Category Archives: Travel

Coming Home

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We made it to the Star Theater, our assigned assembly area, just as the group before us was leaving. When our turn arrived, we followed the path outside to the checkout station, scanned our cards and bid a bittersweet farewell to the Viking Mars. Not really. We’d gotten up earlier than usual and I hadn’t had my coffee, but I wasn’t awake enough to notice.

The sun was out, and the sky was a deep blue…which was just our luck. Our arrival and departure days were the only ones without clouds and rain. We walked down the gangway and into a tent, quickly identified our luggage, and then headed toward our assigned bus indicated by a staff member at the end of the tent, the same woman who guided the Southern Coast of Iceland tour. We settled into seats in the front row, waited for everyone to finish boarding and then departed on Reykjanesbraut, the highway to Keflavik International Airport. Click here for a short clip of the trip..

Ours was one of several buses lined up to discharge passengers at Keflavik. We waited while the driver unloaded suitcases, grabbed ours and headed for a very crowded entrance. I recognized the taxi pick-up area just to our left, remembering the dickhead that commandeered a van that could have held seven people just for himself.

Our arrival had been a challenge; our departure was absolute pandemonium. (The planned expansion, expected to be completed by 2030, can’t come too soon!) The airport has self-service kiosks for check-in, but one still needs to hand over tagged bags to an agent. I’d guess there were at least a few hundred people crammed into the lines that were moving like glaciers. Peg sat down at a small area reserved for wheelchair requests while I debated getting in line. I noticed the Icelandair Premium counter, at the far end of the perpendicular wall, was almost deserted. I grabbed Peg, our suitcases and passports and headed there; we were checked in and done in five minutes. There were several older women sitting in the wheelchair pickup area when we returned. One of the staff asked, in English, who needed a wheelchair. While the others looked around at each other in apparent confusion, I got her attention. If you snooze, you lose, and this was going to be one very long day.

The staffer was a Nordic goddess! Tall, blond hair, blue eyes and a butt to die for; she was a sight to behold even if I was old enough to be her father (or grandfather). I put my eyes back into my head and followed her as she deftly cut through the crowd, heading for the elevator that would take us to the second floor. People in wheelchairs get access to a priority line with far fewer passengers at the security checkpoint. When we arrived, I put Peg’s carry-on onto the conveyor belt, and we went through the metal detector.

We hadn’t removed our Kindles from the bag—it’s never been a problem in US airports—but they triggered the screener to flag it. This type of scanner automatically pushes suspect luggage onto a parallel conveyor belt for further inspection. A second screener grabbed Peg’s bag, put it on a long table behind her and asked, “Whose bag is this?” We both raised our hands.

She went through the bag and pulled out our Kindles. “These have to go through separately.” She put them in a plastic bin and ran our bag and the Kindles through again. We had to show her our boarding passes to reclaim the bag.

Peg’s carry-on bag wasn’t the only thing we picked up. A couple of disease vectors (read: little kids with underdeveloped senses of hygiene) were coughing openly and sniveling in our vicinity. I hadn’t thought of bringing masks, but I should have. We were in another country among a novel pool of viruses for which we had no immunity, and we both developed upper respiratory infections two days after our return.

Getting a wheelchair had another advantage. Instead of continuing with the mass of humanity headed for the gates, our Nordic goddess made a right turn and headed for a controlled access door that took us directly to the concourse leading to the South Terminal and the only lounge in the airport–available only to business/first-class passengers–where we would hang out for the next several hours.

Icelandair’s Saga Lounge is on the South Terminal’s third floor, away from the chaos, and is spectacular! We showed our boarding passes at the reception desk and then explored the area, passing by the self-serve buffet and restaurant seating that put food kiosks for mere mortals to shame. I saw a large smoked salmon, yogurt, granola, hot and cold cereals, and pastries. Drinks included water, coffee and tea, sodas, and a variety of alcoholic spirits, most notably 64° Reykjavik Distillery’s Rhubarb and Angelica Pink gins. The buffet switched over to lunch selections – a salad bar, hot soup, meat and cheeses for sandwiches, and cookies – around 11am.

A large boulder, an “elfstone”, sat at the entrance to a seating area across from the buffet, with leather chairs and loveseats around small coffee tables. I can only imagine how they got the rock into the lounge and hoped the engineers had correctly calculated sufficient floor support.

The Elfstone

We found a spacious lounge area behind the elfstone section with wide, comfortable surrounding a gas fireplace in the center. Small tables with USB ports and European outlets separated the chairs, providing room for drinks and personal belongings. Chaise lounges located along several of the full-length windows afforded guests views of the peninsula. Strategically placed refreshment stands featured refrigerators with cold soft drinks, an automated coffee/cappuccino maker with real china cups, and a variety of alcoholic spirits. We parked Peg’s rollator and carry-on at one end of the chairs and headed to the buffet for breakfast.

