Invigorating Iceland

Following the whirlwind of the holidays at home I was more exhausted than excited on my New Year's Day flight to Reykjavik (yes, that's how you spell it). However after landing on a fresh decimeter of snow and waiting for ages for the sun to come up, only about three hours per day, the place was already winning me over. It didn't hurt that I had clear, cool but not cold weather which is best for a certain type of skygazing notorious at this latitude. As you'll witness below the landscape is inconceivably gorgeous and the amount of adventure on offer giddying. This country will definitely be warranting a return visit.


Watch it in fullscreen

Unfortunately there were no pictures of the experience of climbing up the thickly ice-laden stairs barefoot under the exploding leftover New Year's fireworks in -3C weather to toss myself into the slide being fed with warm pool water and plummet into the luxuriously hot spring-fed 23C (77F) warmth of the community pool. Bliss.

Travel Woes - O'Hare Security

Spotting a vegan option on the outside, I scope the security line and see that I have plenty of time. A decent airport meal later I'm ready for flight and head into the security lane, only to reach the front and then turn a corner and be confronted with a massive queue. Joining the end of the line I watch as a man who I saw earlier with a pack of 6 sticks and both a San Jose Sharks and Chicago Hawks hockey bag waltzes past us chumps and then cuts in to use the same boarding pass lady that I'm waiting for! First-class fliers, hmmpf.

Finally passing her I turn another corner and am barked at to get against the wall. The man behind me doesn't take kindly to his line placement either but is forced to literally fall in line. We are barely edging along when I glance at my watch which prompts me to look at my boarding pass. "Should be okay.." I think before reading "Gate closed 20 minutes before flight" "Will not be okay!" 

I count 15 people between me and the full body scan and have 11 minutes before the gate closes. A minute passes and we don't move and then a squadron of three wheelchairs and another four in their entourage wheel right up to the front and start unloading their junk onto my conveyor. DarnDarnDarn! 

Relaying my predicament to the mother and son in front of me they shrug and allow me to jump them but suggest I may want to inform someone else. I agree but the people running security are still far away and don't seem like they are going to give a care. Sweating now with 7 minutes to close I'm imagining the nightmare of missing my flight, spending an extra night in Chicago (it was literally the only Swiss Airline flight on the board) and having to explain why I'm a full day light to my work assignment. With four minutes to go I'm still seventh in line and catch a guard's attention - he listens to my story, looks at the last of the wheelchairs being slowly ushered through and shrugs that there's not much he can do. He does tell me that I might be okay though as Swiss usually does a last call. Sure enough I'm still on the wrong side of the security gate when the lady comes through looking for Swiss passengers. I identify myself and again she looks at my now just a few people from the machine and she just tells me I'd better run to the gate once through.

Everything crawls. The three second body scan seems like three minutes but comes up clear and I'm not flagged for any additional checks, thank the higher powers! Snatching my bags from the conveyor I stuff my feet into shoes and hustle through a terminal I've never been in before, my belt trailing behind me as I can hear my name being "final call" paged over the loudspeaker along with one other straggler. The attendants see me coming and bark out my name as I approach pointing for me to continue hustling directly to the gate. Relief floods as she scans my ticket and waves me down the gangway.

Get Outta Amsterdam

Blinking red light. Swipe again. Red. Exasperated sigh and down I went to the lobby. At 10am. On a Sunday. Naturally to huff and puff for fifteen minutes behind all the useless tourists checking out. All of this just to get a key card that worked so I figured while I was at the desk I would book my airport shuttle too. Unfortunately the 6:40pm was already full so I was stuck on the 6pm - precious time in Amsterdam wasted at the airport.

