Home Again, Home Again...

And so it ends, this epic three and a half month journey.  Having arrived safely back in Seattle late on a Tuesday night (after a pit-stop for a quick lunch and margaritas with my friend in NYC), I've now had a few days to reflect on everything that I've seen and done, and to get over some of the jet lag! I'm not going to bore you with all that reflection here, but suffice it to say it's been a weird "homecoming".

Typically, returning home from a trip like this is pretty much a giant bummer. Sure it's nice to see family and friends again, and I always looked forward to some serious dog snuggle time when my two were still around.  It's also undoubtedly one of the great joys of life to slip into your own familiar bed for the first time after months and months of questionable sleeping situations on the road.  Beyond that, though, all it meant was a return to drudgery. Back to the grind.  When I was in LA, the post-adventure blues were particularly profound, inducing an "I hate everything here" funk that could hang around for weeks.  Further proof that that city was all wrong for me.

This time around it's been... well... different.  For starters, I didn't have a "home" to come back to! Thankfully most of my old bed is still intact in my friend's spare room (minus the frame) so I did have the luxury of that first night back among my own pillows and blankets... and it was amazing.  I have also already gotten in some serious "auntie time" with my soon-to-be 1-year-old nephew, who is so big, bright eyed, and happy! Additionally, I'm in Washington state...a corner of the world that I fell in love with upon arrival two years ago and which I still have a good deal of affection for.  All of this (even the not having a home part) has gone a long way toward staving off the post-adventure blues.  It's almost enough to make a girl want to stick around for a while...ALMOST...

As much as I sometimes wish I was the type of person who was content to carve out a place for myself in the world and stay put (wouldn't everything just be easier that way?)... that's just not my nature. I'm always plotting, always planning, always thinking of the places I've never been and wishing I was there. I'm a restless spirit and I can't see ever being content to stay in one place until I've spent some time really indulging my wanderlust.  This trip wasn't ever intended to be a one-off like all of the others. It was a beginning; an introduction into a new way of life, and knowing that has made all the difference.  I'm not returning home to the drudgery of a nine-to-five existence. I'm passing through on the way to another adventure. I have no home of my own here anymore. I have no job, no routine. I'm in familiar surroundings, but I'm looking at them through different eyes... the eyes of a traveler...

And so, to that end, I've begun plotting the next phase of my journey off-script. A cross-country drive is something that's been on my bucket list for quite a while now. I've got a wedding to be at in Boston in a few weeks, lots of friends and family scattered all over the states and a couple months before I head off to the Far East.  I don't know how long it'll be before I come back stateside again, so what better time than now to really explore this big crazy country of mine and get in a few hellos and goodbyes along the way?  And so my Farewell (for now) Tour of America kicks off in just a couple short weeks: Seattle to Boston and back again. Game on!

Ireland in Pictures

You've done a lot of reading...time for a photo break! Sit back and enjoy the natural beauty that is Ireland:

Learning from the Past

From the far South to the far North, I made the journey from Cork to Belfast.  From the moment I got off the train and walked into the city centre, I was hit with a wave of familiarity.  One of the first thoughts I had was "man, this place reminds me of Boston".  The old red and brown brick buildings, the maze of confusing streets, and just the general energy of the place all felt strangely like home.  I was sold immediately, and the next two days of wandering around and exploring didn't disappoint: the Titanic museum, City Hall, St. George's Market, the Botanic Gardens, Crumlin Road Gaol...I haven't enjoyed being a tourist this much in a long while. 

City Hall

Albert Clock

 

 

The Titanic Museum

The Old Courthouse

I also had to do laundry, as I was down to my last "clean" pair of clothes (well, at least they WERE clean three days earlier when I first put them on). As I was sat in the laundromat waiting for my clothes to dry, I found a brochure lying on the table for a walking tour of the city centre called "A History of Terror" that was focused on presenting an unbiased account of "the troubles".  My interest was instantly peaked.

