This is ooh la la - a European Adventure!

After buying a car in Bristol, south west England (a steal at just 600 quid including MOT and Tax until Feb!) - we set off for Dover, on the east coast, to catch a carferry over to France and to begin two weeks roadtripping around the european continent...

We figured buying a car would be the most economical move - as all going well we should be able to sell it on, and get our money back before we leave the UK. We'll also have a lot more freedom than travelling by bus, or train - and it will be a lot easier for Karlos to travel by car, as he was still sporting a broken rib and unable to put his backpack on. As well as all that - we would also be saving a lot of money on accommodation - by travelling in a true backpacker style - sleeping in our car! We'd purchased an air mattress, electric pump, bed sheets, and pillows. We already had sleeping bags - we were good to go. Rock and roll dreams, baby!

Two weeks was never going to be enough, but was always going to be epic...

*

First stop - Amsterdam!

I had been to Amsterdam once before, as an impressionable 19 year old - and couldn't wait to return, with Karlos - who I just knew would love the place. I also knew I would love it even more this second time - being older - and having him with me.

We were amazed at how quickly we managed to get to Amsterdam, from England. Our ferry from Dover to Dunkirque took just 2hrs. We then drove to Brugge (Belgium) and arrived a further 1.5 hours later. By this stage it was evening time though, as we'd had a late ferry, so we found a camping ground and spent our first night sleeping in the car. It was fun! We put the back seats down, our backpacks on the front seats, and pumped up the bed in the back. With the bedsheets and pillows etc - it was so cosy, and quite romantic Karlos, however, simply found it awkward and painful. His rib was still hurting, so getting into the car and onto the bed was difficult, and any slight movement I made - which of course (anyone who's slept on an air mattress will know this) made the entire bed wobble - hurt him. Sleeping in a proper bed was still painful for him though, with the laying down and getting up business - so I insisted it was romantic. And he smiled. In what I took as agreement.




Next morning we had breakfast in Brugge - a city definitely worth spending a few days in if you have the time, as I learned once in 2005 - but we didn't have too much time, so I quickly purchased some Belgian chocolate before we got back into the car for the ride to Amsterdam. Just another couple of hours away...

I really don't know what to say about Amsterdam. Pretty much - in Amsterdam, anything goes! We had a blast there together.

We were annoyed about being ripped off by the camping ground we found - seeing as we didn't have a tent we were charged campervan rates - which was like 30 euros a night! ($60 to those of you in NZ currency - ouch, right!) But we were also desperate to get into the city and explore - so we reluctantly paid, parked our car, grumbled about the fact that 30 euros a night to park up STILL didn't include loo paper in the toilets - like what a complete and utter rip off (and other such grumbles) - and then we caught the free ferry across the river and into the city centre. Aaaah, Amsterdam!



Bikes, bikes, everywhere! It's something that can be explained, but not really understood until you experience it by being there. As Karlos said to me - the bikes rule the roost around here, don't they? And they really do. Fleets of motor vehicles are left palpitating as dozens of cyclists cut them off, dart around them, and over take. Pedestrians are many - but even they too have to watch from all angles in case a cyclist has decided to cross their path. It's amazing to watch, if you find yourself on safe ground. And terrifying if you are new to the scene - as a pedestrian I was almost killed by a cyclist on several occasions.

Karlos and I found one of the many 'Bulldog' coffee shops (a chain of the oldest established "coffee shop"s in Amsterdam) and whilst I ordered an orange juice, Karlos browsed the menu for the tastiest(?) sounding spliff on offer. Coffee shops, in Amsterdam, don't actually sell coffee, just so you know. For a good old cup of char - you'll need to find a cafe. But hey, this is Amsterdam, and Karlos was in serious need of some pain relief - so a smoke was of course top of the agenda. You could probably get high just sitting in those coffee shops, I'd say. The air is thick with smoke, and sweet with the smell of burning marijuana. For those of us who don't like to inhale smoke - you can also order space cakes - chocolate muffins laced with the green stuff. Very delicious - you have to be careful with those!



Following the Bulldog we wandered through the red light district - streets of glass doors with red curtains (if the curtains are closed, don't come knocking! If the curtains are open - smile at the pretty lady!). The last time I was in Amsterdam, I was a little shy after several of the ladies came from their doorways and invited me in. This time I was a little offended that none of them invited
me this time. Hahaha. We wandered up and down side streets and back alleys - it's almost as though Amsterdam consists soley of side streets and back alleys - the city is broken by rings inside rings of canals and streets that cross the canal like bicylce spokes. It is very easy to get lost - and, more frustratingly, to find a cool bar but then have no chance of finding it the next day if you
fancy a return visit. Maybe that has something to do with the smoke...

We found a small bar in a narrow side street, and spent a while drinking local beer and people watching. Next door, at another bar, we continuously heard yelps and whoops, and soon realised that the Netherlands were currently playing Uruguay in the world cup semi finals - so off we went next door. It was quite the experience. Netherlands won the game - and the bar, and indeed the entire city came alive with excitement. Cars drove up and down the streets tooting their horns, young men and women ran through the streets singing, and laughing and hugging each other. It went on all night long.

We went to the Cassa Rossa club, and spent a couple of hours drinking and sitting in the front row of a live sex show. It was surreal. Fun - we were in Amsterdam! But also kind of sad - shouldn't I be feeling something? Turned on, turned off - something! But nothing. The men and women came out in turn, to bare all and have sex in a mechanical rhythm that was so far removed from real-life sex it really ought to be called something else. The zombie like eyes of women who do this for a job - night after night, week after week - was what took my attention. They were riding some of the buffest men I have seen for some time... but instead they were having an out of plastic body experience, gazing off at something far in the distance. I felt like I wanted to hug them. Strippers came on and had moments with dildos and bananas and cigars (don't ask) - and I thought - I'm sitting in the front row of a live sex show, with my boyfriend, at a distance close enough to reach out and touch these naked women - shouldn't I be feeling uncomfortable? But I wasn't. "Do you enjoy this Karlos?" I asked. Thinking of the couple of times he's been in trouble with me for visiting strip clubs on lads nights out. "Well," he shrugged - somewhat nonplussed - "it's good to look at isn't it?" And I got it. In that moment, being where we were - I got it. The difference between men and women. We left together shortly afterwards.