The bathrooms behind the restaurant are remarkable. The lighting is indirect and soft; none of the fluorescent glare in most public toilets in the US. The floor and sinks are immaculate, and the stalls have full-sized doors. The toilets are wall-mounted, which makes cleaning the floor a lot easier. Two shower rooms equipped with soap, shampoo, conditioner, and large towels are available without needing a reservation. (You’ll know what I mean if you’ve ever been in a large, interstate truck stop.)

We returned to our seats after breakfast. Most of the next several hours were quiet, aside from the horde of eight-year-old girls running amok until they left for their flight. A woman sitting near us kept bitching at her teenage son’s dietary choices. I made several trips to the refreshment bar refrigerator to replenish Peg’s drinks. We later revisited the food area for lunch; I had a few shots of the rhubarb gin during the afternoon.

The reception desk had assured us the wheelchair escort would return around 5:00pm for our flight, but no one had shown up by 5:45 so we had the desk call for someone. It took about 30 minutes for the escort to arrive, and boarding had already started when we reached the gate. There’s no seating at the boarding gate and hanging around would have been another nightmare. We had to take an elevator to the jet bridge while the more mobile had to climb stairs. We gate-checked Peg’s rollator, assuming it would be at the gate at O’Hare when we arrived, another mistaken assumption.

Our flight back was uneventful. We once again had drinks and dinner and settled in. First class passengers get free noise cancelling headphones, so I browsed music by Icelandic composers—I think Norwegian and Finnish composers are better)—while Peg watched the Barbie movie. Despite leaving Iceland at 7:00pm, it was just dusk as we descended over Michigan on our way to O’Hare. We were more than ready to get off the plane by the time we landed.

We hadn’t seen passengers getting off the inbound flight the night we left. We discovered that international passengers are diverted to Customs instead of walking past the boarding area, a VERY LONG trek. Peg’s rollator wasn’t at the gate (big surprise), but a wheelchair was ready. We went down a corridor, down a long switchback ramp to the ground floor and then another long walk before standing in yet ANOTHER line to pass through Customs. (O’Hare might want to consider installing a moving walkway.)

We were exhausted but fortunately had a young and friendly Customs agent to whom we presented our passports.
“Do you have anything to declare?”
“A couple of chocolate bars for the family.”
“Well, you look OK. Have a good night.”

We walked through the checkpoint to baggage claim, found our bags and the Rollator, and headed outside. It was warm and muggy, unlike the cool and cloudy weather we’d left behind. I called for our pickup and waited for 20 minutes until he arrived. We piled into the car; the air conditioning felt really good. The driver and Peg chatted; I pretended to sleep. Finally, we were home and ready to crash, but I had to turn the water back on. A quick trip to the basement and then bedtime!

The cruise was a good way to get an overview of Iceland with minimal hassle. If we were to do it again I’d wait a few years until Keflavik International Airport has been renovated, and I’d rent a car so we could see things at a far more leisurely pace than the tour bus cattle herding. We’d definitely want to revisit Akureyri; it’s a five-hour drive from Reykjavik but a 45-minute flight from the downtown Reykjavik Domestic Airport.

Time is becoming a scarce commodity and the current political turmoil threatens international travel. I’m just grateful we were able to make the trip.

Up Next: Postscripts

Photo Credits:
Beautiful sunset in Iceland II. Helgi Halldórsson from Reykjavík, Iceland. Licensed under the Creative Commons Attribution-Share Alike 2.0 Generic license.
Saga Lounge graphic: Icelandair.com
All other photos: mine.

Djúpivogur, Heimaey and back to Reykjavik

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Day 6 – Djúpivogur
The rest of the trip was a bust, at least as far as the shore excursions. The next stop, Djúpivogur, had only tender (lifeboat) access. The weather sucked and the water was so rough that several passengers, including us, turned our excursion tickets into Guest Services, despite being ineligible for a refund. One woman sustained a wrist injury on the return trip from Djúpivogur – she was proudly brandishing her soft cast later that day, telling anyone who would listen about her escape from near total catastrophe.

The top photo is what the Daily Viking promised, and the bottom was what we got.

We spent the rest of the day wandering about the ship, amusing ourselves with a game of Scrabble in the Atrium, reading on the couches in the Living Room and a break for cappuccino. I got on the guest computers, located beneath the stairs, just for the fun of it and discovered the browser defaults to Lands End UK.

Thursday Night’s Dinner Siege
Having free access to anything expensive or in short supply brings out the worst in some people, and the day’s poor weather probably didn’t help. The World Café featured all-you-can-eat lobster tails for dinner. People stood in line, demanding up to five tails as quickly as the kitchen staff could bring them out, and damn anyone who might be left empty handed!  Peg pondered the strain on the ship’s bathroom waste disposal system overnight.

Day 7 – Heimaey
The last stop on the trip was supposed to be Heimaey but, like Djúpivogur, it is only accessible by tender and the water was even rougher than the day before. (If you want an easier way to get to Heimay, you can take the ferry from Landeyjahöfn on the southern coast, or book a flight from Reykjavik Domestic Airport.) The captain decided to head on to Reykjavik instead. Our cruise director broke the bad news during her morning greeting but promised the staff was “scrambling to provide alternatives guaranteed to delight and surprise.” They set up a seafood and pasta buffet in the pool deck, which we thoroughly enjoyed while listening to the pool loudly sloshing, like waves crashing on the beach, as the ship rocked.