One of the four jobs I worked while in Seattle was as a script reader for an international screenplay competition.  Each week they would send us scripts via email, and we were to read them and write up an analysis, telling the writer what we liked about the story and what we thought could do with improvement.  Most of the scripts I read were not good...REALLY not good... and I spent a majority of my time coming up with creative and un-hurtful ways of suggesting that maybe they find something else to do with their lives. Every now and then, though, there was a good one.  One of these was from an Irish writer, and told the story of an Ex-IRA member who had turned in his fellow IRA members in the aftermath of a bombing gone wrong.  He was then sent to live the rest of his life with his wife in England, under assumed identities, never to have contact with their family or friends back in Ireland again.  When his wife dies, years later, her final request to be buried at home in Ireland is enough to convince him to go back, despite the danger, and reconnect with ghosts of his past. It was a great story, and very well told, and it provoked in me a great interest in understanding what really went on during this time in Northern Ireland. In the States, we hear about the IRA being a bunch of bomb-happy terrorists and not a whole lot more than that.  I could tell from this story, though, that the reality was much more complex.

I wound up staying in the city an extra day so that I could take this walking tour and I'm so glad that I did. It was guided by a Belfast native who has also worked as a professor of history, and who currently works in conflict resolution with both republicans and loyalists, former prisoners and surviving family members, helping them come to terms with what happened and find a common ground.  It delivered exactly what it promised: an unbiased and fascinating history of the events that transpired in the city centre and beyond, filled with personal stories from our guide's own family and friends.  It was meant to last two hours, but stretched on to nearly three. No one minded. I could have followed him around all day listening to his stories. It really shed a new light not only on the script I read (which I intend to read again when I get back to my computer in the States), but on the city of Belfast in general.

This was the energy I was feeling... that life, that vitality, that heightened awareness
that buzzes electric around a city that's seen things. That same passion that once drove the place to ruin is still there, but focused now in a different direction. It hangs in the air and on the battle scarred walls as a testament to the ability to distill unbridled rage and injustice into knowledge, compassion, artistic expression. Lessons can be learned here, for those open to listen.

 

Kiss Me I'm Irish

Growing up in New England, a part of the country steeped in tradition and very proud of its history and, in Boston's case, its predominantly Irish and Italian heritage, I always felt a little bit bad that I never really knew anything about my own family ancestry.  As I've got a pretty ambiguous surname, the question would come up a lot, and I'd always meet it with a sheepish shrug of the shoulders and an "eh, I don't know.... American? Ha-ha..."  My naturally blonde hair, blue eyes, astoundingly pale complexion and propensity to burst into flame under direct sunlight assured me there must be a hefty dose of Northern European influence in the mix... English, Irish, German, Scandinavian (and maybe a bit of vampire as well)?  A long weekend spent in Amsterdam back in 2005 convinced me there was absolutely a bit of Dutch in the mix, as all of the locals looked incredibly like the members of my father's side of the family. Still, this was all conjecture.  I never had any direct information to go on. No names. No dates. No stories passed down through the generations.  It always seemed a bit of a shame.

When I was in Norway, I was constantly asked by the locals if I was there "looking for my family", as apparently this is a common thing for Americans to do there.  I wasn't looking for my family when I set out on this trip, but as it turns out, I found them anyway... well, at least a piece of the puzzle.  For starters, there's my cousin in Sweden who I never knew a thing about until a few months ago. She's American, so no ancestral ties to Sweden there, but still, who knew? Staying with her for a couple nights I heard a lot of stories about that branch of the family tree that I'd never heard before, and confirmed that I do, in fact, have Irish ancestry.  Weirdly enough, it does NOT come from the New England side of my family, but from the Southern side.  My cousin in Sweden pointed me toward other cousins who had more detailed information about our Irish ancestry, some of whom had even gone to the family reunions that are held every summer in the tiny southern village of Baltimore in West Cork, where the O'Driscoll clan hails from. I had been to Ireland once before this trip, and had gone down to Cork, so I hadn't planned on heading south again this time around, but the allure of finally exploring a place that I had definite family ties to was too great to pass up, and so after a couple nights in Dublin, it was off to Baltimore.

