Sometimes These Things Happen

I am gazing out the window of our van at a desolate landscape of ash and cinders when I hear Hauker say "Oh shit." just before the van veers off the gravel track and comes to a stop - something has broken. We had started out at 5:30 this morning in an effort to get some photo shooting completed before the big Icelandic rainstorm expected in the afternoon, but now it seems that the day's schedule has changed. 

There are 8 of us in the van and we all get out while Haukur (Hawk) and his companion discover that a bolt has fallen out of something critical related to the right wheel steering. Amazingly, they search the track and find the damaged bolt and begin work to reinstall it. So, while they are doing that, Hawk suggests we take advantage of the unscheduled photo shoot in this desolate place. To add to the atmosphere it is chilly and the wind is picking up in advance of the storm, but I am wearing enough Gortex and fleece to be comfortable.

We slowly fan out and begin to appreciate the sullen character of this space and record what we see. Surprisingly the ground is spongy to walk on and footprints are deep. The ash-fall is hundreds of years old and I doubt that many people have walked out where we are. The tracks that extend across this whole area are used by visitors to see the natural wonders, and fishermen to go to the Fishing Lakes region, which was going to be our destination before the mishap.

 About 90 minutes and much duct tape later, Hawk is willing to try slowly returning to our hotel, but he feels that it will also make the trip to his mechanic who is maybe 40 miles away. All goes as planned and by three o'clock Hawk is back with the repaired and inspected van and the revised forecast says the storm is not expected until this evening, so we head off on the anticipated trip towards the Fishing Lakes.

Above Landmannalaugar

I am up early-ish, preparing for a possibly exciting day. It is overcast and spitting drizzle in Reykjavik, but I hope the weather will improve. I call Jon Karl to see about the prospects for a flight today. He is a retired Icelandair pilot, the son of an Icelandair pilot, and the proud father of a third Icelandair pilot, so I feel like I am in good hands. He says, sure, come out to his airstrip in Hella - about 90 minutes East of Reykjavik. The volcano near him is out and the glacier near him is clear too with some partly overcast skys. The rent-a-car process is tedious but I am on the way soon enough.

Route 1 is the the main ring road and I go through volcanic countryside that is familiar and reminds me of The Big Island of  Hawaii in some ways - lava flows of differing ages and differing vegetation cover - but no trees to be seen. Lumpy carpeting. Jon Karl's summer compound is a bit difficult to find but cell phones save the day. He greets me and introduces me to his wife and two young children - oh, and the bunny that they just caught. Over coffee and chocolate, he asks where I might want to go and I mumble something like "oh the place you suggested sounds perfect". I am not going to even try to pronounce it - it is a long word, and looks easy enough, but when he says it it is very different. I admit that I have difficulty with Icelandic pronunciation and he smiles and says really? you must be the only one that does. So we walk out to his 4 seat plane (like a VW bug has 4 seats), and taxi down his grass airstrip, gain a little altitude and head northeast.

The landscape gradually changes to a wonderful jumble of volcanic stuff from the recently active Hekla Volcano, mixed up with streams and lakes produced from the large glaciers to the East. Colors and textures and shadows keep changing as we weave along, with him banking the plane to get better photographing angles for me.

I am a kid in a candy shop, but I have to remember to take my eye out of the viewfinder from time to time and just soak in the amazing landscape. Much of it is inaccessible, but there are gravel tracks and we do see fishermen and the likes working their way around parts of the countryside.

After a spectacular couple of hours we land again at his compound and I get a photo of Jon Karl and his beloved plane, with Hekla Volcano peeking over the ridge behind. In his house we are greeted with more coffee and chocolate and have a short comfortable chat on the porch before I hit the road again. I have not met anyone in Iceland who does not speak excellent English, and I appreciate the chance to be comfortable with conversation in a foreign place. Don't think I mentioned this, but I was introduced to Jon Karl by his brother Haukur (Hawk), who I will see tomorrow for the next chapter of my visit - photo tour!

Reykjavik

I have not visited here before, but my first impression of Reykjavik is of a city that stays up late and sleeps in the next day. The bus from the airport drops me off in the City Center and I walk a few blocks to my hotel, but it is 8:00am and I don't see another living person. Remember the Twilight Zone episodes with the end of the world and the one lonely survivor? 

I get to the hotel and am told that the room should be ready around 10:00, and I can certainly live with that - gives me time to look around a little. I go out walking on a spectacular, cool crisp day- I'm wearing a light sweatshirt and I'm comfortable until the wind blows.  I do see a few people eventually and they are universally dressed for heavier weather - parkas, hats, and wool scarfs and I wonder what they know that I don't. The weather is said to be extremely variable and I imagine that they assume the worst each time they get dressed.