Despite the rough seas, the day was mostly sunny and pleasant. Just our luck. We passed by several small islands, including Elliðaey Island, home to “the loneliest house on earth.”  (I fail to see a downside to that.)

Heimaey is the largest island in the Vestmannaeyjar (“Vest-man-ah-ay-yar”, translation: “Westman Islands”) archipelago off Iceland’s southern coast.  Vestmannaeyjabær (Vest-man-ah-ay-bar”) is the only town on the island The destination is known for puffins, beluga whales and…golf? Yep, the Vestmannaeyjar Golf Club is known as the best in Iceland, situated in a crater and bordered by the Atlantic.

Aerial view of Vestmannaeyjabær, Heimay, Iceland

Every year Icelanders celebrate Þjóðhátíð on the weekend before the first Monday in August. (The closest pronunciation I could find for Þjóðhátíð sounds like “throw-hor-teeth.”) Also known as Verslunarmannahelgi (“Veyrs-loo-nar-man-ah-hel-gi”) or Merchant’s Holiday,” this mashup between Woodstock and Burning Man (without the nudity, because it’s too damned cold!) features concerts, dancing, sports and, of course, alcohol. The locals set up tents for people to warm up and socialize. There’s a bonfire on Friday night and fireworks on Saturday night. The festival concludes on Sunday night with the crowd singing popular Icelandic ballads, followed by a recreation of the 1973 eruption of the Eldfell Volcano just outside Vestmannaeyjabær.

If you want an easier way to get to Heimay, you can take the ferry from Landeyjahöfn on the southern coast, or book a flight from Reykjavik Domestic Airport.

Dinner at Manfredi’s
For our final evening we had booked a reservation at Manfredi’s Italian Restaurant on the starboard side of Deck 1. (The Chef’s Table is on the port side), but instead of enjoying it at sea, we sat in Reykjavik’s Skarfabakki Harbor, looking at the Innnes warehouse.

I had Fritto Misto Amalfitano (crispy shrimp, calamari coated in flour & semolina, lemon zest, garlic aioli) for the First Course (a.k.a  appetizer), Linguini ai Frutti di Mare (fresh linguine pasta, mussels, clams, langoustine; with a Pino Grigio & cherry tomato sauce) for the Second Course, Brodetto all’Anconetana (mixed fish and seafood stew with tomatoes, garlic & parsley, toasted rustic bread) for the Main Course, and tiramisu for dessert. It was quite a remarkable meal!

Peg had the Viking Bistecca, a thick cut rib eye coated in garlic oil and rubbed with porcini mushroom powder, kosher salt, brown sugar and red chili flakes, which Peg absolutely loved! I bought porcini mushroom powder soon after I got home and I’m waiting for the next grilling season to try this out! Here’s the recipe, Porcini Dry-Rubbed Ribeye, and all the choices Manfredi’s #5 Menu.

Three couples were sitting at a round table behind us; two who had traveled together and a third couple they had met on the cruise. One man said he didn’t like traveling and had agreed to this cruise just to appease his wife. Why one would spend several thousand dollars doing something one hates boggles the mind.

Two of the men were talking about guns; the one who I could hear was firmly against them; the other one was soft spoken. It was surprising to hear a civil discourse about a very polarizing subject.

After dinner we started packing for leaving the ship the following morning. The staff left us a color-coded disembarkation schedule, which avoided a mass exodus and bottlenecks, and corresponding colored tags (we were in Purple Group 3). Our tagged bags had to be outside our stateroom door by 11pm for collection and we had to be in the Star Theatre, the entertainment venue at the front of the ship, at 8:15 am the next morning.

Morning would come all too soon.

Photo credits:
Djúpivogur promotional photo and Disembarkation schedule: Viking Mars.
Djúpivogur aerial view: Eysteinn Guðni Guðnason. 11 July 2023  Licensed under the Creative Commons Attribution-Share Alike 4.0 International license
Vestmannaeyjar. Hansueli Krapf.25 May 2006.  Licensed under the Creative Commons Attribution-Share Alike 3.0 Unported license.
All other photos are mine.

Day 5 – Seyðisfjörður

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I was really looking forward to Seyðisfjörður (“say-this-fyor-thur”), a town in eastern Iceland, sitting at the innermost point of the fjord of the same name. We had turned to streaming services during COVID and discovered Ófærð (Trapped), an Icelandic crime series which was filmed in Siglufjörður in the north and Seyðisfjörður in the east (even though the two towns are four and a half hours apart on the Ring Road and that’s when the weather is good.) The ship passed Siglufjörður during the night on our way to Akureyri, so this would be my only chance to see where part of the series was filmed.