First order of business... visiting the family castle. Yup, we have a castle. Well, we did have a castle, anyway, until it was given away to the English by a less scrupulous member of the O'Driscoll clan.  At any rate, the O'Driscoll name is still very much tied to the castle, and to the village of Baltimore in general.  It was kind of neat walking around, seeing the name on everything from cafés to mechanics, to flower shops and knowing that it, in an admittedly very indirect way, was a part of MY family.  But wait... the story gets better....

Turns out the O'Driscolls were a bunch of bloody pirates! So much so that our family castle hosts an exhibition on the history of Irish piracy in which the O'Driscolls feature prominently, mostly for their continuous plundering of Waterford.  It's all starting to make sense now... and this photo that my friend took of me just a month earlier in Copenhagen suddenly feels weirdly prophetic:

So... the first bit of family I find outside of the US and Canada turn out to be pirates.  Irish pirates, no less. I didn't even know there was such a thing.  This may be one of my favorite discoveries to come out of this whole trip, and it makes me want to find out more about the rest of my family ancestry. I was told by a friend that I made in Norway (conveniently AFTER I'd left Norway) that my surname is actually the name of a very small village in Lofoten.  I had been within 10 miles of the place, and hadn't even known it!  Maybe there is a bit of Scandinavian ancestry in there after all?  For now, I'm happy to have gotten to know a bit about the Irish side of my family, and that I can now celebrate St. Patrick's Day with at least a little bit of legitimacy... and maybe an eye patch...Arrrrgh...
 

The Follies of Iceland

Ever since my first 24 hours spent in and around Reykjavik on my way to Helsinki back in late May, I've been looking forward to returning to Iceland to explore more of the strange and beautiful country. Unfortunately, due to illness, and a decided lack of preparation on my part, what transpired over the 10 days that I had in the country wound up feeling a lot more like a "practice run" than a proper exploration.

For starters, the mystery illness.... while I did manage to get my voice mostly back just a few hours before our arrival in Seydisfjordur, the sore throat persisted through the rest of my stay, flaring up on occasion to the point where I could barely stand to eat or drink anything. This made sleep difficult, especially when camping, and severely dulled my desire to go out and drink with the locals (my favorite travel pastime) even when there did actually happen to be a bar around. It also meant that I was scratching any and all forms of hiking or trekking off of my to-do list, for fear I should wind up exhausted, ill, cold, and alone in the absolute middle of nowhere. This was a particular shame, because there were many multi-day treks through the desolate highlands available that looked like great fun, had I the energy to tackle them.

Problem number two was transportation. When I sold the bike and realized I was NOT going to be cycling in Iceland, I figured I would most likely hitchhike my way around it back to Reykjavik.  Contrary to the fears instilled in us as Americans, hitchhiking is actually incredibly common in Iceland, and incredibly safe. It also seemed like a great way to meet new people along the way.  Unfortunately, it can also be a bit difficult, depending on where in the country you find yourself.  In the more popular tourist areas around Reykjavik and the Golden Circle, you've got an endless supply of cars going past you pretty much all the time.  In the east, where I was starting my trip, there are stretches of road where you might not see a car for an hour or more.  As I was still on shaky ground health-wise, I did NOT relish the idea of standing on the side of the road in the rain for possibly hours on end waiting for a ride, and so I decided to use the busses.

Busses in Iceland are mainly tourist traps.  In fact, the bulk of Iceland's economy is geared toward charging tourists exorbitant amounts of money for everything. Not that I blame them for this. On the contrary, I think its admirable how they've turned their economy around using their own natural resources (while also preserving and protecting them).  But as a tourist, it can get frustrating at times.  There's one national bus system in Iceland, with prices that are actually pretty reasonable. Trouble is, it's hardly what I would call "extensive". It was definitely NOT going to get me from Seydisfjordur to Reykjavik.  To fill in the (large) gaps left by this system, I had to use the "tourist" busses.  Though cleverly disguised as "regular" busses through the use of route numbers and printed bus schedules, these are, in actuality, all run by one of several Icelandic tour companies, and so charge a bloody FORTUNE to get you from point A to B.  This led to me spending more money than I would have liked on this segment of the trip, and (with the exception of one bus that brought me from Akureyri to Geysir through the highlands) left me pretty much a slave to the ring road, which while convenient, doesn't deliver the awe-inspiring scenery of the desolate highlands in the middle of the country.

