April 21st: Ronda and rains!

As the fireworks of the previous night put us to sleep, both of us just prayed for one thing.. please, please, let there be bright sunshine tomorrow! I think someone upstairs must have had a pretty bad sense of humor, because we woke up the next morning to thick, heavy, pouring rain! Each burst of thunder almost felt like a gleeful clap from the weather gods, as they reveled in our disappointment. 

Anyway, after a long breakfast and a very animated and interesting discussion with our fellow boarders on topics ranging from changing weather patterns in Andalusia (heavy rains in April were apparently unheard of a couple of years ago!) to global politics, we braved the elements and headed out to our target destination for the day, Ronda, armed with umbrellas and caps. We had driven through the town in glorious sunlight the previous day, and had been enamored by its pristine, white houses and narrow, steep lanes. In our eagerness to get to Cartajima, we had decided against stopping over then.. oh how we rued that decision today! 

Ronda is famous for its bullfighting history. Along with Pamplona, it claims to be one of the most celebrated venues for the sport. Bull fighting has its own share of skeptics who claim that the event is inhuman, cruel and glorifies violence. Before visiting Spain, I had hardly given the topic much thought.. and the splendor and magnificence of Ronda's famous Plaza de Toros, the world's oldest bullring, drove any misgivings about the sport out of my mind. As it stood glistening in the patchy sun who had chosen a perfect ten minute window to shine down upon us in the middle of the storm, it was a bit difficult to imagine bloodthirsty crowds booing and egging on a riled bull to attack its tormentor.   

Ronda's picturesque bull ring

The barracks and bull pen behind the ring had a different feel to it though.. the tiny quarters almost reeked of sweat, grime and primal rage running through the beasts as they must have been cooped here just before entering the arena. Is bullfighting inhuman? I am still not sure, but it definitely wasn't a very comfortable experience walking along the corridors that lead furious bulls to their ultimate fight for survival.    

Ceramic depiction of bull fights

Not wanting to waste precious sunlight indoors, we ditched the museum adjourning bull ring and walked out to the promenade surrounding Ronda's main bridge, the towering and imposing Puento Nuevo. It had started pouring again by the time we walked down the trail outside the city, but on a clear day, this would be the sight that defines Ronda and takes away the collective breath of its visitors. 

Puente Nuevo

Water took over the entire city soon after, with sheets of it pouring down from an increasingly irate sky and tiny rivulets, streams pouring down from its steep slopes and impromptu waterfalls from tall fort walls making roads almost impassable. Our umbrellas were no match for the deluge and soon we were completely drenched. Semana Santa parades were cancelled, the streets were almost deserted, all the museums and cafes were packed with people hastily adjusting their plans for the day and visibility was rapidly reducing.. I guess every trip needs to have at least one complete washout, this was ours!  

Lonely Nazareno making a dash for  it
during a short break from the rain

Deserted streets near Puento Viejo -- everyone decided to stay home today

Cold and wet, we were soon back in Cartajima, thawing ourselves out by the fireplace with hot cuppas of teas. The rain however stopped almost as soon as we had settled ourselves in (guess Mr. Murphy is always right!). Luckily for us, this meant that the village would be holding its own Semana Santa parade later in the evening.. the weather had so far prevented even a single procession during the holy week, and people were itching to get their beloved idols of Jesus and Mary out on the streets. The entire village was out when the parade started.. the small group of about a hundred odd devotees accompanying their deities could probably not match the scale and size of the parades in Seville, but in their fervor and excitement, they were second to none!

Jesus being carried out on to the streets of Cartajima

By the end of the evening, we were quite pleased with the day.. even though we were not really able to do much justice to Ronda, we were able to spend another interesting evening in Cartajima, getting another intimate peek into the lives of its inhabitants. Memories of bull rings and bridges will eventually fade away I guess, but I don't think we'll ever forget the warmth and simplicity of this small little village.. in many ways, it had come to symbolize all of Andalusia for us.  

