Horses in Iceland still say neigh.

I awoke and had obviously not moved all night. I think every vertebra popped and snapped as I woke to the light peaking around the blinds. It was 5 am. I rolled over in protest and went back to sleep for an hour. 

I had a shower in the most glorious of rain head showers and tinkered around getting ready.  Once done I donned the red bag and set off. 

I made my way 30 minutes down the road. I passed one person on the way there.  His border collie looked at me with great distrust.  In fact, that is how I will describe the man's glares. 

I made my way up the dirt drive to   Two rows of stables.  The stables reminded me of repurposed shipping containers, just very different dimensions. I wondered around until I found a computer printed Artic Horses sign. 

I popped my head in and heard a mouse squeak of a hello.  She must have been about 13. She kept tacking up and seeing that she didn't want my help nor conversation I waited outside. She pointed to a horse and said that this was mine to ride. She then asked me which side I mounted from. I only have ever (as with everyone I know) mounted from the left. I actually thought that I could give right mounting a go.  I quickly said left as I had an image of me right mounting but ending up backwards on my noble steed. 

Now as I have described, it is rocky terrain.  My horse (never did get his name, not hers for that matter. Bit of a Slartibartfast moment) followed suit behind unnamed girl and unnamed second horse.  

We had made it about 10 minutes down the road and she pulled her horse into a tolt.  This is a unique gait to the Icelandic horse. It's a speed walk. It takes a load of energy to perform for the horse but is the most pleasant seat for the rider. 

I broke out in a huge grin and though ridiculously "I'm tolting !"

It was fabulous fun. We went on interspersing walking with tolting.  

We actually ended up on the path that o had so diligently walked just the night before.  Much quicker on a horse. 

We made our way around a mountain and over such rocky terrain. I think any horse I had ridden before would have laughed at the thought of going over that degree of terrain.  

I'll shut up now and let you see some photos. 

We galloped around through some softer terrain. Unnamed girl who didn't talk almost the entire tour then opened up that I was the first tour she had taken on that route.  Her and her champion mare go on the route, but it's a bit challenging in places.  And at that we were in crevice surrounded by large rocks by Grindavik.  

So 2.5 hours later we finished and I was given a lift back to the blue lagoon where I await a bus to the airport.  

I did have a second to change so I don't smell as much like a horse. 

On to the next flight!  

Quads, Pools, and Walkies

I 

So quad biking in Grindavik. Amazing. 

The tour leader was such a calming spirit. He taught me and a couple from Brazil how to use the quad bikes and we were off. There seem to be a lot of Brazilians here. But our tour guide said that he had only met a few over the last 3 years.  

It took a bit of driving to get the feel of how the bike worked. I pushed my heels down and forged onwards! We started on flat ground to gain our balance and then graduated to climbing part of a mountain.  I became confident enough to partially stand whilst going over the big bumps.  Maybe it was to save my tailbone. 

I struggled at first with smoothly working the accelerator. I would jolt when accelerating making me buck forward in my seat. This too I got used to and had the confidence to keep up with the tour leader. The Brazilians (no not that Brazilian) had a go pro to which I cheekily asked for a copy of the film from today.  They are going to get me a copy once they finish their tour of Iceland and all of Scandinavia.  

I was then dropped off at the Blue Lagoon for my spa day.  I had booked a slightly fancy package because, well I deserve it. I started with a glass of bubbly in a very nice restaurant whist in my bathrobe!  Through the huge glass windows I could see the baths.  A quick gulp and I was off. 

Well actually I was weightless.  The silica rich water just makes you float so easily.  

The water is very harsh on hair so as recommended, I had shoved about a bottle of restoration conditioner in my hair to protect it. I bobbed over to the pool (?) side bar and had myself another bubbly. The pools are huge and it wasn't crowded, so I literally could find a nook and act like a buoy by myself. 

Moving in the water was interesting.  I would try and paddle but without much progress. Walking normally didn't seem to get me very far at any speed. So everyone looked like they were gliding in slow motion. 

There was a regime of mud masks to be used. And use them I did. After about 3 hours past and I thought that I might fall asleep I made my way to the relaxation area to where I did fall asleep in a zero gravity chair. 

I awoke and made my way to the massage area. Another treat for myself. This was a secluded area of the pools. I was asked to get on a thin floating pad and I was covered with a wet blanket. A towel covered my eyes as the reflection from the pools are so bright. 