About halfway through my time there, I realized that I had done Iceland all wrong, and already began to formulate a plan to come back at some point in the future and do it right! Firstly, I would NOT go alone.  Being that the country is so desolate (the population of the entire country is 350,000...that's HALF the population of the city of Seattle) it's not as easy to make friends as it was in other places I'd visited. Plus, if I wanted to do a multi-day trek without paying a huge fee to be a part of an organized tour group, I'd certainly want at least one trekking buddy with me.  Furthermore, it only makes financial sense to rent a car if you're traveling as a group, and I had also decided that a car rental is a MUST in order to have the freedom to explore the really cool, off the beaten track places. Friends. Rental Car. Good Health. The Iceland essentials.

Despite the foibles, I did still manage to have a good time in Iceland. It's just so damned beautiful, how could I not?  I also ticked a good number of things off the to-do list:

Ride Icelandic Horse: Check!

Watch a Geysir Explode: Check!

 

Badass Waterfalls: Check!

Camp by a Massive Lake Swarming with Midges: Check!

Ride a Bus in a Cloud: Check!
(This is literally the view out the busses front window..no editing... Driver didn't even slow down... like a boss!)

 

I even managed to hitchhike from Geysir to Selfoss and, I think, broke some kind of world record in doing so.  Two rides acquired to get from A to B, and a whopping total of 3 minutes spent standing on the side of the road to get them! If I'd realized it was just that easy, I'd have done more of it!

 

And so I left Iceland, having hit my expiration date in the Shengen Visa Zone, making my escape to the beauty that is Ireland. A visit to a walk-in clinic in Dublin upon my arrival revealed strep throat to be the most likely culprit behind the mystery illness (weirdly, this is the first time in my life I can remember ever having strep throat) and already, after a good night's sleep and the first few doses of my new antibiotic, I'm feeling a bit better.  The final leg of this adventure is in full swing. Time to get my Irish on!

 

Yo-Ho-Ho and a Packet of Strepsils

I don't know what kind of schizophrenic virus has taken over my body in the last week, but the hits just keep on coming! The fever from hell that hit me back at Elsinore castle broke nearly as quickly as it had come on, after half a night of alternating between severe chills, and severe sweats. Thankfully, this left me in good enough condition to make my train to Aarhus the following day. In fact, by the time I got to Aarhus, all that seemed to be left of it was a bit of a scratchy throat. I was feeling pretty optimistic that the worst was over...but not SO optimistic that I thought wandering the streets in the pouring rain was a good idea. So I gave myself a rest day at the hotel to recuperate and watch some weird Danish TV.

Then it was on to Skagen, a lovely little beach town that reminded me a bit of Bainbridge Island, though sadly the sun wasn't cooperating with me here, either. At least there wasn't any actual rain.

Downtown Skagen

From Skagen, the next stop was Hirtshals, the port town from which I was to catch my boat to Iceland. The sun made one final appearance and so I was able to soak up some rays on what I was pretty sure would be my last day of proper "summer" on this trip.

But the mystery virus wasn't quite done with me yet....My scratchy throat was beginning to flare up again as I rolled into town, and after a VERY late night up chatting/drinking with new friends I made at the hostel (two of whom were going to be on the boat with me), I woke up this morning completely unable to speak above a whisper. Fantastic!

Feeling once again less than stellar, and in the name of trying NOT to infect everyone else on the boat, I shelled out for an upgrade to my own cabin instead of the berth I had booked in a room of six.  Not cheap, but probably the best investment I've made so far on this trip. At least I have a place to suffer in peace.

