Icelandic yarn outlet.  Those sheep are good for more than just lamb dinners and everyone loves and Icelandic sweater.  Amanda has the skills to make them, so this was a place not to be missed.  A loooooong visit completed, I believe our girl will be knitting for a year.

Dinner at the famous lobster soup spot next to the ghost museum was a mixed blessing – the soup was spectacular, but the museum was closed.  We watched the Northern Lights on our drive to a lovely hotel on the way to tomorrow’s glacier.  It is apparently owned by a famous footballer, and looks like it was furnished out of IKEA, but it’s wonderful.

Tomorrow, we hike the glacier.  Hopefully you’ll hear from me again.  If not – I love you!

I SAW THE NORTHERN LIGHTS!  Today was one of the all time great travel days on it’s own, but it ended with one of my bucket list items – I saw the northern lights.

But I’ll start at the beginning.  We headed out with the aim of a moderate hike along the coast.  On the way we detoured to see the famous black church of Budir.  We peeked in the windows of the remote church on the windy hill and at the graves which ranged from the 1800s to 2011.   Wondering outside the cemetery gate, we saw small animal prints alongside a drag mark, wondering what creature it was and what it was dragging, we followed the tracks over several dunes sharing our theories – an arctic fox was mostly likely, but we all hoped we’d find a christmas cat.

Back on our way, we detoured again to walk the dozen or so flights that wound up a volcanic crater.  The thrill was slightly marred by a group of American’s who parked and left their car in the middle of the road to the crater.  CeCe did some creative driving to get us around it.  As we neared the top, we heard the unmistakable drone of a drone.  The groups of Asians photographing themselves with the evil flying machine turned up at many of our stops alone the rest of the day, but did not last long at the crater.

We stopped at a gas station to use the facilities and stock up for lunch – a picnic at a rocky beach which, were it not for the lave, could have been along the coast of Maine.  We had crackers with a weird, yummy Icelandic bacon cheese, dried broccoli, Icelandic yogurt, and “exotic” fanta. Amanda’s chardonnay thyme turkey jerky went untouched.

Our afternoon hike was a 3k walk through rugged lava fields overlooking the coast.  We told tales of the trolls and elves that lived among the mossy, jagged lava.  At the turn around point we were greeted by a giant stone troll (and the group of Asians).

We drove though a couple towns on the way home hoping to find a place for dinner, but ended up back at the hotel where we happily gorged on fish soup and lamb.  And lots of red wine.  After dinner and a competitive game of hearts, we decided to walk down to the beach to look at stars.

And that’s when we saw them.  The sky lit up with thick streaks of glowing light green which jumped and danced in the sky.  Like clouds it shape shifted and drifted.  We watched in the cold and dark for at least a half an hour before the clouds rolled in and we began to lose it – though if I roll over I can still see a small bright strip out my bedroom window.  We tried in vain for photos, but in the end decided to just revel in our seeing it.  We drank shots of Icelandic birch schnapps to keep warm and scared ourselves when we thought a pole in the grass might be a person watching us (it was not).

The day also had lovely Icelandic horses – they are not ponies! – and sheep and many many waterfalls and glaciers.  And those damn lights.  I’ve finally seen them and it was worth it!

The flight was easy.  Iceland Air is a great airline (I judge that by whether or not I get an upgrade. I did). I’m not sure I could name the last time someone met me at an airport, so it was thrilling to walk out of customs to the smiling faces of Amanda, Melanie, and CeCe.  Amanda and I are friends and former co-workers, Melanie is her sister, CeCe is a friend of Melanie, but as happens with travel, we’ve all become fast friends (though, it’s only the beginning, so anything could happen).

Dropping our bags off quickly we headed out into the Reykjavik darkness (it was 8 am) in search of sustenance.  I quick walk through the rain, we found a wonderful cafe.  A lot of coffee and croissants later we hit the shopping district, first stop – yarn.  The rain came and went through our journeys into a little museum, the world famous hot dogs, a funky church and more shopping (yummy cheese for our road trip!).  Chilled to the bone we resorted to jumping jacks on the street to warm up and finally got back to our hotel for a little lie down before heading out for fish soup.

On the way to soup,  I fell down. It’s not usually the first day of the trip that that happens, but at least I got it out of the way.

The harborside fish restaurant offered lobster soup (okay, the lobster had a weird consistancy for me) and beyond fabulous fish kabobs.  We ordered a bunch and shared.

By the time we got to be, at about 9, we were all ready for bed and to bed we headed.
At 8 this morning, we were off in our rental car (I’ve dubbed it gryla after the giantess that lives in the icelandic mountains and is the mother of the 13 Yule Lads).

The Ring Road will take you through all of Iceland’s sites.  We saw waterfalls galore, hiking to one (it was a short hike) and fjords, and many many lava fields.  We passed through what promised to be an adorable fishing village, and it was, but not really what we’d hoped for so we abandoned plans to lunch there and powered on, having a car picnic with the cheese from yesterday for lunch.

The lava cave was our first official stop was a lava cave tour.  It was deep and dark and there were many bad troll jokes from our guide, but it was fun.  And felt like a great kick off to a week of activities.