The masseuse started with my toes and worked up my legs.  Every few minutes she would push my floating pad down so my body would be submerged and warm water would warm the blanket again.  I had been ever so curious as to how she was going to massage my back without attempting to drown me. She actually massage my back from underwater. It was unexpectedly amazing. She was able to get a lot of pressure from that angle. 

I was so utterly relaxed.  

It was a surreal experience to be floating and to be moved around in the water. My ears were slightly under water dulling my hearing. 

She finished with a face and neck massage and then moved me to a recovery pen where I relaxed for a few more minutes. 

I glided out of the pen and granted myself one more glass of bubbly before going to the relaxation room again. A long shower had me ready to depart.  

My next mission was a 4.5 mile walk to Grindavik to my next housing.  As I had been dropped off at the blue lagoon, the quad bike tour leader had gracefully told me that there are almost always taxis outside if I didn't feel like walking. My host for the night had also tried to convince me over the last 2 days that it was too far of a walk.  When have I ever listened to people telling me that I can't do things? 

However, as I was leaving my legs were jello. Maybe from the massage or maybe from the bubbly (which all glasses were not disclosed above). I made the decision to walk.  I am so glad that I did. 

It was stunning. They have recently made a path for 1/2 of the walk which goes through the most beautiful scenes.  

The ground over the rocks was covered in this loss like plant which was like walking on a heap of sponges. 

I made good time with all of my luggage and was rounding the last 1/3 of the journey (which the path was close to the main road). All of a sudden a car pulled off. I recognized my host!   She had recognized my previously described red hiking bag and wondered if I wanted a lift. I declined because I was so close and could almost taste the satisfaction of completing the job. 

 I am now settled here and just had some instant pasta that I had brought just in case. I figured my budget today had been blown by bubbly, so instant pasta it was. 

Understandably I am shattered and now head to bed. 

Reykjavik

I've just landed.  I was listening to the soundtrack of The Secret Life of Walter Mitty on the descent.  If you haven't seen that movie, you should.  

Anyway. The airport is the cleanest airport that I have ever seen.  I made my way out to my bus to take me to Reykjavik and we set off.  

The land is flat and barren.  I can't quite describe it. Browns and earth tones. The scenes are painted with burnt sienna, yellow ochre, raw sienna and raw umber.  Craterous rocks and dirt.  The highway is almost white in colour. Straight and flat. On the left I can see the coast. On the right I can see mountains. However it is hard to judge how far they are away so they may just be hills. 

I'm sitting next to an elderly gentleman who I believe is local but he seems to be just in awe of the scenes as me. He has his shopping with him and one of his beers just rolled out and tapped me on my foot.  It has now been safely stored back in his bag.  

I disembarked in Reykjavik and found my way to the Airbnb where I am staying.  Mark is an Englishman from north Umberland.  He moved to Iceland three months ago after what sounds like a nasty divorce.  He seems pleasant. 

I set off to explore. The city is small. I found the Main Street and made my way to the Atlantic coast.  I was in awe. I don't think I have the words for the view. 

I walked and walked and found a little restaurant where I went for dinner.  I started chatting with the people sitting next to me. I can't remember their names as the wine was flowing. We chatted about politics, travel and their history.  She is from Brazil and he is Icelandic.  They had met at a hostel in Norway.  They had such amazing tips for any travel that I may be doing in Southeast Asia.  

We chatted for about 2 hours and then bid our farewells. It was a fabulous meal and a fabulous conversation. 

I made my way back to Mark's and he and I had a 3 hour chat about all topics in life. It is so nice to be able to have that sort of talk with someone and not just disappear into a hotel room.  

I have now made my way to my collection point to leave the city.  Quad bike pictures to come.  

Sorry for the difference tenses used in this post. I have been writing on the go and my past and presents were used simultaneously. 

Champagne

I didn't know if I should call this post "Cheap champagne and freaking Catholics" or " Seven bottles of champagne and 2 bottles of wine" so I took the best part of both: champagne. 

New Years in Rome. 

Trisha, Mike (her dad), and the Greeks (Ioannis and Majka) and I went out for a lovely meal near the Trevi fountain (wine 1 and 2). It was creeping on 12 and suddenly we had the idea to grab a bottle of champagne and drink infront of the trevi fountain. We scurried out of the resturant and scrambled to get champagne. We had 6 minutes. Trisha went to buy champagne and Ioannis, being astute and classy, decided we should probably get glasses. Armed with a bottle and plastic champagne glasses we rushed to the fountain. 

