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Maike's Big Trip 2012 auf einer größeren Karte anzeigen
9 September 2012
20 August 2012
Walking the Laugavegur in Iceland's south
Showing up high in the international hiking trail charts is the 55 km long Laugavegur trail which connects Landmannalaugar in the volcanic highlands of south Iceland with the green valley of Thorsmörk, the latter being only separated from the south coast by two glaciers, among them the famous Eyjafjallajökull which erupted two years ago.
We did the Laugavegur trail and added two days of hiking by climbing up the Fimmvörduhals pass between the two glaciers, walking on snow fields and the fresh lava which is still hot in some places.
It's hard to describe the beauty and diversity of the volcanic landscapes, the black sand deserts, but I'll surely put up some pics here once I have computer access.
Accompanying me were Daniel and Silke, and to be honest, it was Daniel who organized the whole hiking trip. Afterwards, we spent a day on Heimæy, the main Westman's island, for a great seafood dinner, Icelandic pastries, puffin (Papageientaucher) watching and just general relaxing.
My personal highlights of these past days:
A) The river crossings - thrilling, freezing cold, and refreshing for tired feet.
B) Lying on our bellies on the highest rock on Heimæy, the Heimaklettur, watching puffins landing and taking off from very close. Puffins' bodies looking like miniature penguins with almost too short wings and fat bum for flying, too cute.
C) Lying on the grass in the sun for a few hours, heads on our backpacks, in front of the huge Skógarfoss waterfall, after having finished the last one of 6 walking days, dirty and happy.
We did the Laugavegur trail and added two days of hiking by climbing up the Fimmvörduhals pass between the two glaciers, walking on snow fields and the fresh lava which is still hot in some places.
It's hard to describe the beauty and diversity of the volcanic landscapes, the black sand deserts, but I'll surely put up some pics here once I have computer access.
Accompanying me were Daniel and Silke, and to be honest, it was Daniel who organized the whole hiking trip. Afterwards, we spent a day on Heimæy, the main Westman's island, for a great seafood dinner, Icelandic pastries, puffin (Papageientaucher) watching and just general relaxing.
My personal highlights of these past days:
A) The river crossings - thrilling, freezing cold, and refreshing for tired feet.
B) Lying on our bellies on the highest rock on Heimæy, the Heimaklettur, watching puffins landing and taking off from very close. Puffins' bodies looking like miniature penguins with almost too short wings and fat bum for flying, too cute.
C) Lying on the grass in the sun for a few hours, heads on our backpacks, in front of the huge Skógarfoss waterfall, after having finished the last one of 6 walking days, dirty and happy.
Volcanoes, Snæfellsnes, Ben Stiller
On a whim, I moved to Stykkishólmur when I couldn't sleep in Reykjavik. I slept great in Stykkishólmur. Such silence!
My host picked me up from the gas station where the bus had dropped me off. He is an original Icelander, born on Heimaey, the main island of the Westman's Islands, south of mainland Iceland. When he was 14, one night at 2 am, a neighbor knocked on his family's door to wake everyone up because a volcano was erupting just a stone's throw away from the first houses of the village. All they could see when they left the house was a wall of fire coming straight from the grass. It turned out that a long crack in the ground had opened and was now spitting fire. Later, there was lava, flowing towards the harbor, and a new mountain, higher than the old mountain formed. People didn't panic, because they were used to volcanic action. In fact, there had been a volcanic eruption under water in viewing distance from Heimaey only a few years earlier, going on for three years and resulting in a new island. My host said that the eruption in his village was like a dream and only four days later could he really grasp what had happened.
Luckily, the eruption started at night, when all boats were in the harbor and everyone could be evacuated from the island in time, apart from one person who died of the poisonous gases of the volcano. Weeks later, people could finally return to their island and start to rebuild their village which was half gone, either burnt under the lava or buried under the ashes. Only half of the population did return, though, the rest started new lives somewhere else on Iceland.
My host's family moved to Stykkishólmur where they had relatives, and I believe that my host has never lived anywhere else. He said that it is like he had two lives. One before that night and one after. In one night he lost contact with most of his friends, and didn't see them ever again.
Now, he owns an old blue farmer's house and rents out a few rooms. I was the only guest and got to choose the best room. It had a view out to the bay, similar to the view in the picture, which was taken from the garden next to the house. He likes to meet his guests and see Iceland with their eyes, because it isn't that special to you if you have lived there all your live.
He took me on a day trip around the Snæfellsnes peninsula, dropped me off at one point where I wanted to hike a bit along the cliffs, and met me a few miles later, in a restaurant where he, an accomplished guitar player, performed a few Icelandic folk songs. It was too cloudy and too little time to climb the glacier, but I ended up getting a guided tour with whale watching and a very personal touch tailored to my pace and preferences for free.
When we were almost back we saw a helicopter about to land, so we did a U-turn, drove up to the tiny airport and checked if it was Ben Stiller getting out of the heli, because apparently that's how he had done it there quite recently. I was deeply embarrassed when the passengers got out and walked towards the little bus parked next to us, but my host was not. He asked the bus driver, but he didn't want to give a straight answer. One of the passengers had dark, wavy hair and I firmly (want to) believe that it was Ben Stiller with his family.
My host picked me up from the gas station where the bus had dropped me off. He is an original Icelander, born on Heimaey, the main island of the Westman's Islands, south of mainland Iceland. When he was 14, one night at 2 am, a neighbor knocked on his family's door to wake everyone up because a volcano was erupting just a stone's throw away from the first houses of the village. All they could see when they left the house was a wall of fire coming straight from the grass. It turned out that a long crack in the ground had opened and was now spitting fire. Later, there was lava, flowing towards the harbor, and a new mountain, higher than the old mountain formed. People didn't panic, because they were used to volcanic action. In fact, there had been a volcanic eruption under water in viewing distance from Heimaey only a few years earlier, going on for three years and resulting in a new island. My host said that the eruption in his village was like a dream and only four days later could he really grasp what had happened.
Luckily, the eruption started at night, when all boats were in the harbor and everyone could be evacuated from the island in time, apart from one person who died of the poisonous gases of the volcano. Weeks later, people could finally return to their island and start to rebuild their village which was half gone, either burnt under the lava or buried under the ashes. Only half of the population did return, though, the rest started new lives somewhere else on Iceland.