Like yesterday, the rain came and went, but it was pretty gone for good when we emerged from the cave.  A glacier and spectacular rainbow greeted us.

A detour to walk a rugged beach ended with silly photos and chocolate.

we arrived at our lovely hotel before dinner.  Unable to decide, we ordered lamb, fish, and two fish stews, which were a lot more like fish shepherd’s pies to split among us and ended with rich chocolate cake.  Every bite was perfect!

While our hosts watch Downton Abbey, an evening of card games and socializing with the other guests while drinking licorice tea (ok – I’m the only one doing that) tonight, which happens to be Icelandic father’s day (happy day dads!) lies ahead.

It’s been a good introduction to this beautiful island.

I’m leaving tomorrow.  I haven’t packed or really even thought about packing yet.  And I’m not sure where the stuff I want to bring is, because I haven’t finished unpacking from my recent move.  But I’ll be ready when the Uber arrives.

It’s a big difference from the first trip I took when I laid everything out a month before departure.  It’s not the only difference. This time I’m traveling with friends.  When the plane lands early tomorrow, there will be three fellow travelers waiting for me at the airport.  And while I”m a bit of a ticket in and a ticket out and the rest is up for grabs, they have our trip well planned.

The one trip I didn’t write about was Iceland.  I’m went two years ago this month, and I’m not sure why I didn’t write about it, but I didn’t.

It’s a good thing that that’s where my plane is headed tomorrow.

I was gonna name this post The Good Life, but I’m so lucky.   It’s really good, and you know what? I deserve it.  But goddamn am I lucky!

Nearly three years ago to the day I wrote my first post for this site.  I was sitting on the lawn of Tanglewood, under a Tiffany box blue sky, filled with fluffy white clouds listening to the Boston Symphony play Beethoven’s 9th Symphony (the Ode to Joy).  I had recently quit my very wonderful job and was about to head into the unknown.

People called me brave.  Some people called me crazy.  I was scared shitless.

Today, I”m on the lawn of Tanglewood, under a Tiffany box blue sky, filled with fluffy white clouds, listening to the Boston Pops rehearse for film night.

Over the past few years I’ve seen a lot of the world, I’ve had an incredible career opportunity, and I’ve contributed to a New York Times bestseller.  I’ve been in love and hurt by love and hopefully about love.  I’ve made amazing new friends and kept wonderful old friends.

A lot of serious and scary things have happened in the world and I care about that deeply, but right now, as the summer winds down, and the Pops belt out the theme to Star Wars, there’s only one thing I can conclude -I am very lucky.

Remember how I said I wasn’t coming back? Paradise is only paradise when you want to be there.  When you can’t leave, it becomes something else altogether.

From the beginning I seem to have misread my flight information home. So the Etihad Airlines flight to Abu Dhabi then on to NYC that I thought was leaving at 10:55, was actually landing in Abu Dhabi then. It was leaving Male at 7:20.  By the time I realized my error, I’d already changed my seaplane trip to the 5pm transfer. My flight was scheduled to board at 6:20 (an hour early is excessive, but I would have to have my bags scanned and get through customs.

I tried to be zen waiting for the seaplane. It arrived on time (a rarity in the Maldives) and despite a family of very slow Germans whom I gave the stink eye, had me at the check in window at 6pm. The line to check in was very long with each person approaching the window engaging in an extensive conversation and leaving with their luggage. As my turn approached a man leaving the window looked at me and said “bon chance.”

My flight had been cancelled with no information beyond that available. They would house us over night in a hotel and we’d receive information when we got to our rooms.  The reason was bad weather in Abu Dhabi.  “Can I connect somewhere else?” I queried. Not without buying another ticket.

I followed blindly as an airline representative put my luggage, then me on a boat with an international assortment of disgruntled passengers. We travelled about 45 minutes to another island and were sent to rooms with no more information.

I have no idea where I am or when I’ll be home.

Paradise is feeling a little lost.

My last 24 hours in paradise, have been just that.

I had a typically lovely breakfast yesterday, by first solo breaky and then headed out for a solo snorkel. It was, as it has been, heavenly to be down with the fish and their bright personalities.  After lunch, I returned my snorkel gear and headed to my hammock, where I did my patriotic duty and downloaded (for $6) and watched the terrible terrible film The Interview (made somewhat better by the fact that I was indeed, in my hammock at the time).  That was followed by an hour long balinese massage, which was bliss. The massage hut is on stilts out in the water and there is a little hole cut out of the floor so you can watch the fish below swim by as you are rubbed to oblivion.

Sunset brought with it a pina colada served in a cocoanut and a seaside/poolside band – who played cover hits into the night.

This morning, with no snorkel gear, I decided to try the infinity pool for a swim. I finally get these things. It is a bit longer than a typical pool and though I haven’t done laps in years I did about 22 of them (in a typical pool we always used 44 as a mile, no idea if that’s true, but it’s always been my rule of thumb).  I could hear the great Stevie Ma’am, the woman who taught me an generations of girls to swim, in my head as I pulled myself through the water “strong strokes, but make em purdy!”