We got up to more hijinx that night, and indeed the next night... but the rest of which shall remain between the two of his, hidden by our happy smiles ;-)



We also took time out of the drinking and smoking to visit Anne Frank's Huis (house). We had both recently re-read Anne Frank's diary, as one of the many books we've been sharing on our travels. To visit the building, and walk through the "Secret Annexe" that Anne and her family lived in, in hiding, for 2+ years during the second world war - was humbling. And fairly emotional. We also spent time in the small museum, learning more about Anne's life, her family's life, and her writing. She didn't just keep a diary, she also wrote short stories, and was even in the process of re-writing her diary to make it more publishable. She wanted to be a writer, to touch many, and to leave a piece of her behind after she was gone. My only hope is that, from wherever she is, Anne is aware of her accomplishment, despite her life being so cruelly taken before she could realise it. The legacy she left behind as her diary, and the inspiration she has been, and continues to be, for many people throughout the world, is incredible. I wasn't aware that her father survived the concentration camps, but indeed he did, and was given Anne's diaries after they had been found in the Secret Annexe after their arrest, and saved by a kind lady who worked in the same building. He read them, and decided to honour Anne by sharing her story with the world. He too is an inspiration, and continues to be a positive example of how one can rise above injustice and continue to believe in the good of humanity. Visiting Anne Frank's huis was a highlight of our European trip for me, and well worth the hour-long wait.

In sum, go to Amsterdam with an open mind, and no expectations. Ladies especially. I have a feeling that men will have a lot more fun in Amsterdam with their girlfriends than with a bunch of rowdy stags. Someone that they can share a laugh with, and a naughty moment with, and also go home with. But whoever you do go to Amsterdam with - you're bound to have a lot of fun regardless. And remember - it's not all sex, drugs, and rock and roll.

*

Before we left The Netherlands, we ate a breakfast of bread and gouda - as per the advise of our lovely dutch friend, Mr Frank Wolfkamp. Yum. Dutch gouda is simply the best. Creamy, tasty cheese - simply adding to my argument with Karlos that "european cheese is far superior to New Zealand cheese." That debate continues. He is so patriotic.

*

After the Netherlands, we drove south through Germany en route to Switzerland. I am not allowed to write much here about all that - let's just say I got a fever and did not enjoy the 38 degree temperatures in Frankfurt, and there was an unfortunate event at the border between Germany and Switzerland, which we were lucky enough got away with! But that really is all I can say about that.

I continue to show Karlos just how calm and level-headed I am under times of great stress and uncertainty. It's deciding what to wear for the day that I find to be a particularly arduous and emotional experience.

*

Swizterland.

We were really looking forward to visiting Switzerland. I have always found it to be a refreshing place. On this visit we were to be staying with Karlos' very good friend Brent, and his lovely wife Shona - friends from NZ, who are currently living in Stafa, just outside of Zurich. I was fully expecting the fun time that we had, what I was not expecting - was the heat. Good god. It was high 30s, if not 40 - and I literally had a job to breath. My fever and sore throat probably didn't help. I spent the entire 4 days in a singlet and sarong, and much time swimming in Lake Zurich, which was an impressive two minutes walk from the Westcott's front door. Heaven. I even tolerated the little fish, that I was terrified might swim up my bikini bottoms, as I was so hot.



Shona was on a business trip in the states when we first arrived, and so Brent took good care of us - orgainsing a BBQ by the Lake on our first night, followed by a cruise along the lake to Zurich on day two, for a wee exploration and a huge lunch. The swiss sure know how to make schnitzels, I tell you! They also know how to make cheese and chocolate... I would be morbidly obese if ever I lived in Switzerland. Shame - as I truly could live there. Brent took the time to tell us all about the city and the country he lives in, and with low income tax among other things, I could move there tomorrow.

We had time to relax in Switzerland, we watched movies, spent time on facebook, and swam in the lake, chilling out as best as was possible in 40 degree temperatures!



When Shona came home, we had an awesome day with them both. They took us to a gorgeous swiss town for lunch, complete with cobbled streets and the dingle dongle of church bells. We drove some more, and reached the 'town on the rock'- Gruyeres. This was in a French speaking part of the country - so it was nice to leave 'German-swiss' behind and start to recognise some of the 'French-swiss' words around me. We had had a drink in a bar that looked like the inside of a coffin, with tables and chairs made out of replica bones, and then wandered through an exhibit of an artist that designed the aliens for 'aliens,' and had a weird fascination with male genitalia sticking in and out of various female aproximations. I saw art that really disturbed me. Then we all went to the Gruyeres castle, and went back in time for a while imagining we were ancient Swiss princes and princesses... or something like that.

More cheese was consumed. More chocolate. An even bigger schnitzel! And a couple of days later we were saying goodbye to Brent and Shona, telling them to come back to NZ soon, so we can take them out for tea in repayment. We could easily have stayed with them longer, but I think next time we'll visit in the cooler winter months!

*

France.

Our time in France was pretty much the stereotypical "foreigner's experience." Misunderstandings, miscommunications, and unfortunate encounters with french menus. Our first stop, after leaving Switzerland, was Lyon. A cute city in the south east, where not many people (that we met) could speak english. My high school french was going to have to do.

We found a lovely looking restaurant in the city square, and scored ourselves an outdoor table - to people watch, and to find as much fresh air as was possible (not much, unfortunately - as France was every bit as hot as Switzerland). After asking for "rouge," whilst gesturing 'to drink,' I was presented with a glass of house red, so I felt I was doing ok. Disaster struck at food ordering time however - when the task of ordering from a menu in complete French presented itself. I smugly order 'poisson' (which I knew to be fish), and was proud of Karlos for recognising, and ordering, du boeff (beef). But things weren't to be that simple...

I had to restrain myself from laughter when our waiter brought the meals out for us! My fish dish was scrumptious looking, and every bit as tasty as it looked. Karlos' beef, however... was in actual fact a very large plate of raw meat! Oh it was like something straight out of a comedy sketch show - the english tourists order raw beef by mistake, and are too poilte (or embarrassed) to say anything! So we just smiled at the waiter, grinned at each other, and stared at his plate for a few moments in silence after our waiter had left. "You've got to be joking!" Karlos eventually said. Nope! This is our journey Karlos - did you really expect a boring old plate of cooked beef? Honestly.