My host's family moved to Stykkishólmur where they had relatives, and I believe that my host has never lived anywhere else. He said that it is like he had two lives. One before that night and one after. In one night he lost contact with most of his friends, and didn't see them ever again.
Now, he owns an old blue farmer's house and rents out a few rooms. I was the only guest and got to choose the best room. It had a view out to the bay, similar to the view in the picture, which was taken from the garden next to the house. He likes to meet his guests and see Iceland with their eyes, because it isn't that special to you if you have lived there all your live.
He took me on a day trip around the Snæfellsnes peninsula, dropped me off at one point where I wanted to hike a bit along the cliffs, and met me a few miles later, in a restaurant where he, an accomplished guitar player, performed a few Icelandic folk songs. It was too cloudy and too little time to climb the glacier, but I ended up getting a guided tour with whale watching and a very personal touch tailored to my pace and preferences for free.
When we were almost back we saw a helicopter about to land, so we did a U-turn, drove up to the tiny airport and checked if it was Ben Stiller getting out of the heli, because apparently that's how he had done it there quite recently. I was deeply embarrassed when the passengers got out and walked towards the little bus parked next to us, but my host was not. He asked the bus driver, but he didn't want to give a straight answer. One of the passengers had dark, wavy hair and I firmly (want to) believe that it was Ben Stiller with his family.
5 August 2012
Iceland, consumerism, sleep deprivation
It's high time I report about my trip to Iceland. I'm still here, but I increasingly find myself creating blog posts in my mind so I might as well write them down.
I arrived at Keflavik airport at dawn, around 1 am. The sunrise was beautifully reddish, pink and orange, with the bay of Reykjavik and mountains and volcanos in the background. Dawn seemed to last forever, but after a few hours unchanged beauty I realized that this is what night is like in Iceland in summer. D'oh.
I can't believe that I still haven't checked out the phallological museum Kat pointed me to. However, people who know me (or have travelled with me) will probably very well believe that I haven't set my foot into a museum yet.
Instead, I visited all the outdoor clothing stores I could find on the main shopping street, which were about five. The last one looked most promising for me to ask (with a red head from embarrassment) for a marine flare, that Daniel asked me to get in case volcano Katla erupts while we're walking in the area next week and we need to signal our position to the helicopters that come looking for us.
The staff didn't laugh at me but seemed to take me seriously, even said it was a good idea, and pointed me to the one store in Reykjavik where I could actually buy such a thing. (Apparently, you're not allowed to bring marine flares on a plane. Maybe I can borrow one and return it to the shop in case we don't need it.)
Aside from browsing through outdoor clothing stores I'm rather sick of yet another city. After having spent a whole week in Göteborg I didn't enjoy Reykjavik too much for two reasons. One is that in cities I tend to mindlessly spend money. I often find myself in a shop browsing through clothes that I suddenly think I really need. Even though I don't. And it often takes me to actually try clothes on until I realize how miserable clothes shopping makes me. Especially in big department stores. In Stockholm I thought that I couldn't live (and travel) without mid-length sports pants. In Glasgow, I spent hours to find a lint shaver to make my fleece look a bit nicer! In Göteborg I desperately wanted shorts to wear with all my new pretty tights. (I ended up buying a pair for 3€ in a second hand shop which isn't too bad.) The shopping experience makes me miserable (and feeling guilty if I end up buying stuff from a big international corporation), and I waste money for more stuff that I'll have to carry - the garment must be REALLY pretty and functional in order to make the purchase worth all that. I already made a longish list of things I'll leave at home when I stop by there in September before I'll head to Australia.
Also, walking through a city, whenever I think my feet are tired (every other hour or so), even though they are not really, I look for a coffee shop. There are days when I pay for coffee three times, even though I could make myself a cup for so much cheaper at the hostel. Thinking about it, this is probably part of the reason why I sleep so poorly in Iceland...
And this ties in smoothly with the second reason why I want to flee the city which is what I am actually doing right now, sitting on a bus to the Snæfellsnes peninsula. I don't sleep well in my hostel. It's a great hostel for young people I think. Very hip, a live music venue, a former cookie factory, stylish loft-like interior. But it is so loud. All the dorm windows open to the outdoor patio where people get drunk all night. Doors open and close very noisily. One of my dorm mates snores badly. And there's never an hour during the whole day where it is actually quiet. I have slept fine in other hostel dorms with up to 14 beds. And even at Herräng dance camp with 40 other people in a room no earplugs were necessary.
But the noise all day long in Reykjavik and ALL THOSE PEOPLE (other tourists) have been making me more and more sensitive, so that I eventually booked a private room in the little village Stykkishólmur from where I can explore the Snæfellsnes peninsula and maybe even climb the Snæfellsjökull glacier. And here's a fun fact since I take the educational mandate of my blog as seriously as all the fun and entertainment: "jökull" means glacier so "Snæfellsjökull glacier" is technically saying the same thing twice.
My host in Stykkishólmur on Snæfellsnes will be Heimur who owns an old farm house with great views and rents out the rooms on the second floor. He offered to pick me up from the bus stop. Also, on his Airbnb (a website where you can rent rooms) profile he states that his guests will be able to join him on the first floor and socialize as much as they like. He's a musician and might give you a private concert. In his garden live elves/pixies/fairies - forgot which one, also don't really know the difference, but I'm sure he'll explain. So I might finally meet a real local today, the first one so far, not counting the bus drivers.
And yes, I'm turning 31 next week and I'm finding myself fleeing the city, the noise and consumerism.
I arrived at Keflavik airport at dawn, around 1 am. The sunrise was beautifully reddish, pink and orange, with the bay of Reykjavik and mountains and volcanos in the background. Dawn seemed to last forever, but after a few hours unchanged beauty I realized that this is what night is like in Iceland in summer. D'oh.
I can't believe that I still haven't checked out the phallological museum Kat pointed me to. However, people who know me (or have travelled with me) will probably very well believe that I haven't set my foot into a museum yet.
Instead, I visited all the outdoor clothing stores I could find on the main shopping street, which were about five. The last one looked most promising for me to ask (with a red head from embarrassment) for a marine flare, that Daniel asked me to get in case volcano Katla erupts while we're walking in the area next week and we need to signal our position to the helicopters that come looking for us.