I’m leaving paradise in a couple hours, so my final moments are on my little veranda looking at the water and feeling the breeze.

The Maldives were a miracle location for me. This place is a bit like a Catskills resort – all inclusive with a  selection of planned activities and plenty of feel time. The evenings are filled with bands and dancing, film night and karaoke. The buffet dinners are delicious, despite every protein being wildly over-cooked. While everyone one knows Nicola by name, they’ve begun calling me “American.” Indeed, when I was introduced to other Brits,  Nic mentioned my upgrade, to which Hal, the brit, responded good-naturedly “did you complain? you Americans and your entitlement.” He meant it lightheartedly and that’s how I took it, but I suspect that there is a bit of that assumption in a place like this that very rarely sees American travelers.

I shall spend the next 30 hours or so making my way back home. I have a lay over in Abu Dhabi that I’m quite looking forward to.  I will see you all in New York on Sunday morning.

As anyone who’s read more than an entry or two of Mountains and Moxie knows, this is not my usual kind of travel. I pride myself a bit in roughing it alone, so no one is more surprised than me to find myself in the lap of luxury.  Well – Nic and Tiff were, having booked what they thought was a romantic getaway only to have me turn up on it! (precedent was set when I tagged along for part of their honeymoon, but that’s a story for another day).

My first evening alone in paradise has been wonderful, but there’s a lot less laughter without my companions. I had a pina colada at the sunset bar, watching the best sunset of the trip so far, wishing N and T could have seen it, and slightly gleeful realizing how jealous they’d be when they see the photos on Facebook.

As I was back in my room before dinner, my house boy (their term not mine) showed up for turndown service. Yesterday he had spelled out happy new year on my bed with palm leaves and flowers. Today he made a stingray out of my sheets.  When I told him how much I loved the new year’s message, he blushed and asked if I’d had a good time at the party.  I asked if he’d been able to go and he said they weren’t allowed. I made through Cambodia without adopting a child, but I am seriously considering bringing this boy home with me.

At dinner, our waiter, now my waiter, asked which seat I’d like. I was actually stumped if I should keep the bad seat I’d been in or move (I moved).  I had a vegetarian feast and fruit including currants for dinner. Currants, it turns out are both Nicola’s favorite fruit and banned in the US  (though New York recently overturned the ban, so and enterprising farmers out there, get to it).  My waiter told me how much he liked Nicola and Tiffany. How much he missed them. Then he teased me by mocking my american accent (which, to be fair, N and T would have done).

After dinner, I sat in our favorite beach chairs for one good night cocktail. The bar waiter came by with my pina colada without my needing to ask and said “Where’s Nicola?”  “She’s gone, they had to leave.” “Oh, no!” he replied.

So Nic if you’re reading this – you are missed! Tiffany – so are you!

Our New Year’s Eve was a blur of cocktails, ocean breezes and all the colorful sights the tropics have to offer.  After breakfast we headed out on another long snorkel around the island.  More beautiful fish –  tie die fish, cigarette burn fish, squinty eye joe the fish (I was quite fond of him, though I think he was on e of the dangerous ones). Tiffany continues to know all the fish by proper identification, while Nicola’s files them under Pretties, Uglies, and Good Eating.

We found our turtle again.  Nic uncreatively named her Myrtle, Tiffany went for Anna. I’m choosing to think of him as a him and have named him Fred.

After lunch and a little rest (cocktail), Tiffany set off again in the kayak. With the tide low, I fear we did some irreparable damage to the coral reef, but it was a lovely calm spin around the kilometer long island.

We rested up and regrouped for the sunset and more cocktails, watching them from the far end of the island. Eavesdropping in on our fellow sundowners, we worried for the fate of a couple near us who, when unable to agree on the species of fish below us challenged each other with “well, we can call your mother. She’d know what colors those are.” “No, let’s call your mother. She’ll know the fish!” And then they stomped off, hopefully to make up before midnight.

The dinner buffet was so elaborate that they opened the doors 20 minutes early for photos. We filled ourselves to the gills, splurged on champagne and toasted the new year. While we ate the staff stealthily moved all the deck chairs to the beach and the dancing began.  We drank pina coladas and sang along to the pop hits. I hope we’re not the only group of women who find themselves boogying and singing to Robin Thicke before realizing we hate him.

At four minutes of midnight according to Nic and my iPhones the countdown began and 10 seconds later we were kissing and toasting as a festive boat with hundreds of lights spelling out HAPPY NEW YEAR sailed by. (we toasted again four minutes later).

New Years morning brought an early champagne brunch  before New York had pulled out its new calendar. Another snorkel (I was stung on the arm and leg by jelly fish, ouch!) and I was waving Nicola and Tiffany off with hugs and plans for the inevitable next visit (maybe Tuscany in the summer and how about Cuba for next new year?)

I cried uncontrollably for an hour (that’s for their benefit, actually, I had another cocktail), and got a kayak.  A half an hour solo spin around the island was meditative and rejuvenating.

I am typing this on the veranda listening to the lapping waves and feeling the powdery sand beneath my feet.

I’m not coming home.