April 20th: Seville to Cartajima

After a hiatus, resuming the series of our travels through Iceland and Andalusia. Hope to finish this off soon and get started on day to day events, quite a bit has been happening recently. :)

After a couple of days of relishing the splendors of Seville, today was our first day on the road. A compact Citroen Picasso was our wheels for the next few days, quite a contrast from the Nissan Pathfinder we had literally inhabited in Iceland. The drive didn't really begin on a very auspicious note, thanks to our navigation system misbehaving and getting us lost in the nondescript, suburban sprawl around Seville. There really should be a global standard in car navigation systems -- the last thing you want to do when dodging aggressive over-takers and trying to read obscure Spanish road signs is a GPS that suddenly thinks you are in the middle of Scotland! 

Soon, anyway, we found our way out and our patience was rewarded by rolling green fields, bright blue skies and a plethora of wildflowers -- Gireesh and I have always rued our luck when it came to catching seasonal splashes like fall colors, sakura blossoms or blooming flowers, but this time, without even planning to, we were in the middle of peak wildflower season in Andalusia! Yellow, red, pink, lilac, azure.. they were by our side through the entire road trip. 

Interspersed between all this resplendence were ruins of forts, castles and churches, harking back to a bloody yet eventful past, trying bravely to make their stand against the strong winds of time. We stopped off at one such fort, walked it ramparts, climbed its tower, admired it sweeping views.. i think if we had stayed there long enough, we might even have had a tryst with its resident ghost and heard its tale of romance and betrayal!

The fort with the ghost?

Soon we entered Sierra de Grazalema -- the hills got taller, fields made way to trees and we could just about start making out outlines of a few white villages clinging on to hill sides almost symbiotically. The route offered plenty of beautiful detours to get totally lost in. We did get lost, literally, quite a few times, thanks again to the aforementioned GPS, but I don't think we rued it.. every wrong road taken was well worth it. One of our favorite pit stops was on a slope overlooking a big lake.. I still see it sometimes in my dreams, mountain fresh wind in our hair, swaying, multi-hued wildflowers, bright green waters glinting up at us and a lovely little white village gleaming at a distance against blue, cloudless skies.. how I wish we could have a little casa of our own there. I felt sad as we drove off from the place, wishing and hoping we could make our way back there sometime in the future. (As it turns out, we did visit the area again a couple of days later, this time from the other side of the lake.. but more on that later!).

Sierra de Grazalema

There was one irritant that kept getting on our nerves even as we were getting mesmerized by the landscape, and that was litter. There were cigarette butts, discarded bottles and plastic bags almost everywhere we stopped along the road. And though the situation wasn't as bad as it can get in say, India, I still can't help but wonder why we can't respect the beauty nature has blessed our lands with, why do we want to malign it with our thoughtless acts of negligence. 

Anyway, moving back to our drive.. we were heading closer to the white villages, and soon we had our first glimpse of what we thought was Ronda (turned out to be another village altogether, as we found out on our return trip!). Glittering in the sun with it's whitewashed houses and vistas on to even more pueblos, it whetted our appetite and increased our anticipation of what was to come. 

We kept driving on through sun and shadows and unfortunately, straight into cloud cover. Our destination was a tiny little hamlet called Cartajima, one of seven villages in the Alto Genal area near Ronda. We would be spending two nights here, using it as the base to explore the surrounding mountains and pueblos. But the gathering, ominous clouds, which got even denser, darker and lower as we took the windy narrow lane towards Cartajima, seemed to have other plans for us. A loud clap of thunder greeted us shortly after we had our first glimpse of the village -- lovely and isolated, it stood shrouded in mist and holding on to a steep green slope, like a lonely bride looking out for her beloved who was out in the storm. 

Soon, we were in the heart of the village, trying to locate Los Costanos, the B&B which would be our home for the next two days. After a couple of hairy U-turns on narrow, steep streets, we finally found it -- a warm, friendly place run with a lot of heart by our hosts, Di and John. Our rooms were large and comfortable and beautifully decorated with lots of little artifacts and curios from various parts of Andalusia and Morocco. The rooms came equipped with large armchairs to snuggle into, with a collection of books, sketch pads and crayons for company. There was also a cute little rooftop patio for soaking up the sun.. oh for some sunlight!