He ate it, and - as the story goes - he actually enjoyed it.

After Lyon, we moved inland - to a little town in the heart of France, called Clermont-Ferrand. We found a gorgeous little camping ground, complete with outdoor swimming pool, and spent a couple of days there just soaking up the sun and enjoying the travellers lifestyle. We drank cheap, local wine; ate sweet, juicy fruit; swam; soaked up the sunshine; and read books. I was blissfully happy.

Even fewer people in Clermont-Ferrand spoke english - and whilst there were moments it became a little frustrating that we couldn't really communicate effectively - for the most part it was great for escapism. People around you are having a multitude of conversations, but you haven't the faintest idea what they are talking about - so you can easily zone out. I felt thoroughly relaxed, and at peace and would really liked to have stayed longer.



Our lack of French did prove to be a slight bother on the motorways, however! We had casually driven through a toll booth, took a ticket, and drove on. Several miles later, we approached another toll booth. Seeing as our English car is right hand drive, the ticket machine was on my side (the left) and so I had to put the window down, lean right out, and put our ticket into the machine. Amount owing: 15 euros, or some such amount. Far out, that's steep! I swiped our joint credit card. Not accepted. I tried my personal credit card. Not accepted. (The machine only took cards, not notes or cash, typical). I tried Karlos' debit card. Not accepted. I pressed the help button and when a lady's voice appeared I asked: "Que'est que tous parle anglais? Je ne parle pas le francais." No. She didn't speak english. By this stage we had a queue several cars long behind us. I pressed the help button again when she dissappeared. Same drill. She couldn't speak english. I tried our cards again. Nothing. A man got out of his car, behind, and tried to help. He spoke to the lady in the help button, and sounded rather angry. I looked at Karlos and giggled. Cars started tooting behind us like a symphonic orchestra. The french are not patient at all! I laughed some more. A young lady arrived who could speak english, sort of, and tried my cards again - not accepted. A man in a very large truck sat with his hand on the horn for about a minute. I gave him the finger. Eventually, the lady who came to help asked for my passport - then she told us to drive through, and stop at a building on the right where we would go in to pay and get my passport back. (At least that's what we hoped she was saying! It was Frenglish). A quarter of an hour later we were once again back on the road - after getting my passport back thank goodness, paying with our credit card that had decided to work all of a sudden, and laughing at the expense of several wound up French motorists! What a farce, honestly.

Paris.



Paris really is quite lovely. We arrived late afternoon, one overcast day, and the Eiffel Tower suddenly sprung out between rows of grey and brown buildings. I had been to Paris before, but this time I was really excited. Paris in the summertime would be really something, I imagined...

We found ourselves driving up the Champs Elysees, I couldn't believe it! I was grateful Karlos was driving, and very proud of him - traffic is 4 lanes wide and motorists are crazy in Paris. Cars pull in front of you to cross three lanes, if they feel like it; vans cut you off with a spilt second's warning; and stupid men on mopeds - don't get me started! But it was glorious. Karlos did well. And I sat back and watched in awe, as we approached the Arc du Triomphe and Karlos cooly crossed the 4 lane roundabout - not forgetting he was driving on the opposite side of the road, in a city he had never been to before, with non-existent road markings, and motorists leaving us guessing as to the roadrules - he did really well. Best driver in the whole world! I filmed a short moment of us riding on the roundabout. It was something else.

We spent the next couple of days doing the typial Parisian things - picnicing under the eiffel tower at night, watching it sparkle and twinkle when the lights were turned on. Riding the metro along old train lines, and watching well dressed women, wondering where they were going. We ate croissants aux ammand, pain au chocolat, and wandered amongst paintings and sculptures and hoards of other tourists in the Louvre. We walked down pretty tree-lined streets along the Sienne River and admired the city's pretty architecture. We wandered into the Latin Quarter, reached the Catherdral du Notre Dame, and had some drinks on a canal boat anchored beside it. We didn't leave Paris before we had eaten eclairs. Karlos dropped his on the floor right outside the shop, so he had to buy another, without hesitation.

We left Paris, happy. And we headed back towards England - in the direction of the north - where a few days later we would be spending time with my family. I was so excited.

We enjoyed our time in France, very much. I would actually like to return there someday, to spend longer than a week. Perhaps a few weeks... in a country villa... drinking fine wine, reading french novels, and popping out each morning to buy freshly baked baguettes from the local bakers, and riding home with them balanced precariously in my bicycle's front basket. This is not just how they depict France in the movies - this is exactly how French live. Making every day tasks into something beautiful. Turning life into art.

C'est la vie de la francais, et c'est formidable!

~ Comet xo

This is arriving home in ENGLAND, after 5 years!

We'd been in the air just a few hours, but our destination was already close. I glanced out the window and watched a multitude of greens - pale and dark - stretch out like a fluffy blanket beneath me. Blue rivers wove in and out and around the green, and every now and then there would be a lake carved in. The sky was a light blue, skudded with fluffy clouds, and golden sunlight hit the earth wherever it could. The whole land looked soft, and inviting. There was something serene about viewing my home land from this height - able to be there, but not quite. Time to myself before weeks of reconnecting with family and friends filled my senses and every waking thought. Time to remember, and to anticipate.

As we approached London, our female captain advised us that, due to air traffic, we would be flying for a further 20 minutes before landing. I heard a few groans and sighs around me, but I for one didn't mind a bit. More time to myself, to take it all in. After five years away I was going to be landing in my motherland. I was calm, but intensely excited.

As our time came to descend into Heathrow, I watched houses and buildings grow beneath me. Cars wind along country roads that turned into city streets. The familiar sights of a captital city unfold. I knew I was almost there.

"Welcome home," the customs officer said to me, as she handed back my burgandy passport.

"Thank you," I smiled in response. And took a long overdue step passed her and into the arrivals terminal.

*

I was back in England, but something felt slightly odd. I was back in England alright - but I was here as a visitor. This wasn't my home, any more.