The staff didn't laugh at me but seemed to take me seriously, even said it was a good idea, and pointed me to the one store in Reykjavik where I could actually buy such a thing. (Apparently, you're not allowed to bring marine flares on a plane. Maybe I can borrow one and return it to the shop in case we don't need it.)
Aside from browsing through outdoor clothing stores I'm rather sick of yet another city. After having spent a whole week in Göteborg I didn't enjoy Reykjavik too much for two reasons. One is that in cities I tend to mindlessly spend money. I often find myself in a shop browsing through clothes that I suddenly think I really need. Even though I don't. And it often takes me to actually try clothes on until I realize how miserable clothes shopping makes me. Especially in big department stores. In Stockholm I thought that I couldn't live (and travel) without mid-length sports pants. In Glasgow, I spent hours to find a lint shaver to make my fleece look a bit nicer! In Göteborg I desperately wanted shorts to wear with all my new pretty tights. (I ended up buying a pair for 3€ in a second hand shop which isn't too bad.) The shopping experience makes me miserable (and feeling guilty if I end up buying stuff from a big international corporation), and I waste money for more stuff that I'll have to carry - the garment must be REALLY pretty and functional in order to make the purchase worth all that. I already made a longish list of things I'll leave at home when I stop by there in September before I'll head to Australia.
Also, walking through a city, whenever I think my feet are tired (every other hour or so), even though they are not really, I look for a coffee shop. There are days when I pay for coffee three times, even though I could make myself a cup for so much cheaper at the hostel. Thinking about it, this is probably part of the reason why I sleep so poorly in Iceland...
And this ties in smoothly with the second reason why I want to flee the city which is what I am actually doing right now, sitting on a bus to the Snæfellsnes peninsula. I don't sleep well in my hostel. It's a great hostel for young people I think. Very hip, a live music venue, a former cookie factory, stylish loft-like interior. But it is so loud. All the dorm windows open to the outdoor patio where people get drunk all night. Doors open and close very noisily. One of my dorm mates snores badly. And there's never an hour during the whole day where it is actually quiet. I have slept fine in other hostel dorms with up to 14 beds. And even at Herräng dance camp with 40 other people in a room no earplugs were necessary.
But the noise all day long in Reykjavik and ALL THOSE PEOPLE (other tourists) have been making me more and more sensitive, so that I eventually booked a private room in the little village Stykkishólmur from where I can explore the Snæfellsnes peninsula and maybe even climb the Snæfellsjökull glacier. And here's a fun fact since I take the educational mandate of my blog as seriously as all the fun and entertainment: "jökull" means glacier so "Snæfellsjökull glacier" is technically saying the same thing twice.
My host in Stykkishólmur on Snæfellsnes will be Heimur who owns an old farm house with great views and rents out the rooms on the second floor. He offered to pick me up from the bus stop. Also, on his Airbnb (a website where you can rent rooms) profile he states that his guests will be able to join him on the first floor and socialize as much as they like. He's a musician and might give you a private concert. In his garden live elves/pixies/fairies - forgot which one, also don't really know the difference, but I'm sure he'll explain. So I might finally meet a real local today, the first one so far, not counting the bus drivers.
And yes, I'm turning 31 next week and I'm finding myself fleeing the city, the noise and consumerism.
My trust in bus drivers
There are trustworthy groups of people, or professions, in all cultures, depending on their history, but also on personal experience. For some, these are police officers or firemen, or teachers, or monks, or elderly ladies. Fathers of little children seem trustworthy.
I trust bus drivers. I am not sure why that is considering that one of my first experiences with a bus driver wasn't a positive one. I was in elementary school when the driver of the school bus, Herr Müller, got so tired of me and my pal Henrik throwing pieces of paper at each other in his bus, that he grabbed Henrik by his left ear and dragged him by the ear to the front seat, and hit me, who was sitting in the front already, on my hands with a little stick to make us stop littering. It didn't really hurt - at least not me, and Henrik wouldn't admit it - but I was deeply embarrassed even though I tried to play it down by joking around.
But in hindsight I think I deserved it and I am sorry that I made Herrn Müller lose his cool. Maybe this anecdote made bus drivers even trustworthier in my eyes, who knows.
I do not trust taxi drivers as much, and not just because they are not always the most reasonable or friendly people. Once, a Berlin taxi driver, when I asked him to close the window because the draught messed with my hairdo, looked at my hair and said that a bunch of bobby pins didn't make a hairdo. Admittedly, that is my favorite offense by a taxi driver. On the other hand, I also had an extremely fun taxi ride in London, where the driver, a Scot, sang to me. But usually when I enter a taxi I am always worried to be identified as a tourist and accordingly get ripped off. Though, when I think about it, that only ever happened once in my life.
But back to the bus drivers. I trust them not to rip me off, and to take me safely and as quickly as traffic allows from A to B. Yesterday however, this faith got shaken, when my bus stopped in the middle of nowhere in Iceland and people who wanted to go to Stykkishólmur had to get out. I wanted to go to Stykkishólmur, but this came as a surprise. There was no sign of houses or a regular bus stop. Also, the schedule did not indicate a change of buses. From the other direction came a smaller bus, however, that picked me and a fellow passenger, who looked as confused as I was, up, and we continued our ride to Stykkishólmur. Faith restored.
I trust bus drivers. I am not sure why that is considering that one of my first experiences with a bus driver wasn't a positive one. I was in elementary school when the driver of the school bus, Herr Müller, got so tired of me and my pal Henrik throwing pieces of paper at each other in his bus, that he grabbed Henrik by his left ear and dragged him by the ear to the front seat, and hit me, who was sitting in the front already, on my hands with a little stick to make us stop littering. It didn't really hurt - at least not me, and Henrik wouldn't admit it - but I was deeply embarrassed even though I tried to play it down by joking around.
But in hindsight I think I deserved it and I am sorry that I made Herrn Müller lose his cool. Maybe this anecdote made bus drivers even trustworthier in my eyes, who knows.
I do not trust taxi drivers as much, and not just because they are not always the most reasonable or friendly people. Once, a Berlin taxi driver, when I asked him to close the window because the draught messed with my hairdo, looked at my hair and said that a bunch of bobby pins didn't make a hairdo. Admittedly, that is my favorite offense by a taxi driver. On the other hand, I also had an extremely fun taxi ride in London, where the driver, a Scot, sang to me. But usually when I enter a taxi I am always worried to be identified as a tourist and accordingly get ripped off. Though, when I think about it, that only ever happened once in my life.