Pretty little Cartajima

The silver lining to the dark clouds surrounding us was that we got a chance to spend a lot of time in the village itself. Instead of hiking up and down the trails around it, we walked up and down cobblestoned streets, running into friendly kids and their moms, spying on mountain goats, making our way through the mist to the highest point.. this tiny little pueblo was definitely worth the pause in our travels. 

More Cartajima

We had tapas in the local bar where we had to tear the bartender away from his game of cards to serve us. Over cups of steaming coffee, we chatted with a garrulous old man from France in broken sign language with smatterings of French and Spanish thrown in. He was an expat too, like us, having left his hometown in France to settle down in Spain. (I can totally imagine why one would leave behind their land and retire here, hope we can find our own little village someday too!) Everyone else in the bar seemed quite friendly and curious, but didn't approach us, maybe because of the language divide. On our part, we too felt quite disappointed that we hadn't spent time picking up Spanish.. we had so many questions and would have loved to have a good chat with everyone! Anyway, perhaps in an attempt to make us feel more comfortable, the bartender soon switched channels on the little wall mounted TV and guess who was featured in the movie he turned on? Kabir Bedi, playing an Indian prince in some fantasy European C-grade adventure movie! What an unexpected reminder that we Indians are everywhere. :) 

Dinner too was a very communal affair in the village's only restaurant, with a bunch of people noshing and enjoying a game of soccer between Real Madrid and Barcelona. I am not a big fan of the game, and don't even claim to understand it much, but there is something infectious and visceral about sport that transcends nationalities and languages. I couldn't help but cheer and jeer along with the crowd, and as fireworks lit up the skies after the Real victory, it reminded me a bit of the little colony in India where I grew up.. a different sport, a different country, a different language, but still felt a lot like home. 

April 18th and 19th: Seville, Sevilla!!

We spent two full days in Seville, both of them starting off similarly with a late morning, light tapas for breakfast and simply the best coffee I have ever had! I am not a coffee lover, let alone a connoisseur, but I do like to have an odd cuppa now and then.. and the super milky manchado was exactly the morning booster I needed on a vacation. I am not sure if manchado is universally liked though, because I did catch waitresses cringing involuntarily each time I ordered a second cup! :)

Each of the mornings included a bit of meandering around the cobblestone streets, peeking surreptitiously into private courtyards and stopping to applaud street musicians providing the background score to our random wanderings – it almost felt like we were in a travel show, just that the sounds, tastes and sights were a lot more tangible and heart-warming than the best shows could ever be. The charm of resting your aching legs on the steps of a bright pink church in a quiet plaza (de San ildefonso), the approving tingle of your palate when savoring your first Gambas Ajillo, the revulsion of finding an ugly, modernistic structure (at Plaza de Encarnacion) in the midst of colorful churches and pretty minarets, the indecision of not knowing the tipping culture (are we supposed to tip at all? is 1 euro too much? too little?), the surprise of running into a procession depicting Jesus with his disciples and rushing to put your tripod in place before they march away, the disappointment of seeing the sun getting eclipsed by storm clouds, the excitement of building slow, broken Spanish sentences and actually being understood, the smell of sangria floating in the air as you are tapping your foot  flamenco style in a packed tabalao, the joy of mixing and matching ceramic tiles in a small Triana shop till you come up with the right set to take back home – how could an arm chair traveler even imagine what all this would feel like?

Where the streets have no name.. but a guitar to show the way?