*

This was the second time I had come home, since moving to New Zealand in August 2000. My first return visit was in 2004, with a one-way ticket. I had returned to work and travel the european continent, and spend time with friends until I decided if New
Zealand really was a half decent place to live in or not. After a year and a half I decided it was, and returned to Auckland, on another one-way ticket, at the end of 2005. I enrolled into university to study psychology, had a lot of fun performing with
local theatre companies, and met Karlos.

This time, 2010, my return was only ever going to be a visit. I had an arrival date. And a departure date. I had selected New Zealand between the two as my future home country - so my return to England was to be somewhat of a selfish gesture - to absorb
myself in her until I'd had my fill and would scamper back to NZ once again. I felt like I had betrayed England, and was using her. Likewise, she had turned her back on me. In the past 5 years I had not been any part of this place. So much was unfamiliar to me now. So much moved on. So much I'd forgotten about. I fell into that group of tourists who marvelled at the age of this place. Ancient remnants of the Roman Empire; Medieval churches surviving from the 1000s; Tudor houses more than 500 years old; pubs Shakespeare would have once drank in; Victorian post boxes; doctors surgerys generations old; old country lanes once travelled by horse and cart now paving the
way for modern hybrids. History and customs I had once lived amongst, been a part of, and taken for granted - history and customs which were now foreign to me. I figured my new 'visitor' status was perhaps ample punishment for leaving this place. My motherland.

So, I would spend the next two months emersing myself in British history and culture. Being back in the mighty Great Britain - specifically England, but Scotland at some point as well. I would reconnect with family and friends and find myself 'being' in this place once again. And I would feel comforted by the occasional yearning for New Zealand, justifying my abandonment.

It took a few days for me to re-adjust, to remember I was English, actually, and then I threw myself into the role of "look at this Karlos, do you know...?" The tour guide.

*



For the first couple of days we stayed with Zoe, an old friend of Karlos', in a small town called Colchester east of London. "The oldest recorded town in England." I had never been to Colchester before, so it was great to explore a new part of my own
country. We visited Colchester castle, and had a lovely meal pub meal and jug of Pimms down by a picturesque wharf. Zoe was incredibly hospitable to us, and made us feel so welcome and looked after. We promised to visit her again before we left the country, but for now we had a mission - so we hired a car and set off...

*

The windows were wound fully down in our little rental car, and locks of my blonde hair whipped around my face engulfing me. I closed my eyes and felt the cool breeze, and warm sun wherever it touched my skin. Goosebumps appeared on the bits it couldn't reach. The sky, as usual, was dotted with bunches of fluffy white clouds; we were enveloped by green, rolling hills; and, before long, a sign post for 'Somerset,' presented itself. I could smell the familiarity in the air... we were almost in Bath, and soon, so very soon, I would be seeing Vix again. Karlos would be meeting her for the first time, my best friend and my best mate. And I would be meeting James, Vicky's
other half. I was so happy I couldn't describe it.

*


We spent about 5 days in Somerset, and for me, apart from the addition of Karlos, it was like no time had passed since the last time I was there, five years earlier. We stayed with Vix' family - the wonderful Welling's - We had given the Welling's about 3 hours warning that "I'm on the motorway heading to Bath, Paul - can we stay?" And the whole family welcomed us with no troubles, turning their entire living room into our bedroom with almost no notice, filling it with a large blow-up bed for us. I grew up with Vix, and her family have always taken good care of me, treating me as another daughter, no matter how long I leave it between visits. And I will love them forever because of it. They are part of the family I have chosen for myself.



We spent a lot of time with Vix and James over those few days, having the best time. We drank good ol Somerset cider in the local 'Vobster Inn'- a place my parents would take us as kids, letting us play in the pub's playground as they drank indoors with friends. I took Karlos to some of my childhood places - Wells, to see one of the most impressive cathedrals in England; Glastonbury, to see where the famous festival is held every year, and to take in the wonderfully hippy culture; Cheddar, the place where cheddar cheese comes from originally, and where they still mature the stuff in the Cheddar caves; I took him down small, winding country lanes, where the hedgerows touched the wing mirrors on each side and left him gasping that, in actual fact, they were two-laned roads. We had a wonderful night out in Bath with Vix and James, drinking and eating at a Chinese buffet and just enjoying the good company. We took a trip into Bristol to check out cheap cars for sale, and ended up picking up a car for a steal at 600 quid. Vix and I let Karlos and James take the car for a test drive and do all that "man stuff," whilst we were happy to let them. Then We all went to a pretty pub by the river to celebrate, and then later for a picnic in Glastonbury, and another good night was spent together...

*

The four us carried a picnic and bottles of wine, labouriously, to the top of Glastonbury Tor - where we would spend the evening together, being friends and having a laugh, and watching the sun set over the Glastonbury plains. Our snacks were tasty, and the stories we shared deliciously funny, and our cheeks must have been glowing with the wine, evening breeze, and good company.

It had been 5 years since Vix and I had spent time together like this - emails and long distance phone calls have kept us in touch, but there is no exchange for quality time. James and Karlos only knew Vix and I, respectively, and were meeting each other for first time, on the common ground that their girlfriends were diehard best friends. Best friends who had grown up together and were as thick as thieves. Yet they bonded and spent time together like they too were long lost friends. Often leaving Vix and I to our own conversations, whilst we lost them to theirs. And the four of us all fell into a comfortable familiarity that doesn't happen all that often. Precious friendship - one of the most beautiful things life can offer.



And I knew then of course, that I was in fact home. No time or place involved with it - home in this moment was being with my best friend in the entire world, wherever that may be. And it just so happened to be in the place we grew up together. The beautiful county of Somerset, outside the glorious, Roman city of Bath, in a small town called Glastonbury, on top of a Tor that had been climbed by men and women for centuries before we had. To watch the sun set over the plains, just as we were, right then.

Not just a tour guide after all.

~ Comet xo

This is Iceland - The land of FIRE and ICE!

*

Note: This is a blog for my dear friend Sif, who is Icelandic. So she can hear all about what we got up to in her homeland, and how much we loved it...

This is for you, Siffy!

