The Icelandic Adventure begins!

The wind is fiercely blowing the snow around outside. Everything is covered in white. The metal cord beats gently against the flagpole, sounding like bells on reindeer in the distance. Downstairs the staff are preparing a Christmas feast, and the entire house smells of ham, fowl and pastries. This is the beginning of our winter residency in Skriðuklaustur, Iceland. Sami and I are here in the eastern part of the island for one month working on various art and music projects. We thought we would be completely isolated with only a groundskeeper and a weekly chauffeur to take us to the grocery store. Turns out Skriðuklaustur, apart from being a farmhouse-cum-museum dedicated to the late Gunnar Gunnarsson (one of Iceland's most famous authors who donated the house to the state in 1948), is a popular restaurant/cultural center that holds several private events throughout the year. This will be the last weekend before the center closes for the holidays, though, so as of Monday, Sami and I really will be living The Shining experience. [Note: Later today I went downstairs to empty the garbage, and found two twin girls in matching fuschia turtlenecks sitting on a sofa, and slurping hot chocolate!!!] It took us two days to arrive from Reykjavík by bus. The first was a six-hour trip along the northwest part of the island. We drove through a snowstorm, then marvelled at the pink sky as the sun tried in vain to rise above the horizon. The passenger busses also serve as postal vehicles, and a few times we pulled up at outposts seemingly in the middle of nowhere to deliver large packages. That day we rode to Akureyri where some very nice couchsurfers hosted us. We had just enough time for a tour of the city, a stretch at a café, Thai dinner, and a night's sleep before once again heading to the bus station. The next day (Tuesday), we rode to Egilsstaðir where the director of Skriðuklaustur came to pick us up and take us grocery shopping. After we stocked up on dried fish and skyr, we begged for a trip to the liquor store. The liquor stores in Iceland are all government-owned and they are only open from 11am until 6pm. In true monopolistic fashion, the prices in the liquor stores could drive one not to drink. Moreover, drinks are outrageously expensive in bars (2 pints of beer + 2 shots of Brennivín = 25€), and grocery stores and convenient marts are only allowed to sell light beer (no wine, no peach brandy). We discovered all of this in Reykjavik when we tried to buy some wine at the corner store to take to a birthday party. That was last Friday, way back when the kroner was still weak and we lived like kings in a land of paupers! We strode regally to the corner market and demanded two bottles of the finest red to be brought up tout-de-suite from the cellar. The cashier, who, clearly, had never laid eyes upon blood-red velvet capes and gold-encrusted scepters such as ours before, gave us that "You're not from around here, are you?" look as he slowly explained the mysterious workings of this realm's libationary restrictions. No matter how slowly he spoke we still had great difficulty understanding how these Vikings with such a great reputation for spending countless hours in their cups coped with such archaic regulations. We grabbed a couple of bottles of malt (which turned out to be soda, not beer) and headed for the party, where, my beauties, it was further explained that beer - that most cherished refreshment since eons past - beer - not only great for drinking, but also for cooking cabbage and sausage - beer had been illegal until 1989!!! Nevertheless, we had a nice few days with friends in Reykjavik, visiting the Maritime Museum, the Kolaportið (indoor flea market), enjoying Belgian waffles and cappuccino at Mokka Kafi, and dining on lobster and whale meat skewers at the Sea Baron, a small sailor's diner in the harbour. We even managed a trip to the geothermal baths of the Blue Lagoon. We flew to Reykjavik from Amsterdam. Our train to Schipol airport was delayed for almost an hour. When I went to the ticket counter to ask the number of a taxi, the cashier explained that all of the westbound trains had been delayed because an injured swan was stuck on the tracks. "They are waiting for the animal people," she said. I envisioned a tempeh-eating train conductor wearing a PETA T-shirt, jamming the brake valve into the "Emergency" position, and saying "Woah, there, Casey! That's a swan out there!" Only in Holland. We had a wonderful time in Amsterdam, visiting with friends and family. The city seemed sadder than I remembered it, but it could have been the weather (though rain and snow were perfect excuses to make frequent pitstops at Indonesian restaurants and pickled herring stands). The best find was Café Bern, a popular, charming fondue restaurant on Nieuwmarkt. The worst part of going out was discovering that, although smoking indoors is illegal, some places will allow it if a smoking cover charge (of one to two euros per person) is paid. Presumably the money goes towards payment of the fine should inspectors come around. Sort of like paying for the speeding ticket before you actually start the engine. The wind is still fiercely blowing the snow around outside, though the dinner guests have all gone. We're warm inside thanks to the government. The kroner seems to be rising by the minute, but for now we're safe. We shouldn't have to go to the grocery store again for at least another two days.