Now you can't even really see the fountain because it is completely under scaffolding. But we were there. We toasted and it suddenly sounded like a war zone. Fireworks exploded down all of the side streets. Fireworks were thrown from people's second story balconies into the street. People hung out of their windows cheering in celebration. It was impossible not to be ebullient. 

We made our way to the Spanish steps, finding another shop for champagne on the way there (bottle 2).  We toasted and cheered standing on the steps. 

Music bellowed through the streets. People danced, cheered and chanted. Suddenly Mike showed up with bottle number 3. And Ioannis with bottle number 4 shortly after this. 

Trisha and Mike had to go back to their hotel, so they caught the last metro back just before 130. However Ioannis, Majka and I decided to stay longer. I bargained with the street vendor for one more bottle, but when my offer wasn't accepted, I kept trying. 

Him: 10€

Me: 5€

Him: 9€

Me:5€

Him: 8€

Me: 5€

Him: 8€

Me: 2 for 10€

Him: sold.

That was bottle 5 and 6. 

We then drawn to the sound of a guitar and dancing at the top of the steps. We realized that this was a group of nuns and Catholics singing very odd repetitive songs. We were invited to join the circle, but our too priority was our champagne and it was not safe to leave it whilst we went dancing, nor was it socially accepted to bring it into the dance circle of Catholics. The dancers suddenly were playing a game of tag where innocent bystanders were tapped. We have no idea what they were doing. 

We were propositioned with another bottle of champagne. I blurted out 3€ and he was sold. He tried to con me out of the correct change, but I fought my fight. Vendors really try and take advantage of tourists. I managed to get my hangs correctly. This brings our tally to 7. 

The stumble home involved finding a taxi, who two Italians tried to steal from us. The driver got us in the general area that we needed to be and then said 30€. I refused. That was a ridiculous price for where we had come. I bargained back at 20€. This was accepted after he yelled at me in Italian. Extortion. Taking advantage of tourists once again. 

So our final tally was 7 champagne and 2 wine. When in Rome.

I also cannot tell you how amazing airbnb is. What a great experience. I seem to have made a good impression as well! 

I finish my trip with just one more amatricana and a sleepy plane ride and a drive from Gatwick back home. Until next time....

Solo ruins

A smooth three transfers on the trains and an hour and a half later I landed at Ostia Antica. This was the original port of Rome.

There were probably a whole 30 people in the entire ruins. I had a cheesy downloaded audio tour which was actually very helpful. You can actually walk almost everywhere in the ruins. I found myself exploring overgrown areas that probably had not been used in months. 

I could sit and contemplate for hours there. It's amazing to see how these structures from 1AD have survived this long. 

I found my way to the old bar/store which was across from a lower class apartment building. I subjected the headless man statue to a selfie.  Sorry well endowed man. But this is what you wanted, to be forever remembered. 

I walked for hours and hours and then realized the temperature was dropping which meant nightfall as well as the closing of the site.  I watched one more plane go overhead (obviously Ostia Antica is in the path for the airport).  If I fail as a vet, my backup plan is definitely a pilot.  I got so giddy seeing when the wheels came down.  I love flying :).  

Now my half frozen self is on her way back to Rome to source some wine and a warm place to rest the toes. 

Fine art day in Rome

So after returning Monday night, I started talking to the other two guests in the house. I have fondly named them "the Greeks" because I have forgotten one of their names.  One is Greek, and the other is Polish.  We got to talking and the next thing I knew it was 1 am. Good wine and conversation seem to cause this time warp very predictably.

Tuesday is known as fine art day. I casually made my way to the Borghese Gallery to meet Trisha and her father. I had a coffee from a hole in the wall, served in a plastic drinking cup. This coffee was arguably one of the best I have ever had.  Never judge a coffee by the cup it is served to you in. 

I had a pleasant stroll at freezing temperatures through the Borghese gardens. My body naturally seemed out any sun that was shining, just to add a bit more heat. The wind chilled me to the bones. 

As I arrived at the Borghese, I silently thanked my mum for recommending to buy tickets ahead of time. The sign on the door said they were sold out until January 6th. The Borghese is beautiful. It is walking through an old house, room after room lined on every side with beautiful paintings and works of art. Sadly the gallery only allows 2 hours before they kick you out. We spent a large portion of time admiring Berninis Apollo and Daphne sculpture. It was so delicately done. Not my picture, but here it is.