*******************************************
Karlos and I had 5 days in Iceland, having lost two due to the faulty aircraft and its diversion, but - despite him falling and breaking a rib on day 1 - and being in much pain for the most part - his broken rib did not hold us back from exploring and having as much fun as possible.

And what a lot of fun we had.

When we first arrived in Iceland, I spent a lot of time in the duty free shop - trying to find the delcious filled 'lakkris' I had once discovered in a cupboard at your house! We also loaded ourselves with red wine, viking beer (got to be done!), and two bottles of margarita mix. Stepping out into the arrivals hall, it didn't take me long to spot Karen - and I went running towards her excitedly, totally forgetting about my duty free, nearly smashing bottles in the process. It was just soooo good to be in Iceland at last! We had already copped a good eyeful as we arrived in the plane... travelling through clouds for what felt like ages, until - all of a sudden - the the first tip of Icelandic soil appeared through the mist beneath us - before stretching out as far as we could see. Rolling green fields, rugged terrain, the odd stone building... the night sky - pink and dusky, but still light. It was like discovering a magic, hidden land within the clouds...



We spent that first night eating cheese and drinking wine. I have to say - as much as we really, really loved the USA - it was nice to be in a place that makes good cheese at last! We were also amazed at how the sun was just not going down. We laughed at how Karen stuck black bin bags around the windows in our bedroom, to keep the sunlight out. And when we eventually fell asleep, in the early hours, we fell asleep content; eager to explore over the next few days. I was secretly hoping you would give birth whilst we were in Iceland, Sif. I thought that would be pretty cool!




The next day Karen had to work, so Karlos and I finished off the delicious breakfast she had set out - all kinds of sweet fancies from the local 'bakkeri' - and had a relaxed morning of me napping some more, and Karlos facebooking. Oh the life of a traveller! Around lunchtime we became fidgety, so wrapped ourselves up for a journey down into Reykjavik centre. Your country is b-e-autiful, Sif - but 14 degree weather in the summer? We are no way as tough as you Viking bloods! It was chilly. And I'll be honest - I think even my bum had goosebumps!



We loved Reykjavik. We loved walking the streets and admiring the nordic fashion, and listening to the language and accent of the Icelandic people - a breath of fresh air after the endless american accents of our last two months. The change for our ears was nice. Even if we couldn't understand a word people spoke.

We pottered in and out of shops and cafes, laughing at bottles of 'Volcanic ash' for sale, and menus of whale, puffin, and other unusual animals being served for lunch. We found ourselves in a small shop selling art, in particular the work of a very talented travel photographer and his snaps of this beautiful country - especially the northern lights. We decided we must return here in January some day, just to see them. We then made our way into a coffee shop and ordered hot drinks to takeaway. Whilst they were being made I spent time looking at the food in the cabinet, teaching myself Icelandic from the name tags. Laughing at how a slice of cake was priced "5,000"!

We continued up the main street and admired the street art, and one street artist in the process of spray painting another. One lady passing by asked us if we knew what one of these paintings meant. It refered to greed. Another that spoke to me said: "just look at how the mountains, so very mighty be, sharp as razors at the top they span the land and sea. But don't forget that though magestic spires, capped with ice and snow, from each and every single grain of sand they grow." I liked that. I took a photo.



We made our way down to the waterfront, and spent some time taking pictures of the water lapping the rocks. Karlos found a jellyfish and I took pics of him taking pics of that. We climbed the rocks and made our way over to the Viking skeleton ship. I'm sure it's got a proper name, but I think you'll know what I mean. Karlos climbed this, and I took pictures of him again. Soon we decided it was time for lunch...



And just for you, Sif - we bought ourselves a delicious Icelandic hotdog - crunchy onions and all. I could really have eaten two!



On our way back to Karen and the apartment, we stopped by the church. You know THE church (the name escapes me) - but the big one, with the amazing triangular shape. We walked into the church and a lady was singing the most beautiful song - it was in Icelandic of course, so I couldn't understand - but we just sat in the church and listened to her singing, and the man next to her play piano, and then we walked to the top, to the bell tower, and got wonderful views over Reykjavik - just as the heavens opened and the city was lashed with rain. We walked home in this rain - but we were pretty happy about it.




That night was the night of the fateful broken rib, though. (Which I wrote about in the last blog...) We had planned to go out for an Icelandic feast, which was why Karlos was having a shower, getting ready - but things didn't quite work out that way...

Day 2 - Karlos woke in a lot of pain. Karen and I went for a walk to the local bakkeri, and bought an array of goodies for breakfast. The pecan pastry goodness was my favourite for sure... I could go back just to eat another of those! Karen cracked open a bottle of plonk, and we did our best to cheer Karlos up with booze and sweet eats for breakfast. He did spend most of the day on the couch, poor thing, feeling very sorry for himself. Late afternoon Karen and I went out to pick up Poki, the most gorgeous dog ever by the way, took him for a walk along the lake (near to where the heated beach is - you'll know what I mean) and came back with Icelandic lamb and lobster to cook for tea. It was a feast! More alcohol was comsumed of course - and Karlos cheered up a little at talk of 'we could go for a drive tomorrow.' This was after we left him pretty gutted after his suggestion for 'we could still go clubbing' was promptly turned down. He's a fiend!

Day 3 - was a really fun day. Probably my favourite. We took a drive to an area of thermal activity, smelling very sulphorous but not nearly as rotten as Rotorua I must say! And we stopped for a cup of tea and some Icelandic pancakes (forget the proper name for them, it's shocking, I know) and had a chat with some locals who were telling us their opinion on why Iceland should stay out of the European Union! Hahaha. By the afternoon we ended up at... the Blue Lagoon. I was so excited to be there! The warm water combined with the cool, fresh air and light spits of rain - was heaven. I had a health shot in the pool, whilst Karlos drank a beer - and spent the next hour or so smelling like ginger and lemons! We covered outselves in white clay and posed for photos as though we were swap creatures (people probably thought we were odd) and then Karen and I literally had a naked shower together.Karlos must have been in a lot of pain when we told him that, as he merely smiled. No asking for photos, or offering to lend us his waterproof camera, nothing! Hahaha. That night we went for an Icelandic feast at a local tapas bar. Foal was both our favourites - we could eat that again, for sure. Whale was... ok. Not too bad. Puffin? No thank you! We rolled ourselves back to the apartment, full and happy.