But back to the bus drivers. I trust them not to rip me off, and to take me safely and as quickly as traffic allows from A to B. Yesterday however, this faith got shaken, when my bus stopped in the middle of nowhere in Iceland and people who wanted to go to Stykkishólmur had to get out. I wanted to go to Stykkishólmur, but this came as a surprise. There was no sign of houses or a regular bus stop. Also, the schedule did not indicate a change of buses. From the other direction came a smaller bus, however, that picked me and a fellow passenger, who looked as confused as I was, up, and we continued our ride to Stykkishólmur. Faith restored.
2 August 2012
Goodbye Göteborg, ...
...city of Bruce and Beachboys fevers, choklatbols, blonde and tanned healthy-looking Swedes, awesome secondhand shops, great lindy hop scene, home to the shoe store that sold me THE PRETTIEST Italian shoes fit for dancing and dolling up for 50% off!
Hello, Reykjavik, what do YOU have to offer? Fairies? Geysers? Volcanos? Free wifi on the airport bus? Funny money? A penis museum?
Hello, Reykjavik, what do YOU have to offer? Fairies? Geysers? Volcanos? Free wifi on the airport bus? Funny money? A penis museum?
28 July 2012
Göteborg and the Bruce
I am writing this as I'm giving the three blonde, tanned, Swedish boys (friendly hunks really) who invaded my 4 bed mixed dorm some privacy since they seemed in the process of changing when I last entered the room.
I will always connect Göteborg to Bruce Springsteen even though he is from New Jersey. It began when I first looked into accommodations in Göteborg back in April and couldn't find any for July 27th and 28th. What was going on I asked the people I was drinking with back in our Princeton apartment. It turned out that nothing really is going on in Göteborg, but that Bruce Springsteen would give concerts there both days. I dismissed the idea of a fellow New Jerseyan being the cause of my housing crisis, let me convince that people just liked the city for its nightlife at the weekends, and booked a room in a town a few hours north instead. But when I finally arrived in Göteborg, the Bruce greeted me from posters that not only announced the big event but also advertised for Bruce-parties all over the city.
In the hostel in Göteborg I stayed in a week before the concert a staff member confirmed the Bruce-mania and said that he was rather big in Sweden. Oh well. Having lived close to NYC I indulge myself sometimes in looking down on people who haven't had any taste of big city life. Hostel boy did not appreciate that, but he gave me a room for the concert dates that surprisingly became available anyway, so I didn't have to leave the city for two days. I ended up staying in a 4 bed mixed dorm, where I was woken up by my roommates' alarm this morning playing a Springsteen tune. During a thunderstorm today when I was stranded under a roof for shelter together with two Swedish men, they asked me if I, too, was going to the Springsteen concert. And at dinner I sat next to a German family dressed in garments with Springsteen's name on it.
I wonder if the three Swedish boys are going to the concert as well or stay for my entertainment. I'll report.
I will always connect Göteborg to Bruce Springsteen even though he is from New Jersey. It began when I first looked into accommodations in Göteborg back in April and couldn't find any for July 27th and 28th. What was going on I asked the people I was drinking with back in our Princeton apartment. It turned out that nothing really is going on in Göteborg, but that Bruce Springsteen would give concerts there both days. I dismissed the idea of a fellow New Jerseyan being the cause of my housing crisis, let me convince that people just liked the city for its nightlife at the weekends, and booked a room in a town a few hours north instead. But when I finally arrived in Göteborg, the Bruce greeted me from posters that not only announced the big event but also advertised for Bruce-parties all over the city.
In the hostel in Göteborg I stayed in a week before the concert a staff member confirmed the Bruce-mania and said that he was rather big in Sweden. Oh well. Having lived close to NYC I indulge myself sometimes in looking down on people who haven't had any taste of big city life. Hostel boy did not appreciate that, but he gave me a room for the concert dates that surprisingly became available anyway, so I didn't have to leave the city for two days. I ended up staying in a 4 bed mixed dorm, where I was woken up by my roommates' alarm this morning playing a Springsteen tune. During a thunderstorm today when I was stranded under a roof for shelter together with two Swedish men, they asked me if I, too, was going to the Springsteen concert. And at dinner I sat next to a German family dressed in garments with Springsteen's name on it.
I wonder if the three Swedish boys are going to the concert as well or stay for my entertainment. I'll report.
21 July 2012
Herräng 7
Goodbyes. I left Herräng half glad and half sad, and also half dead I must say. Half glad because I'm looking forward to plenty of sleep, a bit of privacy, clean bathrooms and hot showers. Half sad to stop dancing for a while, to leave the happy Herräng world and my new friends. Alanna got up really early to say goodbye which made me glad and sad at the same time. Leaving behind some really cool people always sucks. But I'm sure I'll see her, and Raul, and Bella, and hopefully a few others again. After all, the swing dancing world is a small one.
On my travels, I have been growing as a person. Today, I experienced something unbeknownst to me: I missed a bus. I missed the bus from Herräng to Hallstavik even though I was at the bus stop 20 minutes early. Herräng is a tiny village consisting of a main street and a few side streets. At the end of Herräng is the Baltic Sea. The bus from Hallstavik enters Herräng at one side of the village, stops a few times, turns around, stops a few times on the other side of the main street, and drives back to Hallstavik. This happens every two hours or so. At least, that's what I thought. I was waiting on the side of the street where the bus would stop after turning around, right before leaving the village. I saw it coming, stopping on the opposite side of the street where a woman boarded it. I decided to wait for the bus to turn around and come back instead of crossing the street. In fact, I was feeling a bit smug about that woman who had needlessly rushed to the bus and who would now get a tour of Herräng instead of taking her time and cross the street to wait with me. Well, my smugness disappeared when the bus never came back and I realized that it did not always turn around but sometimes took a different route back to Hallstavik. This was confirmed later by a friendly local who told me exactly that, about half an hour later. It was then that I felt half dead, tired, cold, sick and a bit embarrassed.