Trapped was our introduction to Nordic Noir – crime fiction that is deeply dark, brooding, and often brutal, unlike the often-stereotypical image of blonde, cheery Scandinavians frolicking in fields under the midnight sun. It is the antithesis of the popular British “cozy murder mystery” like Midsomer Murders, Father Brown, anything Agatha Christie and Grantchester. Henning Mankell is considered to be the father of Nordic Noir with his Kurt Wallander books. Other noted authors are Sweden’s Steig Larsson (The Girl With the Dragon Tattoo), Iceland’s Arnaldur Indriðason (Detective Erlendur), Norway’s Jo Nesbø (Detective Harry Hole). and Finland’s Leena Lehtolainen (Detective Maria Kallio).

In the first season of Trapped, Andre Olofsson, the police chief of an isolated town in Iceland, tries to unravel the murder of a man whose frozen torso is discovered in the harbor, while also dealing with his dysfunctional marriage. (Ólafur Darri Ólafsson, who bears a striking resemblance to our nephew Christopher, plays Andre) We saw it on Amazon Prime, but as of this writing it has moved to Plex, Pluto TV, and The Roku Channel. Watch the trailer here.

But I digress…

We hadn’t ordered room service for breakfast, so we had to get food in the World Café, a big mistake!  There were no inside tables at 9a.m., so we filled our plates and went out to the deck, which was really cold. We lasted about 10 minutes before hustling back to the ship’s warmth.

Cloudy and about 50°

We didn’t get a chance to visit any of the area’s highlights. Our previous excursions combined with the cold, damp weather left us tired and uncomfortable, and we didn’t book one of the bus tours. I had planned on the walking tour of Seyðisfjörður but only got as far as the port terminal before realizing it would not be a great idea. I bought a 2000 ISK (~ $14 US) potholder in the terminal with a 10,000 ISK bill (~ $72 US) just to get smaller denominations for tips and small purchases.

History of Seyðisfjörður
According to Landnámabók, the Icelandic Book of Settlement, Bjólfur (“Byol-foor”), blood brother of the powerful sorcerer Loðmundur the Old, settled in the fjord in the 11th century. There are graves dating back to the 8th century in the area around Seyðisfjörður. The town sits at the base of the mountain named after him, and Bjólfur is thought to be buried near the peak. Esja Architecture designed the Ring of Bjólfur a cantilevered 360° viewing platform, 650m/2133 ft. above the town, which is scheduled to be completed in 2025.

Seyðisfjörður began to develop in 1848 when Norwegian fishermen established the area as a fishing and trading post. There was a modern whaling station in nearby, now abandoned, Vestdalseyri (“Vest-dal-say-ree”)  between 1864 and 1866. In 1906 the first telegraph cable from Europe to Iceland terminated in Seyðisfjörður. A dam created across a nearby river was used to create the first hydroelectric plant in Iceland in 1913, supplying electricity to homes and street lights.

Although neutral and united with Denmark, the British Royal Navy and Royal Marines preemptively invaded and occupied Iceland in 1940. The Germans sank the British oil tanker El Grillo (The Cricket) sitting in Seyðisfjörður’s port, on February 11, 1944. The Kaffi Lára El Grillo Bar (named after the El Grillo and the previous occupant, the “legendary” Lára) serves meat, fish and a wide variety of Icelandic beers.

In December 2020 heavy rain triggered a series of mudslides which destroyed twelve houses, damaged more than forty others and the Technical Museum of Iceland. Seyðisfjörður was evacuated and the residents didn’t return until October 2021.

Seyðisfjörður has relied heavily on tourism, even more after Brim Seafood Company’s  local, outdated fish-processing plant shut down in 2023.  

The Smyril Line’s ferry Norröna, registered in the Faroe Islands, sails between Seyðisfjörður, the Faroe Islands and Hirtshals, Denmark mid-March through late November.  The terminal is an international port, so one must show a passport when going through the building in either direction, even though our ship was docked there. (The ferry was central to Trapped Season One’s plot.)

Seyðisfjörður International Port

The Road not Traveled
I did some research for this post about the opportunities we missed.

Seyðisfjarðarkirkja (“say-this-fyar-thar-kir-kya””), the iconic Blue Church, is one of the most famous sights in Seyðisfjörður, sitting at one end of Norðurgata (“North-ur-ga-ta”), the Rainbow Walk.

Walking tour with the Blue Church in the background.
Seyðisfjarðarkirkja and the Rainbow Walk

Skálanes (“Skau-la-nes”) Nature and Heritage Center sits on 1250-hectares/3100-acres about 17.4km/11mi northeast of Seyðisfjörður. More than forty bird species make their homes in the cliffs along the coast. Arctic terns and eider ducks have the largest colonies in the area. The ducks shed down from their breasts to keep their eggs warm. Eider down is an excellent insulator and harvesting the down is an Icelandic tradition. People use hay or seaweed to replace the down.