Day 4 - another goodie. Karlos had over done it the day before, we thought. As he was in a lot of pain, but still insistant that he wanted to explore - so we set off, Poki in tow, to visit Geyser, Gulfoss, and the Viking meeting point. There isn't much point in me describing these places to you Sif, as you know them so well! To those that don't - Geyser is a place where hot water springs gush from geysers in the earth, Gulfoss is a magestic, monsterous waterfall, and my ever so touristically dubbed 'the Viking meeting point' is the place where early Icelandic settlers would convene, long ago. What I do want to say is - Iceland is a magical, and awesome place. Such clean, fresh air, some peaceful, serene countryside, yet with the power of mother nature so evident at every turn - from the geothermal activity, to the thunder of giant waterfalls, the glaciers in the distance, and the rugged outline of mountains and volcanoes. Being here, as I said - is something magical. Something out of a Tolkein novel. We wanted to stay and explore more...

Our time in Iceland ended with another of Karen's delicious cooked meals, a jaunt to a local pub - where the drinks flowed as much as the singing and laughter - and time down by the lake in the early hours - sharing stories with local Icelandic teens - and watching night turn into a new day, without so much as a flicker in the light.

We were, genuinely, sad to leave.

Your country is beautiful Sif. Just like you x

~ Comet xo

This is an accident! :-/

Reykjavik, Iceland.

"Fermented shark?!" I confirmed, watching Karen nod her head and stifle giggles. I'd already confessed to wanting a full-blown Icelandic experience, so how I was going to get out of this one was beyond me.

"Well I'm interested in trying foal, and whale..." I continued, hoping that if I ate enough of those two there wouldn't actually be any room for fermented shark and I could play the 'what a shame' card.

"More wine?" Karen asked. I answered by handing her my empty glass, glad for the change of subject, and turned to gaze out the window. 8pm and bright. Just like this morning, when it had been 1am and bright. 2am and bright. 3am and bright... 24/7 sunlight was a very unusual, but welcome, experience. It meant we weren't on any specific timetable - if we felt like getting up and going out, we could. Karen was in the process of telling me that the best time to explore the country would be in the middle of the night - when no one else is around, but the sun is still up, just for us. I began telling her about my excitement to go riding on Icelandic horses, when from the bathroom we heard a loud thud... and a disturbingly loud groan.

I looked at Karen, eyebrows furrowed as I tried to work out what we'd just heard. Soon afterwards Karlos made another loud groan. Did he slip over and is being silly, I thought. Karen stood up. Oh, ok, I realised. No he's not being silly - he's hurt. I rushed to the bathroom and was grateful he'd left it unlocked.

Karlos was on his knees in the bathtub, holding onto the window sill, and looked a deathly pale. The shower overhead was still running and bath curtains were surrounding him - I turned off the shower and grabbed him a towel. "What happened?" I asked, as I noticed a large red mark on his right side. "Can't... talk..." he struggled to tell me, as he fought for his breath. Oh, he's winded! I thought, grateful that was all. He'd fallen and winded himself silly bugger! But that wasn't it...

A minute or two passed, and I tried again. "What happened hun?" I asked. He was in so much pain he couldn't speak, his lips were as white as his face, and I looked again at the large mark on the side of his body. "Can you get out of the bath?" I asked, and was there to help in any way I could - holding his towel and offering my hand. But I could only watch him, struggling in pain, taking great care with every movement - and me under strict orders not to "touch me or speak to me."

"We'd better cancel dinner plans," I said to Karen, who was waiting anxiously in the living room. "I think we should take you to hospital now," I said to Karlos, who stood hunched over and leaning on a table top.

"I think I broke a rib," Karlos breathed heavily. I'd known already of course. But was only now accepting this.

Karen and I had been drinking - so she called her mum to come and rescue us, and take us to the hospital. Karen then busied herself finding a pain killer for Karlos, whilst I helped him to dress. His skin was now a grey colour, and his eyes darted around not really focusing on anything. He was in a lot of pain, it was hard to see. So I busied myself fetching him a jacket, a beanie, his wallet, our travel insurance documents - and then Karen's mum arrived.

A painful ten minutes later - with Karlos wincing at every bump in the road, and Karen and I talking as much as possible to distract him - we arrived at Reykjavik hospital. Karen went in to get Karlos a wheelchair, and he lowered himself in with much caution and great pain. We struggled to get him into the hospital...

Outside the emergency department at Reykjavik Hospital there is a pavement, and a curb. A curb! So there we are - injured patient in the wheelchair - with Karen trying to push him forward, and me trying to get the front wheels up the curb. I couldn't lift the front of the wheelchair high enough, under his weight, to get the wheels onto the curb. So Karen is pushing trying to help - but as soon as the wheels reach the curb, they turn sideways! Making the job even harder. WHY IS THERE A CURB OUTSIDE THE E.D! WHY?! Anyway, after a bit more discomfort for poor old Karlos, we did eventually get him inside. And I filled out all of the necessary forms, whilst Karen spoke to the hospital staff in Icelandic, explaining what had happened.



A few minutes after arrival, we were escorted by a doctor to a room on the second floor. Karlos, Karen and I then sat in there patiently, as we waited for the doctor to return. Several more minutes went by. We were concerned as to what was taking so long - Karlos was in a lot of pain and at the very least needed some form of pain killer. Karen stuck her head outside of the door...

"No! You can't come out!" a passing nurse said to Karen. She asked for some pain killers for Karlos and asked her a few other questions , in Icelandic, before closing the door and coming back to sit down with us. "Errrrm..." Karen started to explain, "it appears that we are currently in quarantine!"



"What the hell?! What does that mean?" I asked.

Well, the fact that Karlos had been given vaccinations in an NZ hospital, combined with Iceland having extremely strict health and safety protocols, meant that Karlos had been put on a 'could be contaminated' list! This was pretty hilarious given the circumstances, and definitely within the realm of all the other weird things happening on our trip so far - so we weren't particularly shocked, or perturbed. So - a doctor eventually appears, kitted out in full quarantine gear - rubber gloves and all - to give Karlos a looking over.

