Brief initial thoughts on Iceland

Thirty minutes into a seven hour tour of Iceland that will culminate in me falling into a mud pot and burning +/-90% of the skin off my right ankle, our driver Eythor looks in the rearview mirror at Brandon and me and says, "You think we all eat sheep testicles, don't you?" We didn't before, obviously now we do, and as we're thinking it Eythor launches into a pretty detailed explanation of who does in fact eat sheep testicles in Iceland (old people) vs. who doesn't eat sheep testicles in Iceland (young people, Eythor in particular) and also how sheep testicles are prepared for eating and how much his grandmother likes them and how -- seriously -- he doesn't.

Here I write in my notebook, "Eythor does not eat sheep testicles" and I underline it a few times to make certain.

This is Day 2 in Iceland. Day One was spent mostly bashing our head against the monolith that is the local Reykjavik tourism cabals and then drinking fourteen dollar Guinnesses and generally feeling sorry for ourselves; we're excited to get out of Reykjavik to see just about anything else as long as it isn't Reykjavik or a Reykjavik Tour Bus Company or a white Reykjavik Sprinter van looking to scoop up reasonably happy people like Brandon and me and drop them off at the nearest Reykjavik Tour Bus ASAP. We're here because we sort of have to be, because awhile back we got it in our heads that we'd like to go to Greenland, and because getting to Greenland can be at least a little complicated we have approximately 48 hours to get a feel for Iceland(1) before boarding a plane held together essentially with bubble gum/raw optimism(2) and flying to Nuuk(3). We've been planning this trip for six months now(4), we've yet to come up with a particularly compelling response to the obvious question -- "Why would anyone want to go to Greenland?"(5) -- and in fact when Eythor realizes we're headed there he says, "They are all alcoholics in Greenland. And horrrny!" and he rolls the "r" a few times in such a way as to make Greenland Horniness sound really, really horny in comparison to generally acceptable standards of national horniness.

Brandon says, "That's not really why we're going there?"

And Eythor says, "Why are you going there?"

And I say something like, "Well, it's an unusual place to go? And not that many people we know have been there? And, you know, I'm just really interested in wide open spaces?" But the truth is we're not sure why we're going and the larger truth is we're probably not as prepared to go as we ought to be: we have a tent and a stove and a vague sense that we can camp "anywhere" in Greenland; we have ferry tickets to an island (Mantiisoq) about which we know absolutely nothing; we have a lot of curiosity about the place and I've seen Frozen Planet about fourteen times and I like Alec Baldwin a lot. And we have big, stupid egos. The kind of ego that will cause me -- in about six hours or so -- to completely ignore a large sign that says, "Warning: Hot Spring!" and a second, much more specific sign on which a pictogram of a muddy boot with a red line through it accompanies a note that reads -- in English -- "Warning: Temperatures 80c - 100c" and step into a mud pot that will in turn burn off 90% of the skin on my right ankle and lead Eythor to remark, "(Expletive) tourists" and laugh a little and say, "Sometimes we have to call the Coast Guard for people like you."

And it's here, as I'm swearing/in significant pain/pushing a toothpick through the three inch blister expanding at a really surprising rate on my ankle, that I think, "At least I don't eat testicles", and then remind myself that this is exactly the kind of thinking that got me here in the first place.

Tomorrow: Two Grown Men Soak in a Lagoon, and One Man Falls in a "Murderous Mud Pot" & Then Swears A Lot.
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(1) By "the place" I mean, "The entire country"

(2) There's absolutely nothing wrong with the plane other than my sheer terror of it/all planes/flight/modern travel/electricity/etc.

(3) Which, as you know, is the capitol of Greenland (pop: 15000).

(4) By "planning" I mean, "Sort of talking about it periodically and then buying plane tickets a few weeks ago and downloading a Lonely Planet guidebook online in the airport"(a)
(a) Which is only sort of true. The Lonely Planet "Greenland" edition is out of print and costs -- really -- $75/copy. Brandon bought it three weeks ago and has since read several pages.

(5) The current response is something like, "I guess, you know, I'm just really interested in wide open spaces? You know?" which sounds exactly as stupid in person as it reads on the computer screen in front of you.