Seyðisfjörður has become a cultural center for artistic creativity. The Skaftfell Center for Visual Art was founded in honor of Dieter Roth, an influential Swiss-German artist who lived here in his later years. The Center supports established and ascending artists with a residency program, hosting exhibitions and seminars. The Skaftfell Bistro, on the Center’s ground floor,  is said to be one of the best places to eat in Seydisfjordur,

One of the more intriguing parts of Skaftfell is Tvísöngur (“Tvis-on-gur”), which means “two songs” in Icelandic. Lukas Kühne, a German-born artist, created Tvísöngur, a “site specific sound sculpture” of five interconnected domes of varying dimensions, designed to resonate to specific tones. I don’t understand the physics, but if you are morbidly curious, here’s a link to an academic thesis: Lukas Kühne’s Tvísöngur: Sculpture for a Concrete, Uncompressed Voice

Tvísöngur

Fjarðarheiði (“Fyar-thar-hay-thi”) is a 24.5km/15.22mi long mountain pass between Seyðisfjörður and Egilsstaðir (“Ae-yil-sta-thir”). The drive takes one from lush countryside to barren tundra at the 623m/2,043ft peak. It is a rather scenic drive if one is blessed with good weather. (We would likely have driven through fog if we’d made the trip). The Fjarðará River (“Fyar-tha-ra”) runs west along the roadway from Seyðisfjörður and is a good place for flyfishing in the summer. During the winter one can ski at Stafdalur Ski Station, (“Staff-da-lure”) a short 7.8km/4.8mi from Seyðisfjörður.

There are several waterfalls between in the area, the largest one being Gufufoss (“Goo-fu-foss”) about 4km/2.5mi southwest of Seyðisfjörður. Gufufoss means “steam waterfall” in Icelandic, so named because of the heavy mists that rise from the base of the falls. Gljúfurfoss (“Glue-fur-foss”), one of two falls with the same name is 5.1km/3mi west of Gufufoss, just east of Lake Heiðarvatn (“Hay-thar-vat”), and not to be confused with the other Lake Heiðarvatn, north of Vik in Southern Iceland.

Fardagafoss (“Far-da-ga-foss”) is 5.4km/3.5mi east of Egilsstaðir, at the roots of Fjarðarheiði. Ancient folklore told of a giant female troll with a large cauldron filled with gold who lived in the now-collapsed lava cave behind the falls. Sensing her coming demise, she pushed the kettle into a deep hole in another, different, falls named Gufufoss. Legend says you can see the kettle’s handle when the water level drops. One can also explore the Fardagafoss Hiking Trail.

Read more: What to do in Seyðisfjörður | The Charming Village in East Iceland

We opted to have lunch again at the Pool Grill, then headed back to our room. Peg spent the afternoon reading and I decided to go back to the Nordic Spa and the timing couldn’t have been better. The first time I saw the spa was early evening, just before dinner and the pool looked like old people soup. This time there was no one in the hot tub, so I tossed my towel and robe on one of the loungers and simmered for about fifteen minutes. From there I went to the steam room, then the snow room. There was still no snow, just the pile of slush in the corner.

Afternoon Tea
Back from the spa, Peg suggested we attend the daily “afternoon tea” in the lanai off the pool deck.  A British tradition, afternoon tea was traditionally held around 4pm, when the idle rich indulged in finger sandwiches, scones and pastries along with their tea. High tea was a hardier meal the working class consumed after work. (Remember Roger Daltry in a tub of Heinz Baked Beans: “What’s for tea?”)

We sat on comfortable, low-backed seats with a grand view of the harbor and grey skies. One of the waitstaff brough a plate of scones followed by a three-tiered tray of finger sandwiches and pastries. Peg ordered a pot of tea, and I decided to try out a shot of Linie (“Lee-nee”) a Norwegian aquavit made from potato, flavored with caraway dill, fennel, anise and coriander. It is then matured at sea, in Oloroso sherry casks, during a round-trip voyage between Norway and Australia while crossing the “LINE” (equator) twice. It was…interesting, not as vile as Malört. I thought I’d avail myself of Iceland’s Black Death (Brennivin) before we left.

The remainder of the trip was disappointing; I’ll address that in the next post

Photo Credits
Featured image: Seyðisfjörður town view, Kasa Fue September 2019, 10:19:01. Licensed under the Creative Commons Attribution-Share Alike 4.0 International license.
Seyðisfjarðarkirkja and the Rainbow Walk Saifunny 26 July 2018. Licensed under Creative Commons Attribution-Share Alike 4.0 International 
Tvísöngur, listaverk eftir Lukas Kühne frá árinu 2012, staðsett á Seyðisfirði. Cinquantecinq  6 July 2020. Licensed under Creative Commons Attribution-Share Alike 4.0 International 
All other photos mine

Skapti Hallgrímsson, 17 October 2020. Licensed under CC BY-SA 4.0

Day 4 – Akureyri, Capital of North Iceland

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Akureyri (English “ah-kuh-rair-ee”; Icelandic “ah-kyr-ey-ri”) is one destination I really want to spend more time in if/when we return to Iceland! Nicknamed “The Capital of the North”, it is the second largest town in Iceland with a population of around 20,000. Akureyriis 90km/54mi from the Arctic Circle and sits at the head of Iceland’s longest fjord, Eyjafjörður, which stretches 60 km/36 mi to the Greenland Sea.