My late afternoon was spent wandering in the Vatican. This brings my foot in country tally to 7 this year. Not a bad way tally if you ask me. 

It dropped below freezing and the winds picked up, so I decided to head back to the flat, picking up cooking items on the way. 

Alessandro is the other brother who own the flat, and he and I chatted with another friend of his. More of his friends came over for a celebration of a wedding. Then the Greeks arrived home and we were officially a party.  It's lovely to meet new people and learn about them. 

Airbnb is my new favorite travel accessory. It's so nice to be able to come and be around other people, or disappear into your room if you would like. Having a kitchen for making a quick dinner is also a bonus. 

Ruins of Rome

So Rome = walking, and I love it. I found myself at an entrance to the metro. There were two rickety elevators and no stairs. Elevator it was. I got on and as every other person stepped in the elevator dropped 3 inches and then bounced back up. I'm sure we were over capacity with the 5 people sardined in the metal box of death.

Trisha and I started out the day by confusion on the meetup spot.  I had drunkenly the night before texted the incorrectly spelled mattress store near where I am staying.  She got there and thought why would we be meeting at a mattress store. Rightfully so, not the best wine induced meeting point. Next time we will be civilized and choose a cross roads. 

We made our way to the colosseum. Holy moly. After some confusion about me purchasing child's tickets and tour guides we made our way in.  We spent the next 2 hours attempting to visually reconstruct the bones of the building in our minds. We both spied a display case of animal skulls and as vet students do, we started to determine what animal they once belonged to. 

We then realized that we needed fortification. Wine. We stumbled into a place that was still open. When we finally looked up from our deep conversation we realized it was almost dark outside. We then decided to continue our wanderings. The forecast had been wrong and my poor Trisha was freezing. We made our way back to the colosseum to find a vendor to buy a scarf from. This might have been the only time that anyone had willingly wanted to get pestered by a vendor and there were none in sight. Finally an older man with arms full of scarves approached us. Trisha was warm. 

We then ambled down the boundary of the forum. It was so pleasant as so few people were out. We finally got the feeling of how old the structures were around us. 

Rome at night is glorious. So few people are out. Everywhere we we searched for words. The overuse of the word amazing became evident to both of us. We tried using other words, but our gasps and ebullient eyes around every corner would have been contagious to the most sullen of people. 

We walked to The little island in the middle of the river, and bravely went down to the banks. The echoes of our giggles and awe became evident as we went under the archa of the bridges. 

We decided after about 2 hours that we needed more fortification. I had a restaurant marked on my map. Honestly I have no recollection where I found it, but since I had at one point thought it was a good idea, we trekked on to it. The route guided us down the narrowest of the cobblestone streets of Rome. We were green with envy. People lived here. Vespas lined the narrow streets. 

The restaurant was a house. There were about 8 tables, for a total of about 26 guests. We walked in and were obviously the only non Italians in the place. We were questioned whether we had a reservation. I used the very little Italian that I know and simply shook my head. They decided that they could seat us at the tiny table by the chimney. I didn't even care about the horrible draft. It was perfect. The host attempted to take our order. Wine. He arrived at our table with our bottle and in his attempt to communicate with us, starts singing "red red wine" by Uber40. Trisha and I were in love. The server was a 70 year old Italian man. He was so precious. Trisha and I drank and talked into the night, so grateful that they were able to sit us, as countless others were refused. 

We were in the process of paying our bill and we had one of the euros for our tip out and were scrounging for more. Our server walked by and picked up the euro and kept walking. We tried to tell him we were getting more, but he was gone in a flash. We fished out another, which he came and picked up again. As a joke we put another one out and he came by and threw his hands up in question with a big smile on his face. 

We decided to try our wine induced brains and figure out how to get back to our different hotel/flat. We failed. So we got a cab. It is here that I learned that ALL traffic rules and signs are simply guidelines for Italians. Red lights do not mean stop, but simply to watch out for other traffic. The left side of the road is for driving on when a bus is going slowly in the proper right side of the road. Speed limits do not seem to exist. Throwing your hands up or cursing makes other drivers ahead do what you want. It is also where I learned that even if you think you know where you are, don't get out of the taxi until he tells you. I then had to wander back to my flat after I misinterpreted where I actually was. Only a 10 minute walk.