So the first time that Iceland registers on my life-chronicle-whatever was one day in 6^th grade in North Carolina that (for God knows what reason) has always stuck in my memory. We were covering geography and world capitals, and the capital of Iceland came up, Reykjavik (pronounced “Rek-ya-vick”). Now, to a sixth grader who’s highest priorities include how to get around “silent lunch”, who asked who out via “yes/no/maybe” notes and what happened at last weekend’s “girl/boy” party, that’s a pretty funny name for a capital city. Hence, the jokes made about how it sounds like “raped ya, Vick!”…. which was just HILARIOUS at age 10 or whatever you are in 6^th grade. Now it’s just lame, obviously, but I only bring it up because, except for random Jeopardy trivia moments (where thanks to that decidedly un-PC pneumonic device, I remember the capital), Reykjavik and Iceland never came up again. Until about 6 months ago when my family decided we were going there for Christmas this year. That decision-making process is mostly a mystery to me, though I’m sure it involved a lot of input from my Dad and older brother, as well as MASTERFUL manipulation by the aforementioned vis a vis my mother, but what’s important is that it was an amazing trip and a really wonderful family Christmas. But first I had this long layover in London….

Writing on the low wall outside Abbey Road Studios, London

I have two really great friends living in central London, so the opportunity to see them on an extended layover was too good to pass up. I arrived very late on Sunday, and very grateful to have made it (miraculously) through the winter storms and resulting pan-European flight delays/cancellations (newspapers in London sported headlines such as “Refugee Heathrow”, if you can imagine). My friends had work, but were gracious enough to entertain me in their few off hours and put me up for a few nights, while I was just fine with entertaining myself for the days in London. I LOVE this city. I mean, I know I say that a lot… there are so many cities out there and I have so much love to give… but I REALLY mean it about London. This was my fourth time there. All trips have been quite short, though, so my list of touristy activities is not nearly finished and I had a game plan before even landing at Stansted: Camden Town Market, the Peter Pan statue and Kensington Gardens, and Abbey Road (I have to thank Alex Thompson for inspiring those last two, as she visited them on her trip to the UK this last summer and in so doing made me realize I’d always wanted to see those two things in London as well. Cheers, Alex! – too corny?).

So, in short, I went. It was an interesting experience to get all over London so easily on the Tube. To know EXACTLY (to the minute) when a train would arrive to take me to the next stop.To have my choice of lunch spot (Thai?Indian?Salad? Oh god, the salads…). The brief amount of time spent in the outdoor Camden Market was my only slight reminder of Morocco in its vague similarity to souq. Very vague.

The Camden Market, London

Camden Town, London

Abbey Road was great but, perhaps obviously, is just a road. They don’t, contrary to what I thought, have a corny museum, gift shop or tours of the studio. How very proper of them, those Brits. The best anecdote from the Abbey Road stop was the friendly Brazilian father of three who offered to take a photo of me crossing the iconic striped walkway, only after telling me he’d been there 20 years before (also on his own) and had asked someone to take a photo of him alone too (though he’d done a handstand in the middle of the road in HIS photo). I told him that sounded awesome, but I was definitely not capable of that, so I settled for the cliché tourist picture and moved on.

Abbey Road cliche tourist shot, yes!

The Peter Pan statue was taller than I expected but definitely not a let-down. I read online (doing my nerdy pre-self-tour research in the morning at my friend’s apartment) that J.M. Barrie commissioned the statue and had it put in place in its location near the Italian Gardens in the middle of the night. He wanted to avoid any pomp and circumstance around its installation, as he hoped it would merely serve as a source of joy for nannies and the children in their care as they wandered along Kensington Gardens’ “long water” path. I thought that was pretty charming, but then again when J.M. Barrie comes to mind, I (along with, I daresay, my entire generation) conjure the face of Johnny Depp, so the affiliation of the statue therein fosters that sentiment, I suppose.

Kensington Gardens and the snow that halted planes all over Europe

Peter Pan!

London reprieve successfully and enjoyably concluded, I was off to Reykjavik and BEYOND excited to see my family. Ten months have never passed so quickly, due to the mere silliness and unpredictability of my everyday life in Morocco. But, even then, I’d never gone so long without seeing my family and in that one sense, those ten months had seemed incredibly long.

family!