Akureyri was founded in the 9th century by Helgi Eyvindarson, who was born in Dublin but was put into foster care in the Hebrides. When his parents reclaimed him two years later, he was so emaciated that they nicknamed him magri (The Lean). Helgi was a peaceful man and granted land to several families who settled in the area. That peace ended a couple of hundred years later when the Sturlungar clan, at the behest of Hakkon IV, then King of Norway, stirred up trouble in 1220 while attempting to bring Iceland under Norwegian rule. The conflict ended in 1264 when both sides kissed and made up.

In the mid-1500s Danish merchants used Akureyri as a trading post and warehouse, returning to Denmark during the winter. People started settling there permanently in 1778. The Danes introduced the locals to agriculture in the 1800s and the town started to grow substantially in 1862. Fishing, fish processing and farming became the main industries.

World War II dragged Akureyri into the 20th century after Britain, Canada and the US “preemptively” invaded Iceland to keep the Germans out which, understandably, did not sit well with the residents. The Allies based the Norwegian-British 330 squadron in Akureyri. (The British built bases in Reykjavik and near Selfoss; the Americans built Naval Air Station Keflavik, part of which is now Keflavik International Airport.)

Today Akureyri’s main economic sources are fishing (Samherji hf, Brim hf), higher education (The University of Akureyri-founded 1987), the Einstök Ölgerð  brewery, and tourism. Akureyrarflugvöllur is an international airport serving destinations in the rest of Europe as well as regional flights from Reykjavik.

We disembarked and boarded our bus after another delightful breakfast courtesy of Viking Mars room service. Our tour guide today was a very personable young woman from Poland. The first thing she pointed out after we left the dock area was the heart-shaped red traffic light. They were put up to give people a sense of community and hope after the island’s banking system collapsed in 2008, decimating the Icelandic economy. On the bright side, Iceland sentenced its bankers to a combined 96 years in prison instead of bailing them out.

We took the main road out of the commercial district and turned on to a street running through a residential area with charming houses on our way to the local ski resort. (WordPress can’t accommodate the video I shot but you can view it here on Google Photos.) 

This is Skautahöllin Akureyri, run by the Skating Club of Akureyri. It is open to the public and hosts the SA Víkingar hockey games, figure skating shows and curling championships. Ya gotta have something to do during those long winters.

From here the road made a gradual incline to Mt. Hlíðarfjall Ski Centre which looks rather bleak with no snow. Check out the current conditions with their webcams.

We had a great view of our ship in the harbor.

I commend the person or persons who took the time to look up all the distances to ski resorts around the world from here.

The bus took us back down the mountain to town, where we stopped at the Akureyri Botanic Garden.  Founded in 1912 by the all-woman Akureyri Park Society, it began as a recreation area and attraction for the town and was the first public park in Iceland. The municipality of Akureyri took over and started the Botanic Garden in 1957.

Many of the plants are Arctic or Alpine, native to Iceland, but there are several thousand other plant species.

We took far too many pictures to fit in this blog; you can view all of them here.

Peg had difficulty navigating the gravel pathway, and I got tired of walking, so, predictably, I stopped here at LYST coffee shop to enjoy a cappuccino and people-watching.

We left the Botanic Garden and drove by an amazing site, at least for Americans living in colder climates. The air temperature was about 58°F/14°C but there were many people swimming in the outdoor  Akureyri Thermal Pool, which has indoor and outdoor pools, hot tubs and a cold bath, waterslides, and areas for sunbathing, all heated geothermally. Our guide explained that Iceland encourages physical activity for all and the island has the highest percentage of people engaging in exercise in all of Europe. Even the smaller towns in the country have community pools

The bus continued to the harbor, passing Akureyri’s landmark Lutheran church, Akureyrarkirkja. Built in 1940, it was designed by Guðjón Samúelsson, the architect who created Reykjavík’s majestic Hallgrímskirkja, and has a 3200-pipe organ, a floating crucifix, and a ship suspended from the ceiling, paying homage to an old Nordic tradition of votive offerings to protect those at sea. This link takes you to the church website.


Photo from Wikimedia Commons by Biekko. Licensed under CC BY-SA 3.0

Photo from Wikimedia Commons by Biekko. Licensed under CC BY-SA 3.0

The last point of interest was Hafnarstræti, Akureyri’s shopping district featuring stores, restaurants, bars and lodging. If you’re young and looking for a bargain, you can stay in a capsule sleeping pod at Hafnarstræti Hostel for about $60/night. Hey, Booking.com gives it a 9.4, so it can’t be bad!

We stopped at the port gift shop before reboarding the ship. Peg checked out the Icelandic wool sweaters which are beautiful but very rough. I picked up a couple of sausages which I discovered were made from leftover pork parts when I translated labels! Peg got chocolate bars and hard candy for the family, along with this figurine.  Leppalúði (“lep-u-loo-ti”) is “the lazy husband” of Grýla (“Gree-la”) and the father of Iceland’s 13 Yule Lads , trolls who make their appearance nightly from December 12 until Christmas. (There is also a giant Christmas Yule Cat that eats children who haven’t gotten new clothes for the holiday!)