Instead of waiting for the next bus two hours later, I got a ride to Hallstavik by an elderly Swedish couple (have I really never hitch-hiked before?), and thus, I missed my train to Gothenburg (Göteborg) only by a few minutes. Missing my train was a bit unfortunate since I had a really cheap ticket which I had bought from a fellow dancer whom I gave my ticket to Stockholm in exchange - she had had to change her travel plans. Her Gothenburg ticket was connected to my missed train, so I had to get a new one which cost twice as much. But it turned out that I couldn't have used her ticket anyway since it had her name on it. This way, I avoided an unpleasant situation in the train.
Anyway, I'll be in Gothenburg tonight, sleep, wash my clothes, and get better for the next three days before I meet up with Sally and Leo, take the boat to their island and have an awesome Swedish time!
On my travels, I have been growing as a person. Today, I experienced something unbeknownst to me: I missed a bus. I missed the bus from Herräng to Hallstavik even though I was at the bus stop 20 minutes early. Herräng is a tiny village consisting of a main street and a few side streets. At the end of Herräng is the Baltic Sea. The bus from Hallstavik enters Herräng at one side of the village, stops a few times, turns around, stops a few times on the other side of the main street, and drives back to Hallstavik. This happens every two hours or so. At least, that's what I thought. I was waiting on the side of the street where the bus would stop after turning around, right before leaving the village. I saw it coming, stopping on the opposite side of the street where a woman boarded it. I decided to wait for the bus to turn around and come back instead of crossing the street. In fact, I was feeling a bit smug about that woman who had needlessly rushed to the bus and who would now get a tour of Herräng instead of taking her time and cross the street to wait with me. Well, my smugness disappeared when the bus never came back and I realized that it did not always turn around but sometimes took a different route back to Hallstavik. This was confirmed later by a friendly local who told me exactly that, about half an hour later. It was then that I felt half dead, tired, cold, sick and a bit embarrassed.
Instead of waiting for the next bus two hours later, I got a ride to Hallstavik by an elderly Swedish couple (have I really never hitch-hiked before?), and thus, I missed my train to Gothenburg (Göteborg) only by a few minutes. Missing my train was a bit unfortunate since I had a really cheap ticket which I had bought from a fellow dancer whom I gave my ticket to Stockholm in exchange - she had had to change her travel plans. Her Gothenburg ticket was connected to my missed train, so I had to get a new one which cost twice as much. But it turned out that I couldn't have used her ticket anyway since it had her name on it. This way, I avoided an unpleasant situation in the train.
Anyway, I'll be in Gothenburg tonight, sleep, wash my clothes, and get better for the next three days before I meet up with Sally and Leo, take the boat to their island and have an awesome Swedish time!
Herräng 6
Pirates and Parrots - or - How Many Dances Is One Too Many?
On Friday, it was Pirates and Parrots night. I was not only sleep-deprived from previous nights, but also had finally caught the camp flu. Therefore, I decided to take a nap after dinner, and I really surprised myself by actually getting up again at 10 pm to dress up and go dancing.
The venue was decorated with palm trees, all imaginable kinds of pirate accessories, a jungle, a screen with a film of a muggy sea and a sailing ship in the background, and many more little details. People were dressed up as pirates, parrots, pirate ships, a flamingo, a beer keg, etc. I don't remember seeing anyone of the hundreds of people dressed in regular attire.
But what really stood out was the bar. During the days a regular bar, it had been transformed by volunteers to a seamen's watering hole with huge hand-drawn maps on the walls, shanty music in the background, old candelabra and rum bottles on the tables, and at some point the whole place singing along to a song which, naturally, had the chorus: Yo-ho-ho, and a bottle of rum, accompanied by a fiddle. It was in the bar where I had a strange encounter. A guy I had been dancing with a couple of times that night and, as I later came to realize, for probably six dances in a row, came over to apologize for being rude, since he had left me on the dance floor a bit abruptly after our last dance. I have to add that it is unusual to dance for more than one (in the US) or two (Sweden, Germany) dances in a row with a stranger. But this guy and I had been chatting a bit earlier about dancing and were on similar terms about enjoying a dance as opposed to showing off one's cool moves. He also did Balboa and helped me a bit practicing which lead to the first couple of songs in a row. We then did some Lindy Hop which was fun, too, and there weren't many dancers that I clicked with on the dance floor. All good reasons for me to hold on to him as a leader, especially since there weren't enough for all the followers. But when he left I didn't think much about it and had a few dances with other leads.
So when he apologized later in the bar I told him not to worry, but then he seemed to want to say something more. Eventually, he did and left me speechless when he said that he had family and didn't want to raise any expectations. Apparently, he mistook my interest in him as a dance partner for an interest of a different kind. All I could say then was Ok..?
On the one hand I find it very decent of him to be upfront about existing relationships and intentions or rather the absence of any intentions. But I was embarrassed and I do wonder what I did that made him think I was interested in him in any other way than dancing. I asked around, and my non-representative poll resulted in a number of dances with a stranger that you should not exceed in order to avoid misunderstandings: It's 3.
On Friday, it was Pirates and Parrots night. I was not only sleep-deprived from previous nights, but also had finally caught the camp flu. Therefore, I decided to take a nap after dinner, and I really surprised myself by actually getting up again at 10 pm to dress up and go dancing.
The venue was decorated with palm trees, all imaginable kinds of pirate accessories, a jungle, a screen with a film of a muggy sea and a sailing ship in the background, and many more little details. People were dressed up as pirates, parrots, pirate ships, a flamingo, a beer keg, etc. I don't remember seeing anyone of the hundreds of people dressed in regular attire.
But what really stood out was the bar. During the days a regular bar, it had been transformed by volunteers to a seamen's watering hole with huge hand-drawn maps on the walls, shanty music in the background, old candelabra and rum bottles on the tables, and at some point the whole place singing along to a song which, naturally, had the chorus: Yo-ho-ho, and a bottle of rum, accompanied by a fiddle. It was in the bar where I had a strange encounter. A guy I had been dancing with a couple of times that night and, as I later came to realize, for probably six dances in a row, came over to apologize for being rude, since he had left me on the dance floor a bit abruptly after our last dance. I have to add that it is unusual to dance for more than one (in the US) or two (Sweden, Germany) dances in a row with a stranger. But this guy and I had been chatting a bit earlier about dancing and were on similar terms about enjoying a dance as opposed to showing off one's cool moves. He also did Balboa and helped me a bit practicing which lead to the first couple of songs in a row. We then did some Lindy Hop which was fun, too, and there weren't many dancers that I clicked with on the dance floor. All good reasons for me to hold on to him as a leader, especially since there weren't enough for all the followers. But when he left I didn't think much about it and had a few dances with other leads.