Cute little Nazareno

Two buildings that deserve special mention in Seville are the cathedral and the Alcazar, which are also, not surprisingly, the symbols of the city. The cathedral by day looked just as imposing and magnificent, if not more, as it did the previous evening. There was a predictably long queue to get in but the interiors did more than ample justice to the expectations that had built up while we were lined up outside. Just the altar itself was so massive and overwhelming, I could imagine hope being restored here as people knelt before it, showing the same devotion now as they have probably been doing for centuries. I am an atheist and I was so moved, just imagine what wonders this place would endow to someone with even a little bit of faith! At the same time, the Muslim influence in the architecture, the minarets, sloping arched roofs as well as the outer embellishments on the Giralda, served as reminders of how religion has been used as a political tool here for ages – the cathedral, after all, was constructed on the ruins of an ancient Moorish mosque in the 1400s.

From the top of the Giralda

The Alcazar was also a great showcase of the Moorish architecture of the region, with some very intricate tile, brick and wood work adorning the entire expanse of this very lavish palace. Thanks again to Lonely Planet, we were even able to identify some typical mudejar and mozarabic patterns set amidst vivid splashes of color.

The roof at one of the halls in the Alcazar

Another interesting theme that we noticed in Seville, and which carried on throughout our Andalusian tryst, was how much effort residents had put in to preserve the aesthetics and history of the region in their houses and shops. Of course, there are some very beautiful cathedrals, mosques and plazas which serve as the major cultural draws of Andalusia, but for us, the ceramic tiled family courtyards, earthy pots and sculptures at the entrance and colorful paintings adorning side walls were just as remarkable in how they symbolized the culture and the outlook of the Andalusians. A city as large as Seville still has a modern, drab side to it as you move away from the barrios that make the historical center, but as we hit the road over the next few days, we visited so many villages and towns that seemed to exist completely in harmony with their Moorish and Christian ancestry --  history in Andalusia was not something you read about in a book and locked away in a corner of your mind, it was a way of life, ingrained into its people and celebrated quietly, implicitly and almost nonchalantly.  

Tiles outside a house in Triana

April 17th – Here comes the sun!

This series of posts will chronicle, as faithfully as possible, our recent trip to Iceland and Andalusia. Comments and thoughts are most welcome! Photos from Iceland are courtesy Gireesh, Anchal and Janani and the ones from Amsterdam and Andalusia courtesy Gireesh. :)


Hola España! It was an early morning start from Amsterdam and a cab, a train, a super expensive breakfast at Schipol (40 euros for a couple of cold sandwiches and drinks, you gotta be kidding me!), a flight and another train later, we were at Maria Zambrano, the main train station in Malaga, our entry point into Andalusia. As you can figure out from the earlier posts, we were fresh from an amazing trip to Iceland and were now looking forward to a week in the land of tapas, flamenco and a unique confluence of Muslim and Christian cultures. From Malaga, we were going to take a train to Seville and spend a few nights in the city before picking up a rental and driving around the Pueblos Blancos – white villages – around Ronda and Arcos de la Fronterra. 


We had a few hours to kill at Maria Zambrano before our train to Seville, so we decided to saunter outside. The first thing that struck us was the sky – bright blue with not a cloud in sight! After a week of getting beaten by the weather, blue was definitely what the doctor ordered for us – no more of those layers and layers of thermals, no more frantic hunts for that lost glove and most importantly, no more of looking the same in all our pictures.. this was bliss! 


The initial euphoria about the weather apart, there was not much to see around the station. We were quite grubby but most restaurants around the streets were shut. Not even a convenience store was in sight. We were in Spain and this was siesta time, thank you very much! We did finally manage to find one tiny little café where, after a lot of sign language and digging through our Lonely Planet’s food section, we were able to get some cold sandwiches. What the café lacked in the culinary arts, it more than made up for in its location, right next to one of the main streets and ideally suited for people watching. Wait a minute, didn’t I just say it was siesta time? Then where were all these people coming from? Men and women, young and old, children with their grandparents, couples with strollers, groups of garrulous teens, coteries of dainty old ladies, suddenly they were all marching past us dressed up in their Sunday best, as if heeding the call of some inaudible bell. Curiosity got the better of us and off we went, following the crowds to wheverer they led us. Soon we were on a bridge and in midst of a big crowd -- the excitement was palpable, the buzz raucous and it felt like people were just waiting for something to happen before they could let out the cheers building up in their throats. And then it struck us.. Semana Santa! Today was the start of the Holy Week, and almost all of Spain, especially Andalusia, celebrates it with a lot of fervor, devotion and revelry leading up to the final celebration on Easter Sunday. You could think of it as a Christian equivalent of the Rath Yatra in India, with a lot more sangria in the evenings perhaps. :) Anyway, more on Semana Santa later. At Malaga, we were just about able to catch a glimpse of one procession featuring the Virgin before it was time to go back. It served as a perfect teaser of things to come though! 