The streets are interesting with a small town scale. More walkers than cars and parts of the city in the downtown area are a bit jumbled by construction and street repaving projects. There is a lot of street art - mostly official, but some that would be called graffiti. I am drawn towards the big blue Opera House that is not much to look at from a distance but up close and from the interior, it is a lot of fun. The play of light, shadows and reflections from the faceted glass skin is just wonderful. I could stay here all day - Oops - my only problem was forgetting to put a memory card in the camera so I am limited by internal memory. I better come back tomorrow.

Some Entertaining Research

I am off to France from June 26 'til July 11-
I did some research and learned a lot, but probably came away with more questions than answers.

Every community in Southern France has it's own story to tell. I am intrigued by the town coats of arms, many of which have been around in one form or another for hundreds of years. The towns that I will be visiting are all within a 50 mile radius, but they pride themselves on separate identities and one can imagine that they spoke separate dialects at one time.

Sometimes searching the web can turn up a description of the symbols, sometimes not. The first one below is Avignon which was the seat of the Pope (or false Pope, depending on who you ask) from 1309 to 1377. I am guessing that the three keys tie to the Papal symbol of the Keys to Heaven. Everywhere else that I see them, there are two, and they are crossed - I have a few guesses, but not entirely sure why Avignon gets three.

The one with the cow is from Saint-Saturnin-lès-Apt, and I tried investigating this a few years ago. I asked at the Tourism Office, but I think I was the first person to ask that question and they suggested a visit to the town hall, but it was closed that day. So I am still pretty hazy about this one. Closest that I could get was translating from online French and confirming that the cow and star are gold, and the cross is silver. Educated guess is that the star relates to the Virgin Mary, and the cross is connected to the Knights Templar. But the cow?














The simple graphic with the stripes is from Forcalquier, but I can't find any more about the background.

Saint Michael and the Scales of Hesed (I had to look that one up) adorn the crest of Saint-Michel-l'Observatoire, home of the Haute-Provence Observatory, a modern astronomical observatory.














Three calabash are naturally the symbol of Gordes, and I have to admit that I never made that connection before.

This might be my favorite, from the village of Mazan.
Initially clueless, I found a website at Araltas-dot-com which has generalized, but poetic, descriptions of heraldic symbols:
Moon = Serene power over mundane actions
Sun = Glory and splendor; fountain of life
Hand = Pledge of faith, sincerity, and justice
Color Blue = Truth and loyalty






This one from Robion, is not so obvious either.  
The Dolphin with the crown represents the heir apparent to the throne - Le Dauphin de France.
I knew of the term, but don't know why the dolphin represents him.
Carpenter's Square = Conforming one's actions to the laws of right and equity

This is a little more direct, representing the village of Vaison-la-Romaine, but I can't find a translation anywhere.










Sault has an icon that is a little difficult for me. It would be easier if I could identify the creature. Fox? (nope), Griffin? (nope, no wings). Wolf? - Google Translate finally helped with "money to the armed azure wolf rampant and langued gules" which is NO help, except for the wolf part. (turns out, with further research, that rampant in this case means standing one one foot, and langued gules is red tongue, in obscure English - no doubt still in use only for the NY Times crossword crowd)

Passage to Maria la Gorda

I am in my bunk and the ship is rolling in heavy swells. The sun is finally up after a long passage out of Havana yesterday at mid day, but the cabin goes dark when the porthole goes below the waterline - it is very disconcerting. We are heading West to round the tip of Cuba, but the wind and swell is from the north and the geometry makes for a very rocky boat. Everything is creaking and groaning, with ominous bangs from the dining lounge above, and I am ready for all this to end. Soon, I do make it up to the lounge to attempt breakfast, as do about a dozen of the fifty passengers, but I give up and come back down after toast and yogurt. The crew has minimal breakfast available but has their hands busy with roping up the dining chairs to prevent them from doing any damage. My stomach is ok and I have my fingers crossed but am pleased with the performance of my wrist bands compined with drugs. It is nearly impossible to stand. Our guide Olga comes up and says that she feels like she is in a laundromat when she looks at her porthole - I agree.
Things do settle down after we round the point around 11 o'clock, but Olga announces over the PA that the port of Maria la Gorda is closed to all ships due to weather conditions, and so we groan and sail on to Cayo Largo, an additional 18 hours away. There is plenty of deck space and although the day is breezy,  it is now sunny and I will continue reading my book on the history of the Bacardi rum family. At 4:00, our Cuban guide Roberto promises to give a talk on 500 years of Cuban history, and I make a promise to myself to stay awake. He is a nice young man who works hard on his English but he has been seasick for a day so I don't know what to expect.