So when he apologized later in the bar I told him not to worry, but then he seemed to want to say something more. Eventually, he did and left me speechless when he said that he had family and didn't want to raise any expectations. Apparently, he mistook my interest in him as a dance partner for an interest of a different kind. All I could say then was Ok..?
On the one hand I find it very decent of him to be upfront about existing relationships and intentions or rather the absence of any intentions. But I was embarrassed and I do wonder what I did that made him think I was interested in him in any other way than dancing. I asked around, and my non-representative poll resulted in a number of dances with a stranger that you should not exceed in order to avoid misunderstandings: It's 3.
Herräng 5
Speed-dating. Has anyone ever done it? I know Kat has, and from what I've heard it is a serious matter where you are face to face with a guy and you try to make a good first impression in 3 minutes, before you are put in front of the next person. In the end you choose the people you liked and want to see again, and if it turns out that two people chose each other they'll get each other's contact information.
Herräng speed-dating was different. I first had moral reservations against participating, since I'm already taken, but then the set-up looked like a whole lot of fun and my friend Alanna wouldn't go if I didn't. So I went.
We sat in a big tent which was usually used for dance classes. The floor was decorated with roses and pillows. People wanting to meet ladies (mostly guys) were sitting in an outer circle, while people wanting to meet guys (mostly ladies) sat across from them in an inner circle. We were given tasks to fulfill before we would rotate and end up in front of a new partner. The first task was for the inner circle to rotate for two seats so that everyone would sit across a different person. Then, the guys had to give the ladies a nice back rub, and after a minute, the roles were reversed. The next task with a new guy was to discuss solutions for the European financial crisis. Next task was to look into each other's eyes for a whole minute without talking. I've never experienced such a long minute and this much awkwardness.
We had to talk about our regrets in life, what turns us on and puts us off, most important aspects of a relationship, ask each other all the questions we wanted to ask (without getting answers), invent a secret handshake, give each other a hand massage and at the same time ask the partner the question: What's your problem?
It was a lot of fun, and successful matches would get a dance card with an agreed time and location for their dance.
Unfortunately, the organizers messed up the results so that at one point five guys were waiting at their meeting points for their dates who never showed up. Also, neither did I get any dates nor any words of consolation for that from my boyfriend :)
Herräng speed-dating was different. I first had moral reservations against participating, since I'm already taken, but then the set-up looked like a whole lot of fun and my friend Alanna wouldn't go if I didn't. So I went.
We sat in a big tent which was usually used for dance classes. The floor was decorated with roses and pillows. People wanting to meet ladies (mostly guys) were sitting in an outer circle, while people wanting to meet guys (mostly ladies) sat across from them in an inner circle. We were given tasks to fulfill before we would rotate and end up in front of a new partner. The first task was for the inner circle to rotate for two seats so that everyone would sit across a different person. Then, the guys had to give the ladies a nice back rub, and after a minute, the roles were reversed. The next task with a new guy was to discuss solutions for the European financial crisis. Next task was to look into each other's eyes for a whole minute without talking. I've never experienced such a long minute and this much awkwardness.
We had to talk about our regrets in life, what turns us on and puts us off, most important aspects of a relationship, ask each other all the questions we wanted to ask (without getting answers), invent a secret handshake, give each other a hand massage and at the same time ask the partner the question: What's your problem?
It was a lot of fun, and successful matches would get a dance card with an agreed time and location for their dance.
Unfortunately, the organizers messed up the results so that at one point five guys were waiting at their meeting points for their dates who never showed up. Also, neither did I get any dates nor any words of consolation for that from my boyfriend :)
15 July 2012
Herräng 4
I'm sitting in a big tent which has been provided for doing hair and make-up. It's raining hard, and this is a good place with a chair, wifi reception, and a power outlet. Next to the tent is the sauna building which also has showers and a toilet.
Suddenly, just now, the door to the sauna opened, I saw a hand and a shoe and the hand grabbing something in the shoe and, with a shriek, throwing out a frog. That poor guy sat on the doormat for a while, paralyzed, or waiting to get back in, but figured soon enough that he wasn't welcome when that woman, exiting the building and seeing the little man there shrieked again. Apparently, she's not on friendly terms with the fauna here, having found a dead ant in her ear the other day.
Suddenly, just now, the door to the sauna opened, I saw a hand and a shoe and the hand grabbing something in the shoe and, with a shriek, throwing out a frog. That poor guy sat on the doormat for a while, paralyzed, or waiting to get back in, but figured soon enough that he wasn't welcome when that woman, exiting the building and seeing the little man there shrieked again. Apparently, she's not on friendly terms with the fauna here, having found a dead ant in her ear the other day.
14 July 2012
Herräng 3
After one week Herräng Dance Camp I ran out of Moskito spray, finally found the self-catering kitchen, and sadly, had to say goodbye to some of my new friends who left today.
One of them sneaked in this morning while I was still sleeping and left me his food. A bit creepy but greatly appreciated.
The last night of week one was legendary, and no pictures or videos could capture the atmosphere of the combined music, vintage hairstyles, clothes and decoration, together with the late hours. After a coffee and a beer around 3 am I found my second wind and had a few really fast Charleston dances before I retreated to the bar. There, a few musicians came together for a jam session, surrounded by a few dancing couples and just everyone swaying. Imagine clothes in Savoy Ballroom style (the theme of the night) and you feel like being part of a black and white movie from the 40ies.
I went to bed at 5 am, haven't stayed up that late in a very long time.
Pictures of the general accommodations, where I'm staying, and the surprise I found under my bed this morning.
One of them sneaked in this morning while I was still sleeping and left me his food. A bit creepy but greatly appreciated.
The last night of week one was legendary, and no pictures or videos could capture the atmosphere of the combined music, vintage hairstyles, clothes and decoration, together with the late hours. After a coffee and a beer around 3 am I found my second wind and had a few really fast Charleston dances before I retreated to the bar. There, a few musicians came together for a jam session, surrounded by a few dancing couples and just everyone swaying. Imagine clothes in Savoy Ballroom style (the theme of the night) and you feel like being part of a black and white movie from the 40ies.