On the streets of Malaga

Our train ride to Seville was quite uneventful, but for two things.. Gireesh’s camera going clickety-clack in burst mode every few minutes (yes, the Geysir-striken Panasonic was alive again!) and our attempts to make coherent Spanish conversation with our friendly neighbor who seemed quite amused by our touristy fervor.  There was quite a bit lost in translation when speaking to her, but thanks again to Lonely Planet, we were able to get by somewhat. She seemed to have quite a job though, nurse by day, flamenco percussionist by night! And, she also said she loved Bollywood! We Indians really are taking over the globe! :)


Soon it was time to land in Seville, and after quite a bit of confusion with bus routes and the location of our hotel, we were finally checked in, siesta-ed (when in Spain.. do the siesta!) and all ready to hit the town. Our hotel was quite conveniently located in Barrio de Santa Cruz, the most convenient area to explore most of Seville’s attractions. And that evening, it felt like there was a fair going on along the entire barrio. Cafes were open, packed to the brim and still soliciting more patrons, people were just hanging around, eating and drinking away like there was no tomorrow, children were running around having a little party of their own – those cobblestones streets seemed like home to everyone. This was exactly the kind of place one needs to get lost in, and get lost we did, through narrow roads and alleys, from one naranjos-lined patio to another (naranjos = oranges, there were plenty of them all around ripe and ready to be picked up, but supposed to be notoriously bitter!) . And all along, we had people for company. Everyone was moving one way or another, but still, miraculously not getting into each other’s ways. You need centuries of practice to be able get so much order in chaos. 

People!

Our little tromp led us, quite unexpectedly, to the Cathedral, the most famous building in Seville, and definitely one of the most magnificent pieces of architecture I have ever seen. And the way it showed itself to us, silhouetted against the twilit dusky sky with its various faces alluringly fading into shadows, is one of the most memorable experiences of our Spanish adventure. It was too late to try to enter the cathedral then, but we were just in time to catch quite a few processions originating from the church. The highlight of all these processions, for us, was the nazarenos, somber, hooded candle bearers walking before and after the main tableaus, dressed in colors representing their respective brotherhoods. There didn’t seem to be any age limit for becoming a nazareno – we even saw little kids walking in the main parade, often accompanied by a parent or a sibling. Kids were having a blast even otherwise, collecting balls of wax, candy and stamps from the marchers.  The buzz that we had felt in Malaga reached a crescendo here as various processions walked out. You could smell revelry and energy in the air, but it wasn’t rowdy or even noisy. There was so much life all around, people just having a good time with their families and friends, it created such an an aura of positive energy that it was difficult not to get sucked in. And did I mention the cafes?

Nazareno

One of the processions showing the crucification of Christ

Our evening ended with a glimpse of one of the biggest symbols of Andalusia – flamenco! Since we didn’t have time to book a proper show, we stopped by at the crowded La Carboneria for a free one. It was a fun experience, my first one in fact, though the show itself was slightly restricted by the space and noise – it is a pub after all! But it got us interested enough to book a proper flamenco show the next evening, so I guess it played its part. 


Food, laughter and joie de vivre set against the claps of a ravishing bailaora – this was Seville in a nutshell! Or  maybe it was all of Andalusia? I had been here for just a few hours and I was falling in love already!