And so, another joyful airport reunion to add to the list:  My mom cried and hugged me first. My brothers both had new beards, unfortunately my little brother’s was a neck beard. My dad still had his old one. Everyone was wearing at least one article of clothing from The North Face. They brought me snacks, and within the first ten minutes I was updated on how the dogs are doing. Also, my little brother is officially taller than me now, and 20 years old.

It was great to be home, even if it was in Iceland.

An accurate, and fair, explanation of our first full day in Iceland would depend on everyone reading this having an intimate understanding of my family’s dynamic, which I know isn’t the case. So, I’ll just say that there were certain plant pathologists in the family who expressed interest in a “nature reserve off the beaten path a bit” which turned out to be Icelandic back-country, complete with frozen lake, white-out conditions, gravel (read- UNPAVED) roads and spots with barely a foot of visibility. BUT, that was only the first half of the day, and not worth dwelling on, because the important thing is we all made it out fine.Right?Right. The rest of the day and evening was spent shopping in ADORABLE downtown Reykjavik, admiring the Christmas lights and decorations, and staying decidedly ON the beaten path.

On the road in Iceland

Reykjavik from our balcony

I haven’t described Reykjavik yet. It’s not like any city I’ve ever seen before. Maybe a little bit European, but “newer”… or something. Buildings, from afar, look like toy houses because of the clean lines, snow-topped roofs, bright primary-colored exterior paint, and ubiquitous Christmas light window decorations in the shapes of small trees or lit candles. It’s just all so quaint. Many people asked me why my family would choose to go to Iceland for Christmas (probably most of them were confused because they assumed it would be prohibitively cold). Having been there at Christmas now, all I can say is that it is a great time to see the country (and NOT as cold as one would think). The snow and Christmas decorations just add to the charm and, perhaps especially coming from a Muslim country, it felt SO Christmas-y. And then there are the heated floors… OH. MY. GOSH.

Heated flooring. Who came up with this? I want to meet them, find out if they have an eligible son, find some way of marrying and/or procreating with him so that my offspring will be half-genius. Seriously. The apartment we stayed in had heated flooring, the lodge we drank tea at after horseback riding had heated flooring, and all of the spas we went to had heated flooring. I honestly just don’t know how people from Iceland deal with not having that after growing up with it and moving somewhere else. Is it possible that children who grow up in Iceland never know how it feels to dread putting a bare foot on cold hardwood first-thing in the morning?!

I should point out that in Icelandic culture in places like lodges and spas, it’s polite to remove your shoes immediately upon entering (they usually have shoe-racks right next to the door) and everyone walks around on these heated surfaces in socks. This is also really awesome, obviously. Not only CAN you walk around in your socks in public, you are expected to according to local custom. I really need say no more.

The discoveries of awesome things in Iceland didn’t stop at “gingerbread” villages nestled into epic Fjords and heated flooring, however… ohhh no. I haven’t even begun to describe Icelandic Horses yet. Imagine a smallish Horse with a really fluffy coat (like a long-haired puppy) and even longer mane/tail/bangs, practically covering it’s face in a “cousin It” kind of look. They are kind of stocky with round, pudgy bellies and are known for being loyal and hardworking. My family went on a three hour horseback riding tour through old lava fields grown over with brush, between a few mountain ranges one morning, and we all absolutely fell in love with these beautiful horses. They are just SO CUTE. Once you realize how cute they are, and how ridiculously friendly, the fact that they are everywhere as you drive around just makes Iceland that much better. They are the only horses in Iceland. They are so carefully bred to be pureblooded (or however they put it in horse-lingo) that if an Icelandic horse ever leaves the island, they can’t return. Also, other horse breeds aren’t allowed on the Island. And, did I mention that they are FUZZY!? (only in the winter, because they shed in summer and look more like normal ponies… another reason visiting Iceland in winter is a good idea).

Icelandic horses with an extinct volcano across the Fjord

horseback riding with mom!

So yeah, we loved the horses. There was a moment where I asked my dad to pull over on a small road north of Reykjavik because I wanted to take a picture of the horses kind of far off with a mountain across a Fjord beyond them (it was pretty picturesque). As my brother and I stood at the fence and took our pictures, the horses noticed the flash, perked up as if to say “hey! Who’s that?” and started to casually walk the 300 meters over to the fence where we were standing. They came right up to us and our cameras and calmly waited to be petted. On the off chance we weren’t won-over previously, that did it.

Speaking of horseback riding in Iceland in winter, it has occurred to the tour organizers that they live in a cold climate and tourists might not be acclimated. And so, they give you SPACE SUITS to ride the horses in.