And so I find myself now on the high seas...the Norwegian Sea, to be specific, on my first ever cruise. While it surely pales in comparison to a major cruise liner, there's plenty to do on board to keep me occupied for the next 47 hours. Probably won't be making any new friends, though...unless I find someone who's really good at charades!

Something is Rotten in Denmark

Int. A Hall in Elsinore Castle

Literally, I wrote that sentence while standing in a hall in Kronborg Castle in the town of Helsingør, AKA Elsinore.  The rest of it, I'm writing back at my hotel. There absolutely is something rotten in Denmark today, but unfortunately that thing is me. Despite a valiant effort by both of us to prevent this from happening, the little virus that could, which put a damper on the majority of my friend's time in Europe seems to have jumped ship from her to me at some point.  Headachy, dizzy, throat on fire, a bit nauseated and most likely a bit feverish. Not fun! Thankfully, I had the presence of mind to stop into the pharmacy in Sweden (where I went to spend one last night after my friend left for NYC) this morning before returning to Denmark. My symptoms weren't bad enough at that point that I was sure I was getting sick, but I thought "better safe than sorry"! If there's one thing we learned in Copenhagen, its that Denmark has a weird aversion to cold medicines that actually work. Sweden, hopefully, does a bit better on that front!

Anyway, after an incredibly trying morning spent wandering the streets aimlessly in search of a not-so-very-well-signposted tourist information bureau (the bane of my existence, my POS Motorola cell phone, despite being fully charged overnight, decided to shut off just before I was able to get directions to, or even the address of my hotel! Thought for sure it was a goner this time, but after an hour plugged in at the hotel, it just as mysteriously came back to life.) I made it to my hotel, and realized that I was most definitely sick! But I came to Helsingør to see Hamlet's castle, damnit, and so I mustered up just enough energy to get on the bus out there, stumble around the halls and dungeon casemates, and bus back to my hotel, where I have been ensconced in bed ever since!

Every part of me wishes I could stay here another night, but I've already booked my train to Århus for tomorrow afternoon. Thankfully, I am staying there for two nights, so hopefully I'll have enough time to rest and kick the worst of this cold before I have to get on a boat and sail two days to freezing cold Iceland! But for now, "I die, Horatio"....

The Traveler vs. The Tourist

I realize I've neglected this blog for the better part of two weeks now, but there's a very good reason for that...I've not had the time!  The last 16 days have seen me in Stavanger, driving and hiking through the fjords, back in Stavanger again, then to Oslo, Stockholm, Gothenburg (or more correctly the "suburb" of Alingsas), and finally Copenhagen. If there's one thing all of this madcap touristing has made abundantly clear to me, it's that there is a very definite difference between a "traveler" and a "tourist", and while I am an excellent traveler, I am a terrible tourist! I much prefer wandering aimlessly through the streets of a new city only stopping to take the occasional photo of a building or a park that moves me, or to settle into an interesting watering hole and mingle with the locals than I do dashing from tourist trap to tourist trap, taking endless amounts of photos and checking things off a "to-do" list. I just don't have that kind of energy! But when time is short and the list of things to see is long, sometimes, it's gotta be done.  It would take me ages to properly describe everything that I got up to in the last couple weeks, and as we've established, I'm a bit lazy...So instead, I give you the highlight reel:

Stavanger: I walked into a bar to get a beer. Started chatting with the bar owner. Next thing I know, he's introducing me to all the regulars around the bar, and offering up his flat in Gamle Stavanger for me to stay in the following week when I return to town, while he and his roommate are away in Croatia. Between that unbelievable display of hospitality, my very gracious couch surfing hosts, another couch surfer who showed me around the food festival, and another of the bartenders at Bar Bache who made a delicious lasagna dinner for us on my last night in town, I really felt like I made myself at home here. The people in this town go a long way toward battling the "unfriendly Norwegian" stereotype, and I've definitely found my "Cheers" in Bar Bache  (I've even got a bet with one of the regulars about the upcoming presidential elections...When a democrat takes the White House, I will be returning to collect!)