April 16th: Goodbye Iceland, Hello Amsterdam

This series of posts will chronicle, as faithfully as possible, our recent trip to Iceland and Andalusia. Comments and thoughts are most welcome! Photos from Iceland are courtesy Gireesh, Anchal and Janani and the ones from Amsterdam and Andalusia courtesy Gireesh. :)


After having heaved a sad goodbye to Iceland, we took an early morning flight back to Amsterdam. Anchal and Tannu were flying back to Singapore later in the evening, while we were staying on for the night before taking another early flight, this time down south to Malaga. It took us a long time to get used to the city -- the air felt a bit polluted, the streets seemed littered, traffic felt very noisy and those ubiquitous symbols of globalization -- Starbucks and McDonalds -- seemed alien. And so many people! Walking, cycling, hailing cabs, hopping on to boats, talking.. the crowds were jarring against our senses. And to think, we live and work in Hong Kong -- finding our way through hustling, busy masses of people is second nature to us, so much that an empty road almost feels eerie and unnatural. And here we were turning our noses up at one of the most iconic cities in Europe -- ohh, what snobs one week in Iceland had made of us! 

Pretty maids in a row

Bicycles galore  

Anchal and Tannu had only a couple of hours to spare, so we decide to do the usual touristy run and take a boat ride around the canals. The slow rocking motion of the boat was definitely not what the doctor advised for the sleep deprived, tired lot that we were. It was quite a struggle to keep our eyes open, and it was only after some much needed 'chai' at Dam Square that the energy finally picked up. Or maybe it was singing 'My Girl' along with that garrulous old man in front of our cafe that snapped us out of our languor.  By the time it was time to see Anchal and Tannu off, Gireesh and I were all charged up to explore some more of Amsterdam. And the city played its part well, gradually unveiling its charm as we let our feet lead us wherever they wanted -- colorful narrow town homes with hooks on their roofs (to help the folks on the top floors to move their furniture in, stairs apparently being wide enough for one person only), cycles parked willy nilly all over the place -- next to shops, tied to trees, lining the roads, adorning the sidewalks next to canals, even falling into the water! -- locals BBQing on boats all around the canals, impromptu music pulsating through as we walked by, colorful paintings being sold on sidewalks, happy happy faces waving at us.. I guess probably every major city in the world presents similar quirky, artsy and throbbing facets to its visitors, but sometimes familiarity does not breed contempt, it just evokes peaceful contentment -- we were just happy to be in Amsterdam on that day, at that point of time and would not have wanted to be anywhere else.

Apr 15th: Reykjavik

This series of posts will chronicle, as faithfully as possible, our recent trip to Iceland and Andalusia. Comments and thoughts are most welcome! Photos from Iceland are courtesy Gireesh, Anchal and Janani and the ones from Andalusia courtesy Gireesh. :)


We had a full day in Reykjavik today -- with no agenda and no list of things to see, the plan was to roam around and just dissolve ourselves back into civillisation. The weather was pretty much the same as it had been throughout the trip, but it was a lot easier to negotiate with umpteen cafes and shops to duck into when we needed to warm ourselves. :) The first thing that stood out for us today was that Reykjavik is not an early riser -- and not an early sleeper either, considering how the buzz outside our hotel on Laugavegur grew louder as the night grew deeper later on. Most places for breakfast were not even open when we strolled out at 10 am, so I guess brunch is the more acceptable time to grab a bit. I am not complaining though, because we stumbled on to a really cozy little cafe when we finally got down to eating. Cafe Babalu felt exactly like the kind of place Gireesh and I would have owned were we in the cafe business -- comfortable squishy couches and chairs thrown together, knick knacks, postcards and even currency (we did our bit with some HKD!) from around the world adorning walls and ledges, board games, wholesome food, friendly staff, a balcony looking out onto the streets outside,  a brick wall to scribble on (see if you can spot our little brick in the cafe if you head out there!) -- it was almost like you are sitting in someone's living room, a very Bohemian someone at that.