I went to bed at 5 am, haven't stayed up that late in a very long time.
Pictures of the general accommodations, where I'm staying, and the surprise I found under my bed this morning.
13 July 2012
Herräng 2
On day three the sleeping accommodations look like a refugee camp but with mostly happy (and tired) people around. My moral issues with killing mosquitos (bad karma!) have eventually disappeared as the area of skin which is not yet covered with bites decreased. My planned daily exercise routine in order to prevent camp flu got replaced by vitamin C supplements.
I am terribly grateful for the advice from a fellow traveller to bring a clothes line on travels. Having 3-4 dance classes plus social dancing every day means a lot of sweating and thus washing clothes a lot. My quick-drying clothes are so worth their money when it is muggy and rainy all day.
Besides dancing, so far I have taken a lesson in miming, watched a movie from the 40s with the Glenn Miller orchestra, had fun dinner and breakfast company with people from >10 different countries, and learned a lot about the history of swing dance.
There will be more to report, I'm sure.
I am terribly grateful for the advice from a fellow traveller to bring a clothes line on travels. Having 3-4 dance classes plus social dancing every day means a lot of sweating and thus washing clothes a lot. My quick-drying clothes are so worth their money when it is muggy and rainy all day.
Besides dancing, so far I have taken a lesson in miming, watched a movie from the 40s with the Glenn Miller orchestra, had fun dinner and breakfast company with people from >10 different countries, and learned a lot about the history of swing dance.
There will be more to report, I'm sure.
8 July 2012
Herräng
What's Herräng, you might wonder. It has nothing to do with herring as far as I know. It is the name of the place where the biggest and with 30 years probably oldest swing dance camp of the world happens every summer for 5 weeks long. Every swing dancer of the world knows about it. I happen to be here this year, taking one week of "Authentic Jazz" (with 18 lessons in 6 days), and one week of Balboa.
I took a bunch of buses today to get here from Stockholm, a bit worried, because smart as I am I had searched and found the only negative camp review there is in the world wide web, with a lively description of accommodation, food and organization.
Having read this and keeping the advice of other Herräng-goers in mind my main concern was to find a good bed where I can breathe. General accommodations means classrooms and the gym of the local school packed with bunk-beds. I was lucky, I got a bed close by the window in a room that only holds maybe some 40 beds; and I already put up a germ shield that hopefully prevents me and my neighbor to the side from exchanging any diseases and maybe rolling over. Apparently, a diverse mix of viruses likes to spread at Herräng, the camp situation being the opposite of quarantine and more like a chicken pox party.
Quite happy with my choice I could relax a bit and took a stroll through the tiny village of Herräng with very friendly new acquaintances. We found the little grocery store, the marina and the beach. As it is the Baltic Sea and the water didn't hurt my feet I decided to go swimming tomorrow morning. To make it easier to get in I am planning to run the one kilometer there.
I purchased a meal plan which will provide me with breakfast and dinner everyday, so I don't have to take care of that. Dinner today was good already and I especially appreciated the choice of salads.
The only other thing I did today apart from registering, bed-hunting and socializing was attending the town meeting. Town meeting is every night, when the whole camp comes together for announcements, performances and just general entertainment and awesomeness.
It's my first day here and I already picture my future self as one of those people whose eyes go all dreamy when asked about Herräng. And no, I haven't even danced yet.
I took a bunch of buses today to get here from Stockholm, a bit worried, because smart as I am I had searched and found the only negative camp review there is in the world wide web, with a lively description of accommodation, food and organization.
Having read this and keeping the advice of other Herräng-goers in mind my main concern was to find a good bed where I can breathe. General accommodations means classrooms and the gym of the local school packed with bunk-beds. I was lucky, I got a bed close by the window in a room that only holds maybe some 40 beds; and I already put up a germ shield that hopefully prevents me and my neighbor to the side from exchanging any diseases and maybe rolling over. Apparently, a diverse mix of viruses likes to spread at Herräng, the camp situation being the opposite of quarantine and more like a chicken pox party.
Quite happy with my choice I could relax a bit and took a stroll through the tiny village of Herräng with very friendly new acquaintances. We found the little grocery store, the marina and the beach. As it is the Baltic Sea and the water didn't hurt my feet I decided to go swimming tomorrow morning. To make it easier to get in I am planning to run the one kilometer there.
I purchased a meal plan which will provide me with breakfast and dinner everyday, so I don't have to take care of that. Dinner today was good already and I especially appreciated the choice of salads.
The only other thing I did today apart from registering, bed-hunting and socializing was attending the town meeting. Town meeting is every night, when the whole camp comes together for announcements, performances and just general entertainment and awesomeness.
It's my first day here and I already picture my future self as one of those people whose eyes go all dreamy when asked about Herräng. And no, I haven't even danced yet.
5 July 2012
3 July 2012
Stockholm 1 (hopefully to be continued)
My hostel is located in the old town of Stockholm, a beautiful neighborhood, filled with tourists and pickpockets. Next to the hostel stands an old chestnut tree in the center of a little square. In the evenings, the square miraculously fills up with chairs and people, and a bunch of professional storytellers gives a performance.
Having discovered this event on the hostel blackboard, I decided to join the crowd together with a glass of red wine that a friendly former hostel guest has left behind.
I don't understand a word of the story since it's in Swedish, but the atmosphere is great.
Having discovered this event on the hostel blackboard, I decided to join the crowd together with a glass of red wine that a friendly former hostel guest has left behind.
I don't understand a word of the story since it's in Swedish, but the atmosphere is great.
30 June 2012
Routines
Whenever I am on vacation or even travelling I am losing it. My routine I mean.
Back in the old days in Princeton I would get up early, do some kind of exercise like running, swimming or aerobics (ok, not every day obviously), and have the whole day before me. After work, I would go to the green grocer or supermarket to get some veggies and cook dinner. Naturally, I would be tired by 9 or 10 pm and go to bed early. I do not really enjoy getting up early, but I do very much enjoy being up early. The early hours when the streets are not busy yet but the first people are getting up in search for a coffee and a newspaper are the best hours of the day in my opinion.