 

Gamle Stavanger. My favorite neighborhood.

The color street.

The Fjords:  In a continuing lesson on how certain English words don't have the same meaning to Norwegians as they do to the rest of the world, I give you "hiking".  In America, going for a hike generally means walking along a fairly well-groomed and not-too-terribly-steep path located somewhere in a natural setting.  In Norway, hiking means scrambling your way up this:

Or this:

Or this:

Depending on where you want to hike, it also means wading through snow...even in the middle of July.  I very quickly realized that I am far too much of a chicken to tackle most of these "hikes" by myself.  I did find some slightly-less-terrifying alternatives, though, and a whole lot of awesome waterfalls. To Kjerag and Trolltunga: I shall return...with reinforcements!

So...

Many...

Waterfalls!

Oslo: There's not a lot of love among Norwegians for their capital city...at least not among most of the Norwegians I met along the way. When asked about Oslo, mostly I was met with a shrug of the shoulders and an unenthusiastic "Meh".  This left me a bit sad to be leaving my favorite city of Stavanger to head east, but it would have been silly to have spent a month and a half in Norway without seeing the capital city.  I found Oslo to be a perfectly lovely place, with everything you'd want in a major European city...except with an outrageously high price tag. I had long since adjusted to the fact that everything in Norway was more expensive to me than what I was used to at home, but Oslo takes this to a whole other level. How anyone manages to make ends meet here is beyond me! I was glad I only had a day and a half before it was off to Stockholm.

The Opera House

Downtown

Vigelandspark

Stockholm:  Holy s%*& is this place huge and beautiful! Everywhere you look there's another massive and stunning building and none of my photos do it any justice at all (mostly because my crap cell phone decided to turn the whole screen black whenever I went to take a photo, so I was mostly shooting blind...thanks, Motorola!)   I had two days to see as much of it as possible and so I invested in the Stockholm card, which led to two days spent dashing from museum to museum and from buses to trolleys to trains to boats. Exactly the kind of touristing that I am not generally a big fan of. I did manage to find a chain of Boston sports bars, though, and even had time to pop into a local pub and make friends with a bunch of the regulars (ahhh, that's more like it!)  Definitely a city I could see coming back to explore more properly in the future.

Some pretty buildings

More cool buildings

Yup, this is a thing

Gothenburg/Alingsas:  One of my favorite parts of the whole trip, mainly because it was a chance to meet a branch of my family I hadn't ever met before! Turns out I've had a 2nd cousin living in Sweden for the last 22 years, and turns out she's freakin' awesome! After a week spent running around like a crazed tourist, it was lovely to spend a couple relaxing days boating with her family, talking about relatives, and making a new best friend in their dog, Diva! I even got a whirlwind tour of Gothenburg on the way to the train.

Diva the boat dog

Shellfish

Boat Life

And so this brings us to Copenhagen, where I find myself currently. A good friend of mine from NYC (who I met 10 years ago in Paris!) flew in to meet me here and we've spent the past few days wandering the city, doing more shopping than I personally have probably done all year, and being mesmerized by the strange electronic billboard outside the window of the Air B'n'B flat we're staying in, that spews forth a never-ending array of fascinating nonsense like this:

It's a great city, with a great energy, and an absolutely inexplicable dedication to (nay, obsession with) tapas style restaurants. Seriously, if you want to have a non-fancy, unpretentious dinner that consists of one decent-sized main entree per person, you're kind of out of luck in this city. If you're a foodie, on the other hand, this is your paradise...just be prepared for the hefty price tag that accompanies it!

A Copenhagen canal

Girls night out

Arrrrr.....

Yup...

Whew! Typing all of that was almost as exhausting as living it, in the best possible way.  Off now to enjoy one last girls night on the town in Copenhagen before my current travel companion takes off for home and I head up to "Elsinore" castle to get my Shakespeare on.