We were too late for lunch in the World Café when we returned and opted for the Pool Grill, just off the pool deck. One can get burgers, sandwiches or hot dogs and there’s a soup and salad bar. We opted for the famous Icelandic hot dogs which are longer than the standard American dog and made from lamb instead of beef or pork, but still tastes like a regular hot dog.

After lunch I headed for the Nordic Spa on Deck 1 at the front of the ship, down a hallway past the Living Room, passing a shop, a hair salon and a fitness center along one side of the hall. The opposite wall was done in a faux-birch paneling and there’s a built-in seating area across from a check-in station.

Peg had recommended I book a massage before our trip. I had signed up for a deep tissue massage, ignoring her sage advice to choose something more relaxing.  I’ve had lower back pain for decades and really thought this would help. This Healthline article touts deep tissue massage as offering “both physical and psychological benefits. It can relieve muscle pain and stiffness and provide stress-relieving relaxation for the body and mind.” Silly me.

The young man at the desk took me to the men’s locker room. There is a long counter as one enters; large, fluffy grey bath towels and smaller hand towels sit in wall mounted shelves above it. A swimsuit water extractor/salad spinner was built into the near side, just opposite the door. A naked old guy was using the extractor, standing in front of the same door through which my female masseuse would enter several minutes later

The rest of the locker room was impressive, There were two showers and a restroom on the right and a bank of lockers on the left. Each open locker contains a three-quarter length white robe, a towel, and a basket with foam slippers. The user locks it with the ship keycard after closing the door; it can only be opened with the same keycard. (I suspect the staff can override the lock in an emergency.) A sauna and a “cold plunge;” a four-foot-deep pool of really cold water, were at the end!

An L-shaped hallway led around the back to the main pool room, which featured a small “geothermal” hot tub sitting inside one corner of a larger pool. (I don’t know what made it geothermal since the water temperatures seemed to be the same.) There were several loungers on each side of the pools and in a larger area between the steam room and the “snow room” just opposite. One is supposed to enjoy the “refreshing” cold amidst gently falling snow, but all I saw was a pile of partly melted snow against the wall.

I sat in one of the chairs along the wall and listened to soothing music while contemplating nothing in particular until my masseuse , a tiny Indonesian woman, called me from the locker room door and led me to one of the massage rooms. There are few words to describe the ensuing thirty minutes except to say that by the end I felt like the suitcase manhandled by the gorilla in the memorable 1971 American Tourister commercial. Next time I will listen to Peg. (No, you won’t. You do whatever the hell you want!” )

After another delicious dinner we went to the Atrium on Deck 2, overlooking the Living room, and listened to the nightly flute/piano duo, then retreated to our stateroom where we listened to one of the port talks on Viking history (which is when I learned the origin of the Bluetooth symbol). We skipped the ABBA tribute later that evening in The Theatre, opting to open the celebratory bottle of champagne we’d been saving.

Follow these links for more information:
Akureyri, the Capital of North | Culture, History and Activities
The Ultimate Guide to Akureyri in Iceland

Featured Image: Downtown Akureyri seen from Vaðlaheiði. Skapti Hallgrímsson, 17 October 2020. This file is licensed under CC BY-SA 4.0 All other photos are mine except where noted.

Timmerman’s Supper Club

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(Note: I’m taking a short break from the Iceland travelogue.)

Peg and I went to Galena, IL, a quaint town cum tourist trap in the northeastern corner of Illinois, just across the Mississippi River from Iowa. One of our food destinations was a supper club in East Dubuque.

Anyone who lived in the Midwest in the middle of the 20th century is familiar with the supper club. Initially an alcohol workaround during Prohibition (private clubs could sell liquor to members), supper clubs became social destinations during the 1940s through the 1960s. They were family-owned restaurants often on the fringes of rural towns and provided patrons with the classic evening out. One started with cocktails at the bar followed by dinner and ended with after-dinner drinks and dancing.

Men often ordered an Old Fashioned: simple syrup or a sugar cube dissolved in a bit of water, bitters, ice and bourbon or rye, garnished with a Maraschino cherry. Others popular drinks were the Manhattan (rye or bourbon, sweet vermouth, bitters and the cherry) or the classic Martini (gin and dry vermouth garnished with a pimento-stuffed green olive or lemon twist). Cream drinks were popular after dinner, mostly among women, and were often made at home with ice cream when blenders became affordable.

Classic Cream Drinks
•Brandy Alexander: brandy or cognac, crème de cacao, cream.
•Pink Lady: gin, applejack, lemon juice, grenadine and a small egg white, shaken and garnished with a Maraschino cherry.
•Pink Squirrel: crème de Noyaux (or Amaretto, but it won’t be pink), crème de cacao, cream.
•Grasshopper:  crème de menthe, white crème de cacao, cream.

The dining experience was very predictable. While perusing the menu, the waitstaff would bring a relish tray with carrot and celery sticks, diminutive sweet pickles, olives, radishes and green onions along with packets of Club Crackers and those dry “breadsticks,” served with a dipping sauce or a spreadable cheddar we knew as “Bar Scheeze.” One could get shrimp cocktail or oysters for an appetizer.