Several painful probes into his abdomin and right side later, she advised that they were just getting the x-ray machine covered up in plastic sheets - then once this is done, Karlos will be sent for. She left him with his own quarantine robe and rubber gloves to put on, and when I asked if I may be excused to use the restroom - I was reluctantly given permission and told "not to touch anything."



This was unreal! You can't make this stuff up! We looked at each other, and through his pain Karlos' eyes told me - "only us, aye!"

An hour or so later Karlos had been x-ray'd, Karen had called many family members telling them of our ordeal (much to many an amusement), and we'd had a good giggle with the hospital staff, who apologised for the inconvenience of their strict protocol. We called a cab, stopped at a pharamcy for the strongest drugs you can legally purchase, and gently drove Karlos home and to his new bed propped up on the couch.

"Your rib will take 6 weeks to mend." The doctor had informed Karlos.

*

Later that night I stood in the bathroom, staring at my pale, drawn face in the bathroom mirror for some time. I turned my head and caught sight of the bathtub, looking back to the mirror in time to watch a single tear slowly slip down my right cheek. How did this happen? As if drive-by shootings, dead bodies, spider bites, and 'emergency landing' aircraft weren't enough - now Karlos is broken for 6 weeks, and exactly how we were going to manage backpacking was beyond me. I knew we'd work it out. I knew that this was just another test of strength for us both. And I knew that things would be ok. But for those few minutes in the bathroom, alone, I
allowed myself to feel sorry for Karlos, and for our situation and watched several more hot tears slip from my eyes.

"Hayley..." Karlos called from the living room.

I dropped the towel I was holding and rushed towards him. "Are you alright?" I called out anxiously.

"Are you alright?" he repiled.

"Yes," I said. "I'm fine." And I was.

He reached out to hold my hand that night, as I lay down on the sofa bed next to him. He had really badly hurt himself. He was going to be in a lot of pain over the next few weeks whilst his rib mends, and will miss out on horse riding, river rafting and all the fun things we'd planned to do. I would need to carry both backpacks, over 40 kilos worth of luggage, until we worked something else out. Maybe buy a car, instead of a rail pass? So many things whizzing through my mind, and likely his too. But despite everything, he was there showing me that he could still look after me, with a single reach for my hand.

I love you Karlos x

~ Comet xo

This is another hold up...

Boston, June 23.

So just as we thought our flight to Iceland was finally going to take off... we had another think coming...

*

A bus had been sent to our hotel to collect us and we arrived at Boston International Airport, along with all the other stranded travellers, at 7.00pm. 30 minutes of queueing later, and the lady at the check-in counter handed us our boarding passes. "So your 8.30pm flight is boarding at gate 8B at... oh. 1.30am" "Um, what!!!!" Turns out our flight, which was already 24hrs late after the diversion (which we understood was just one of those things) was now going to be delayed for another 6 hours! I was slowly starting to get annoyed now. The airline didn't know about this delay before sending buses to pick everyone up, of course - so a 6hr (actually 7hr)
wait at the airport it was to be. We went to collect our complimentary meal vouchers and to seek out a bar.

Sitting at a bar in the airport we got chatting to other passengers on our flight. It turns out, the captain had actually given more information in his Icelandic speech, than in his English one. "Technical problems" with the engine had actually been engine failure, and in an aircraft with only 2 engines to begin with (not 4, like the bigger jets), with a heavy weight, and in terrible weather conditions, our Icelandic pilot had informed all passengers "there's no way I'm flying this plane over the atlantic." I was glad not to have understood this whilst in mid air! He also informed us that there would be emergency teams waiting on the runway "just in case"
but not to be alarmed! - I'm glad I didn't know that at the time either! We also found out from another passenger (who had heard via an Icelandair employee) that our aircraft had been struck by lightning - so the burning smell was likely not "just gases from the electrical storm," it was likely the heat of the aircraft after it had been struck. Yet another fact I am glad to have discovered, on the ground, not mid-air!

Anyway, after three or so hours, a few glasses of wine, a pizza, much discussion about yesterday's diverted flight, and some time on facebook - we made our way through security checks and found our gate.

There were considerably less people than yesterday - many had cancelled and rebooked with other airlines, either from fear of reboarding the same aircraft, or in order to get to their destination quicker, as most were flying onwards to Stokholm, Amsterdam, or Paris and had therefore missed connecting flights and the like. We of course did not have that luxury - we could have bought a ticket for a different flight, and claimed it back via our travel insurance - but that would likely take a couple of months to be processed and paid back to us, and the money/credit I have right now - is just enough (if that) as it is. So stuck we were, praying that today's flight would go and we wouldn't loose anymore of our Iceland time.

My prays were futile.

A chap came over to me, seeing I had a laptop on my... lap (hahaha) - and asked if I would check the icelandair website. I was SHOCKED to discover that online our EDT was now 7am, even though the electronic boards in the airport still said 2am. We all marched off to the Icelandair counter to demand answers. Icelandair staff were there, waiting for us.

To cut a long story short - we were told that the aircraft had just been fixed (just!), but that air pollution regulations meant the engines couldn't be tested until 8am the next morning. Taxi chits and hotel vouchers were once again issued, and Karlos and I were sent off for another night in a luxurious hotel, just like the rest of them.

I was now officially annoyed. An entire 24hr delay I was ok with - shit happens, we were at least alive etc. But anything after 24hrs, and we did board our flight (eventually) at 3pm on day two, was just ridiculous. The amount of money that would have spent on taxis, hotels, and food for all of the stranded passengers, for two days - surely could have been spent on renting an aircraft from elsewhere? I just didn't get it. That the ONLY option was to keep us waiting for two days whilst the aircraft is fixed? That Icelandair didn't have access to another aircraft to act as a substitute. There are no backup planes? It was ridiculous.

Anyway, we did eventually board our flight (2 days late) and - even though the engines had to be manually started, as the starter motor was faulty (oh dear lord) - we safely arrived in Iceland, 4 hours later, in a burst of cheers, smiles, and excitement.