Well, not space suits, but pretty close. They call them “overalls” but they are just so much more awesome than regular overalls. They zip over all of your layers, have reflective tape sewn on them, are lined in fleece and have hoods. As long as you don’t have an inordinate amount of pride or fashion sense, that is a definite bonus of the horseback riding tour in winter as well. They also give you “space suit” type outfits to wear on whale watching tours, which we also did (the whales decided to not attend the tour, though this didn’t detract much from how fun it was to sail around Reykjavik harbor and romp around the boat making fun of ourselves in silly outfits).

tourist overall-spacesuits

so, the harbors around Reykjavik are pretty....

... especially at night with christmas lights on the boat.

What else, let’s see… Did you know that the original geyser is in Iceland? Yup, it is. The word “geyser” derives from the originally named “Geysir” geyser, located in Iceland. We went to see it, and the surrounding geysers. Apparently in its hey-day, “Geysir” put “Old Faithful” to shame, blasting pretty freaking high in the sky (I forget how high, but really high). It doesn’t blow as often anymore because I guess people threw a lot of rocks in it or something stupid like that, but the next-door geyser was on good form the day we went and blew twice while we were there.

Guilfoss waterfall

After the geysers, we saw “Guilfoss”, Iceland’s largest waterfall which was, in a word, impressive. According to the owners of the guesthouse we rented from, it’s at its most beautiful in winter when it accumulates all the ice. I believe it. Though I doubt this waterfall could ever be UN impressive, the bright turquoise glacial runoff having frozen around the double-layer HUGE waterfall valley was absolutely gorgeous.

Activities-wise, our last big one was the “Blue Lagoon” on the peninsula south of Reykjavik. So, my (very basic) understanding of this place is this: There is a geothermal plant next to it, which harnesses energy from the nearby somewhat (?) active volcano to produce energy (probably for amazing things like heated flooring). The excess heat is for some reason pumped into water (sea water brought in) with high levels of silica and algae that is apparently very good for the skin. This combination (algae, silica and heat) results in the Blue Lagoon’s heated, bright blue waters: useful for treating certain ailments and skin conditions, but also a relaxing and beautiful tourist destination. You arrive in the parking lot and walk through what can only be described as a black lava “valley” to the front door of the spa, where you are given a wristband and brief explanation of the facilities. After yet another heated-floor locker room/spa, you walk out to the Blue Lagoon. It lives up to all the hype. Beautiful bright blue water surrounded by stark, black lava, with black sand and silica lining the bottom of the pool. There is a massaging waterfall and silica masks to apply all around the edges of the lagoon as well as a swim-up bar. I walked out feeling like jell-o, but warm, and with tingly skin from the silica masks. They might brave a pretty cold winter, but Icelanders sure know how to warm up in various and efficient ways.

braving the cold air to stand up out of the hot water... the Blue Lagoon

hot dog stand, where apparently Bill Clinton, JFK and Anthony Bourdain all have eaten

like a moth to a flame.... my dad in "the Dubliner" in Reykjavik

Other things Icelanders know how to do well: cook fish and drink.

So, this brings me triumphantly to my last story from Iceland: Dan’s 20^th birthday. We went out as a family to a restaurant on the harbor and the collective opinion was that the food was FANTASTIC. Always a family of varying tastes, we ordered everything from weiner-shnitzel(dad)to arctic charr (my big brother) to reindeer meatballs (my little brother), but everything was absolutely delicious. Dinner was followed by a family tradition- an Irish pub (I dare you to challenge my dad to find an Irish pub anywhere in the world and not be defeated). After a round, my parents left my older brother and me in “charge” of my little brother. Well, I guess those reindeer meatballs sit a little heavy in the stomach, because it became clear that my little brother was not in a drinking mood, which through a variety of conversations and assurances turned into us relinquishing responsibility for the apartment key and cab money to our little brother, the birthday boy, and my older brother and I taking it upon ourselves to celebrate the crap out of Dan’s 20^th birthday for him. And celebrate we did.

And now, how to wrap up this vacation story, as I sit back here in my tiny village in Morocco, drinking Hanut hot chocolate? I guess the best way would be a huge “thank you” to my parents, an ardent request that anyone reading this Google image “Icelandichorses”, and the intention to go fill up my hot water bottle to sleep with in the hope it will conjure incredibly life-like reminder dreams of those heated floors…. Sigh….

feses in Iceland, Merry Christmas!

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