Wall at Cafe Babalu

After a very satisfying meal, we headed out to the old harbor to check on whale watching tours -- the waters off Reykjavik are a hot spot for catching these cetaceans in action. But weather gods had some other plans for us. It was too windy and choppy for the boats to sail, so we were constrained to the land for the rest of the day. But, each time you see a dark cloud, a silver lining is never too far behind. While meandering around the city center, Gireesh and I were peering at a map to figure out where to head to next, when a girl stopped by and asked us if we were lost. We said we were just looking for things to do and on an impulse, I just asked her whether there was anything she would recommend we must do, something that she as a local would love to do. She thought for a moment and then led us on to this little square where a big costume party was in progress -- Moominpapa seemed to be a favorite, as were some cartoon penguins and bears we couldn't recognize. There was even a group dressed up as tampons.. eek! Our guide told us this was the end of high school party -- this adrenaline and beer charged group would be turning up for their exams in a few weeks' time and would then head out on the road dealing with mundane worries like finding a job, getting an MBA, buying a house etc. This was their last day of freedom and they were celebrating it as hard as they could! "Don't worry", she said as she headed off, " they may seem rowdy but they are quite nice. They might even come and try to hug you once they see you" ... err, ok! And true to form, as soon as they spotted us, a bunch of moominpapas disentangled themselves from the group and bounded over to give Gireesh a nice, tight hug. Soon we were surrounded by a huge group -- it was a very chatty bunch, speaking about everything from football ('Why does a country like India with more than 1 billion people can't produce a decent football team? Its not that difficult to kick right?" ... hmmm, no answer to that one!)  to youtube to travelling -- almost all of them said they would be saving up over the summers to head out to Asia by the end of the year. One cute little 'tampon' put it the right way -- "Ohh I love Iceland. But I want to travel all over the world, specially Asia because its so different and far away. And then I can come back here and say, I loooooooooooooooove Iceland!"  It was impossible not to get infected by the joie de vivre of this happy bunch of teens.. they would make any cynic doubt himself!

Our dressed up friends!

After this happy little distraction, we took a circuitous route back to the Hallgrímskirkja -- Reykjavik's hip and modern church and it's biggest symbol. The church was quite pretty inside, with a rather new age organ, and there was a viewing deck upstairs looking out into the city -- red, blue, pink and yellow roofs combining together to make a colorful little jigsaw all the way to the sea. 

Reykjavik

Gireesh and I just walked around the city after that, stopping here and there for an interesting gallery or a photo-op. Reykjavik is a very pretty city to just amble around and its compact enough to not tire you out completely. Interestingly, whenever we stopped for a drink or a meal or got chatty with one of the Icelanders, a common conversation pattern was:


Q: 'Where are you guys from?'
A: 'India, but living in SE Asia'
Q: 'Ohh wow, that's a long long way to come.'
A: 'Yeah, but worth it!'
Q: 'But why Iceland?'
A: 'Why not?!!' 


And you can be sure we were rewarded with some warm smiles after that one. :) We could see people would turn around and notice us when we walked by. But unlike a few other countries we've been to, they would actually stop and speak to us, very curious about seeing us there at that time of the year! We were mini-celebrities on those streets of Reykjavik. :) 


All in all, a fine day in a fine city and a perfect end to our little tryst with Iceland. During dinner that night, our last meal in Iceland, Gireesh and I were wondering if we would actually be able to do justice to Andalusia (the next half of our two-weeker), so hungover we were going to be with Iceland! I don't want to reveal the answer to that one yet, but now, more than a month after coming back from Iceland, I still feel the wind in my hair sometimes, still see the waterfalls gushing down the ridges and still practice saying Eyjafjallajökull.. so the Iceland hangover is still on. What had started off as a hesitant little flirtation has turned into a full blown love affair.. and trust me, we are heading back to Iceland soon! :)

April 14th: Snæfellsnes – and an introduction to Reykjavik

This series of posts will chronicle, as faithfully as possible, our recent trip to Iceland and Andalusia. Comments and thoughts are most welcome! Photos from Iceland are courtesy Gireesh, Anchal and Janani and the ones from Andalusia courtesy Gireesh. :)