*

Karen was there waiting for us at the airport - and I ran towards her for a welcoming hug, almost smashing my bottles of dutyfree in the process. Oh how good it was to be in our destination at last! Iceland was currently in its days of 24/7 sunlight - making us realise
that 7 days could well and truly we squeezed into 5... no worries.

And so, the travellers' adventure continues...

~ Comet xo

This is a side-tracked adventure...

So our flight to Iceland was slightly delayed...

First of all, we were delayed by 2hrs in NYC due to bad storms. We were all boarded 30 minutes late, and were then told that all flights to northern Europe were grounded until air traffic control said it was safe to take off. We relaxed and watched an in-flight movie and read etc, and our 8.35pm departure time soon turned into 10.35pm. But no matter - we were finally in the air, so all was good. Not for long though...

*

Karlos and I were really fortunate to have scored seats in row 9, the emergency exit row. This basically meant that we had extra leg room, without a row of seats in front of us, and also meant we were sitting opposite the air crew, so we could keep abreast of how things were going as the flight when on. I casually read the extra emergency procedure information for our row, not thinking that I would really need to pay attention to this.

The first thing I remember about our take-off and ascent, was that the engine on our side of the plane was making a really loud and unusual noise. I don't think I could even describe the noise really, but I have flown a lot and just knew it wasn't "normal" - Karlos agreed. It was a very loud and almost making a vibrating sound. I observed the air stewardesses, and they seemed calm, so no worries.

Eventually the sound of the engine quietened down and sounded "normal" again - either that, or we got used to the sound, I don't know. By this stage though I had mostly forgotten about the engine, instead distracted by the fact that we had been ascending a lot longer than usual. Just as I thought this, an announcement came on the PA system from the Captain - who informed us that we were to remain seated, and patient, until the seatbelt light had been taken off. He was leaving it on longer than usual as we had entered a thunder storm and he needed to climb as high as possible over it, and turbulence may occur.

This was fine. I don't get nervous about flying, don't mind turbulence, and if the captain is saying "nothing to worry about," then I won't. I relaxed with my movie, taking the time every now and then to admire the lightening out the window. It was beautiful, very frequent, and whenever a flash appeared the dark night sky was lit pink and reflected on the dark, billowy clouds below. I couldn't help thinking how powerful and beautiful mother nature is... no room for any thoughts of fear...

After maybe 30 minutes, and by this stage we were high enough and the seatbelt light had been turned off, I could smell burning. A kind of smokey, electrical smell. Karlos could smell it too, and I finally felt "uncomfortable." Weird sounding engine noises, thunder and lightening storms, turbulence... fine. But burning/smoke smells - enough was enough.

Karlos looked over to the air stewardesses and I followed his gaze. They both looked worried, and one picked up her phone to speak to the captain. We of course couldn't understand what was said, due to them speaking in Icelandic, but after a minute she hung up and leaned over to us. It's fine, she said. The lightening is giving of gases that the engines are sucking up, that's all. Sounded logical, I thought - and went back to my movie. I've flown in thunder storms before. Not the most relaxing flights, but nothing to worry about.

This was really the beginning of the end for me, however. I proceded to watch the air stewardess take calls from the captain every few minutes. What's going on, I thought. Then before long another captain annoucement came on - in Icelandic. I am then frantically trying to analyse his tone of voice. Yes, it's in Icelandic - but does the captain sound paniced???, I thought. I didn't have to wait long - soon his English announcement began - and he basically told us that, due to "technical problems with an engine," we were turning around, heading back to the USA and, as a "precaution," would land in Boston. He apologised for the disruption in our travel plans, but that Icelandair personnel were working, as he spoke, to make sure we would be taken care of in Boston.

Great. So we were somewhere over the north Atlantic, heading back to land as quick as poss, with (what I understood to be) a failing aircraft in the middle of a thunder storm. Great. Not only that - I was really enjoying my movie (The History Boys) and didn't think I would have a chance to see the ending now. Brilliant.

Karlos, thinking I was really frightened, reached out and held my hand and kissed my forehead, and did all of those sweet things. Truth was, I was actually watching a really moving scene in 'The History Boys,' but really appreciated the gesture so played the role and nuzzled back into him. Distraction was what I needed.

En route back to the USA, I watched the air stewardess take several more calls from the captain, speak into her colleague's ear, lean to look out of the window, get up and clear our exit row off all items on the floor, and (the best bit) check under her, and her colleagues seats, to ensure their life jackets were there. By this stage it wasn't just the "moving scene in the movie" that made me quiet and sullen - I was actually starting to worry now... perhaps I really *did* need to read that extra emergency procedure information after all. I sat calmly in my seat, letting Karlos hold my knee, and tried to remember where they said the life rafts were located, and how to open the door, and if the water slide would come out automatically, etc...

*

But all was good. A half hour later, our captain and his co-pilot safely landed us on USA soil. Welcome to Boston! Fire engines were on the tarmac waiting for us, and everything. I wasn't sure if this was a standard, precautionary procedure for aircraft that have been diverted and all that - or if the engine "difficulties" were slightly a bigger deal than the passengers were lead to believe. No matter - we had landed. And I got another kiss from Karlos.

We were told to remain seated until engineers had assessed the problem with the engine, to see if they could fix it, but after just 20 minutes it was determined the engine could not be fixed, and the flight was cancelled. I, for one, was happy to hear it. I can't say I felt comfortable about this aircraft anymore. It was now 1.30am and I just wanted to sleep, on land.

*

Another 2 hours of waiting later, and we were arguing with our taxi driver over not having any money to tip him, and that the chit from the airline will have to do. And finally, by 4am, we were in our room, in the lovely Crowne Plaza Hotel, happy to be on the earth and happy to have a warm bed.

The airline really looked after us - they gave everyone hotel and taxi chits, ensured we would have breakfast and lunch at the hotel the next day, and organised buses to pick us up for the next day's rescheduled flight.

And so, here I am. Catching up with some blogs, waiting for our 5.30pm bus, take-two of our 8.30pm flight from the USA - and more excited than ever to finally get to the land of fire and ice, to begin our Icelandic adventure.

Here's hoping today's flight is showing "The History Boys." As an aside - I really reccommend that movie!

~ Comet xo