Planning my travels, I thought once I am in the right mindset of travelling without the distraction of work and deadlines, I would automatically fall into a new, optimized routine, a better version of myself so to speak, which would involve getting up early for the daily run, do some meditation and yoga before breakfast, and write a new blog before bed. I would eat and live frugally, therefore losing a few extra kilograms without even thinking about it, and have some great experiences and encounters during the days. I would stroll through parks, look at pretty buildings and discover hidden alleys with cute boutiques of local designers and hat shops. My skin would clear up due to my new healthy lifestyle. I would make friends with the locals in a pub who would know me by name ("That German girl").
But of course, no matter where I go I am still my lazy self (isn't there a saying about this?) who is struggling to get up early if there is no real need to do so. Who has been running only once in 2 months and has not meditated at all or done any yoga. Who has neither walked a lot nor eaten healthily. Who has had more cake and chocolate during the last month than in the whole year before that. Who is still the worst procrastinator and has not finished her final fellowship report which is due ... today.
Travelling is not as I expected it to be. It reminds me more of the summer break during high school. It's just hanging out and losing the routines that I had worked so hard for to include them in my days to make the most of life. Remember summer breaks? For me, it meant going swimming, reading comics, and after a few weeks, getting a bit bored. I realize that my expectations were ridiculous, but then, it is hard to have realistic expectations of something that I have never done before such as being unemployed and homeless - or travelling. And don't get me wrong, I am having a great time. I just need to stop lazing around, because travelling is not summer break, and it is not about stopping doing stuff. It is about doing only stuff I enjoy doing - even if that means a bit of inconvenience such as getting up early.
Back in the old days in Princeton I would get up early, do some kind of exercise like running, swimming or aerobics (ok, not every day obviously), and have the whole day before me. After work, I would go to the green grocer or supermarket to get some veggies and cook dinner. Naturally, I would be tired by 9 or 10 pm and go to bed early. I do not really enjoy getting up early, but I do very much enjoy being up early. The early hours when the streets are not busy yet but the first people are getting up in search for a coffee and a newspaper are the best hours of the day in my opinion.
Planning my travels, I thought once I am in the right mindset of travelling without the distraction of work and deadlines, I would automatically fall into a new, optimized routine, a better version of myself so to speak, which would involve getting up early for the daily run, do some meditation and yoga before breakfast, and write a new blog before bed. I would eat and live frugally, therefore losing a few extra kilograms without even thinking about it, and have some great experiences and encounters during the days. I would stroll through parks, look at pretty buildings and discover hidden alleys with cute boutiques of local designers and hat shops. My skin would clear up due to my new healthy lifestyle. I would make friends with the locals in a pub who would know me by name ("That German girl").
But of course, no matter where I go I am still my lazy self (isn't there a saying about this?) who is struggling to get up early if there is no real need to do so. Who has been running only once in 2 months and has not meditated at all or done any yoga. Who has neither walked a lot nor eaten healthily. Who has had more cake and chocolate during the last month than in the whole year before that. Who is still the worst procrastinator and has not finished her final fellowship report which is due ... today.
Travelling is not as I expected it to be. It reminds me more of the summer break during high school. It's just hanging out and losing the routines that I had worked so hard for to include them in my days to make the most of life. Remember summer breaks? For me, it meant going swimming, reading comics, and after a few weeks, getting a bit bored. I realize that my expectations were ridiculous, but then, it is hard to have realistic expectations of something that I have never done before such as being unemployed and homeless - or travelling. And don't get me wrong, I am having a great time. I just need to stop lazing around, because travelling is not summer break, and it is not about stopping doing stuff. It is about doing only stuff I enjoy doing - even if that means a bit of inconvenience such as getting up early.
28 June 2012
Glasgow
To me, travelling is more about making experiences and meeting locals than checking off a list of sights. Having spent three weeks in Glasgow now I don't think I've seen a lot, but I've sure had a good time.
Next week, I'm going to leave Scotland for Sweden.
- We went to a theatre play in Oran Mor, a converted church, which is now a pub and an event venue. First time I went there was last year after walking the West Highland Way with Kat and Ella, when a friendly Scot we had met on the trail showed us around Glasgow. Turns out he had ulterior motives and eventually succeeded in making me his lady... Anyway, we went to A Play, A Pie And A Pint, where we saw Ubu Roi - freaky but entertaining, had a pint of beer and a pie, pastry filled with meat. A good concept I think.
- We also went to another play, Whatever Gets You Through The Night, in The Arches, a venue below Glasgow Central Station, so that we heard the rattling of the trains during the play. Very atmospheric. The performance was great. One of the best things I've ever seen on stage. Very musical, great setting, awesome acting and dancing, moving stories. As a bonus, we got the script as a book and the soundtrack for download.
- I've played cards with Paul and roomie Pete A LOT. And watched a lot of soccerfootball. One night, we watched a Germany game in a pub with a few guys, which is the only way I don't mind watching football: In a pub, with a reasonable beer supply, and fun people to get drunk with. Well, we did, went to our place, and played cards until 4.30 am. One of my best nights here.
- Last weekend, I went out to Glasgow's Mela festival with Paul and a bunch of his lady-friends. The Mela was a multi-culti outdoor event with food stands, a few dance and musical performances and a beer garden. We ere quite lucky with the weather, considering that it has been shitty lately. Paul had to leave early and I, having a good time, decided to stay with the lovely ladies who got increasingly drunk, were very sweet and took good care of me, but refused to reveal any embarrassing anecdotes about Paul.
Next week, I'm going to leave Scotland for Sweden.
22 June 2012
Highland Swing
Last weekend, I went up to Loch Lomond to spend a few days dancing with men in skirts. Apart from dancing there was whisky, haggis, kilts and Highland games to satisfy every single stereotypical expectation. Good times!
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| This one passed out on the dancefloor. |
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| The guy on the right is wearing a picnic blanket. |
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| Highland games: Limbo Swing-out |
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| Limbo Swing-Out |
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| Limbo Swing-out |
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| Youth Hostel Loch Lomond |
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| Youth Hostel Loch Lomond |
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| Youth Hostel Loch Lomond |
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| View towards Loch Lomond |
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| Highland games: Tug of war - My team destroyed the other teams. |
21 June 2012
South Queensferry and Edinburgh pics
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| South Queensferry is the place where my man grew up. Forth Road Bridge on the left, Forth Rail Bridge on the right. |
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| South Queensferry |
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| Edinburgh Castle |
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