After an almost washout the previous day, weather was back to being predictably volatile again today, yay!! We got some good sunshine interspersed with its usual rainy, haily and snowy companions, and all was good. Visibility was much better, the terrain more mountainous and we had lots of green Golums around, this time resembling elves, trolls and dwarves. Snæfellsnes Peninsula is supposed to the land of fables and myths, the place where quite a few Icelandic fairy tales originate, and looking at the landscape, we could just about imagine a quaint elfish story being enacted around us. Icelanders still believe in these ‘little people’ – we got confirmation from our friends at Hotel Budir last night! – they dedicate prominent landforms as their homes or churches, and almost every farmhouse garden has motifs to welcome or ward them off. 

Elves and trolls

We drove around the peninsula, from Budir all the way to the western town of Stykkishólmur, with sea facing cliffs on our left and the cloud shrouded glacier on our right. We opted to take a bumpy ride on a dirt track behind charming little Stapafell – a small mountain overlooking Arnarstapi and anointed by numerous legends to be the home of the aforementioned ‘little people’. The drive was an adventure in itself – both Gireesh and I ended up with awfully muddy boots after a tromp on the quicksand like trail to Sönghellir (a little ‘singing cave’ known for its echoes) and since the road completely iced up a few km later, we had to negotiate an iffy U-turn on a one-car wide track inclined at around 60 degrees – so much for Iceland having 2WD friendly dirt tracks! But with frozen tarns and streams all around us, Hellnar and Arnarstapi lying unfurled below us like little lego-blocks and sun rays poking at the blue black waters mischievously on the horizon, we were rewarded aplenty for going off the beaten track here. All this beauty has been in the making for millions and millions of years, it’s just a humbling experience to be able to witness it. I just hope it stays this way always – or maybe just become more beautiful, if that’s possible. :)

Stapafell

We also made quick stops at a couple of white and black sand beaches (the water of course being too cold to even contemplate entering), saluted the Londrangar, two rocky protrusions into the sea believed to be the church of the elves, and paid our respects at the statue of Guðríðr Þorbjarnardóttir, one of the earliest documented adventuresses ever and mother to the first European child born in North America, centuries before a certain Mr Columbus stumbled upon his Indies. Trails and hikes of varying degrees of difficulty dot the entire peninsula and seemed to invite us to join them in their wanderings at every place we stopped, but unfortunately, we were just too short of time. But worry not, we will be back! :)

Londrangar

Adventuress extraordinary!

One major highlight of the drive was Mt Kirkjufell, a.k.a the Sugar top, appearing in the horizon just as the surroundings went white, and showing off completely different front and back profiles for us as we crossed by. 

Front view of the Sugar Top

Back view of the Sugar Top

Our last stop on the peninsula was at Stykkishólmur, one of those sweet little fishing towns where nothing much seems to happen. To us, it was just a prelude to Reykjavik, a gradual introduction to urbanity after so many days of solitude and remoteness. And on the way back to the big city, we came across a pretty little frozen lake, surrounded by snow capped peaks on all sides. An ideal location for chiffon sarees to unfurl and woven pullovers to be swung in the air! We just had to make do with our little snowman here. :)

Snowman!

We reached Reykjavik pretty late in the evening and it felt like such a contrast after days of lounging in the wilderness. It looked quite pretty against the dusky skies, with colorful slanted roofs, snow-kissed sidelanes, cute little cafes and bookstores and a modernistic church that made the entire town its own. It was lively, young, and energetic that night, and yet we had mixed feelings about being there. Being in Reykjavik meant that we were done with those wide vistas and countless waterfalls, farm houses and rainbows, sea arches and bird cliffs, and it was time now to move ahead. Well, but such is a traveler’s lot! You can either be a rolling stone or a mossy one, not both. 

No luck with northern lights again today, all tours from Reykjavik were cancelled because of the weather. So we had nothing much to do other than have a sumptuous meal and get lost in the city lights. It will be all about Reykjavik tomorrow, our last full day in Iceland.