Entrees were traditional American cuisine: steaks, chops, and chicken. Supper clubs usually had the Friday Night Fish Fry and Prime Rib on Friday and Saturday nights. Meals came with soup and salad (iceberg lettuce, a strip of carrot, a little red cabbage, maybe a tomato slice). Salad dressing options were usually oil and vinegar, Thousand Island and French, which you spooned from stainless steel three-bowl condiment server the waitstaff whisked from one table to another. The classic baked potato with sour cream and chives was standard. All this came with hot bread or rolls and butter.

Dessert and coffee came after dinner and before dancing.  Any leftovers went into a paper “doggie bag,” often imprinted with a happy cartoon dog. There were no polystyrene containers or foil trays with non-recyclable plastic lids.

My brother-in-law’s mentioned Timmerman’s Supper Club in East Dubuque, IL when he heard of our plans. He and his sons often go to the casinos in Dubuque during their annual golf outings at Eagle Ridge in Galena. “It sits on a bluff overlooking the river. Zimmerman’s or something like that. We’ve never been there but maybe you can check it out.” (I didn’t know that Peg had already made a reservation.)

We headed west towards East Dubuque on US-20, a four-lane running through rolling hills. We’ve had a warm summer and early fall, so there was very little color in the trees; it would probably be spectacular in another two weeks. About twenty-five minutes later we turned on to Timmerman drive, a rather steep hill leading to a cemetery on the left and a ridiculously large parking lot on the right. I let Peg out under the canopy at the entrance before parking and joining her.

It was like going back in time 60 years! Think of Kellerman’s from Dirty Dancing.

The building is brick and concrete block, painted a warm cream color. There are portraits of the founders in the entry, above the wheelchair lift. Wrought iron railing, covered with many years of paint, lead up the stairs and along the waiting area. The doors and trim are all a dark walnut; the swinging doors to the kitchen have the old diamond windows.

The dining room is the size of a basketball court with high ceilings, laminated wood beams and acoustic tiles on the ceiling. There’s a large, blue sailfish mounted on the wall above two large china cabinets. Enormous plate-glass windows in aluminum frames, tilted out about five degrees from the vertical and running from the ceiling almost to the floor, look out over the Mississippi. Bluish sunscreens and motorized canopies shield patrons from direct sunlight until the sun goes down, when the staff retract them to maximize the view.  

There are large valances running the length of the windows, with narrow tied back largely decorative drapes hanging about every 10 feet. I noticed three of the old wood and black grille loudspeakers mounted near the ceiling.

Tables seating two to eight people are positioned strategically throughout the dining room, allowing the waitstaff to move among the maximum 200 guests with grace and style. There is a half-wall in front of the kitchen entrance, topped with a decorative wooden lattice. The Palisades Room, to the left of the main dining room, has a private bar and is available for social events. (I suspect it was used for dancing during Timmerman’s heyday.)

The wait staff are all dressed in black. The high-school aged busboys wore black pants, long-sleeved white shirts and black bowties. They reminded me of my days bussing tables at the Lamp Lite Room at the Bowl-Mor in Streator, IL, minus the bowtie.

The hostess took us to our table and left us with menus, large, faux-leather-bound things with printed pages inserted into stitched plastic protectors. After we were seated our waiter gave each of us a slice of cornbread and took drink orders. Peg wanted a dry Beefeater martini with extra olives while I went off the board and got the Pomegranate Martini (citrus vodka, triple-sec and pomegranate juice) instead of the usual gin and tonic. We ordered the stuffed mushroom appetizer while perusing the menus; the aforementioned complimentary relish tray now cost nine bucks. Nostalgia ain’t cheap!

We toasted twenty-five years of marriage, having done that without strangling each other and defying the odds a couple of people had given us, as we watched the sun set over the river.

Peg ordered a ribeye with a baked potato (with sour cream, of course); I opted for the fried walleye and wild rice medley as the only time to get walleye at home is at Culver’s during Lent. Peg’s steak came on the classic sizzling steak tray, the wooden base darkened by the heat of many years. My walleye took up the entire platter; the rice came in an oval side dish.

Our waiter cleared the table once we’d finished, and Peg’s leftover ribeye had been saved in a black takeout container. He then brought us an anniversary dessert-a warm chocolate chip cookie drizzled with chocolate and caramel, topped with a scoop of vanilla ice cream and a single birthday candle.

Getting back to Galena was a bit challenging. We had to make a right turn (the median made turning left impossible), which took us over the bridge into Dubuque. I turned onto US-61, missing the first and only opportunity to loop back around to the bridge. We passed by Q Casino before crossing over another bridge into Wisconsin and then back into Illinois on a winding two-lane. We were finally pointed in the right direction and made it back without hitting a deer on the now pitch-black highway.

It was a perfect conclusion to a memorable weekend.

If you want an illuminating look at the supper club experience, check out Sherry Ott’s Exploring the Culture of Wisconsin Supper Clubs