Finally back into my room I packed and went out for the day - the markets, the canals, failed attempt at Anne Frank's house (massive lineup), FOAM photography, bike vs Benz, pancakes. Hurrying back to the hotel I had a short time to kill before the 6pm shuttle but nothing worthwhile to do. Boarding the shuttle it turned out they'd overbooked anyhow but I had my seat. By the time they sorted that out we got away a little late and were two blocks off when I started organising for security - firstly putting my passport in my pocket. My passport. Not in this backpack? Wait, not in this one either? I rushed to the front of the van and calmly but seriously informed the driver that my passport was still in the hotel room. He tried to figure out how to handle this and I told him I could just walk back so he circled one block back and let me out. None of the other passengers, now further delayed, said anything. From the sidewalk I took stock of the situation and then broke into a tear down the street just catching the van at the corner and banging on the back door. My heart sank as the driver pulled around the corner but then he pulled over and allowed me to retrieve my luggage. Hurrying as best as I could with this wobbly, two-wheeled duffle-style suitcase I rumbled over the bricked sidewalk back to the hotel. Fortunately there was no line at this hour and the manager accompanied me to my former room (still unoccupied) where the safe was still locked and my passport inside.

Back downstairs he stuttered through a few different routes to the airport - the next shuttle was still sold out and a taxi was going to be very expensive, plus I had the time. Or so I thought.

With his instructions in my head I hustled out of the front door and promptly decided to take a different route recommended by Google that involved a lot of walking but would be faster since I'm a fast walker. Partway into that I was worried that the dragging of my bag was slowing me down too much and Google suggested another route that took a tram to the main train I need to catch. Ok, fine so I moved off in that direction. But the path didn't seem right, so I went past the suggested GPS turn and carried on, only to rethink that and go back and through the parking lot as the GPS suggested. Two minutes down this the path on the map essentially said "climb this steep, bushy hill to a fenced-in train station." Bordered in by a lovely canal I had to double back through the parking lot and decided "forget it - back to the long walk but direct route" option. Now having lost the six ill-spent minutes I was in serious danger of missing the train I needed to catch to make my flight. This meant attempted sprinting (with a huge suitcase) for nearly a kilometre to arrive at the station a disgusting sweaty mess. Fumbling with the ticket machine I bumped my bag up the stairs with about sixty seconds to spare in order to stuff myself into the door of the already overflowing train. It was a good thing as once I got through security it was an 18 minute Stefan-speed walk to my gate INSIDE the airport. Is that not ridiculous? Time only to slam a crappy Heineken (literally the only option) and snack before last call for boarding. In the end I suppose it was fortuitous that the desired shuttle was sold out (granted, a very stupid thing that I forgot my passport in the room safe to begin with.)

A Flat to Let (*spoiler alert* 2 of 2)

Having failed on the first day out I figured I'd better keep at it. I started checking the listings on my phone until it became compulsive to the point where I'd look for stuff posted in the past 24 hours and be disgusted that nothing amazing came up. When anything half-decent was issued I'd ring "RightMove is connecting you" and ask for the earliest appointment they had. The agents on the other end either couldn't care less and wished I'd never have lived let alone called them, or demanded all my details and knew more about me than my father by the end of the conversation. The first that I was set to see was cancelled when I called to confirm, as was the second and third. The fourth seemed very promising and I took the morning to truck it into the city centre, paid to park, arrived early, only for the agent with a smirk on his face to say "Bad news, chap, it's just been let. Someone overseas sight-unseen." His advice was to wait a month as the influx of students was causing a huge spike in demand. A month! I couldn't sit still so I kept up the hunt but the majority were cancelled, and the very few I did take the time to view were crossed off the list within moments.

And then it happened - a unique house with neat furniture, lots of space and a really cool location. I saw it only ten minutes after it was posted and called and secured a viewing - though I soon learned it was a block viewing (open house). Unwilling to let it get away I asked my agent for advice - should I just throw down on it right now? She steered me away from that and even when I asked her to weasel me an early viewing they told her they didn't take deposits without viewing anyhow. I went down that very night, walked the hood, peered over the gate, calculated distances, scoped the "local" pub, even walked the canals to the train station. Then the next day with my weekend coming up I glanced at the listings again (as I was prone to do) and didn't see my chosen one on the list. Sure enough the landlord had taken it off the market for more renos and would be putting it back up around Christmas. I was heartbroken.

A site visit for work took me out of the housing bubble for a few days which was fine as my agent had arranged another day, this time for myself and my newly arrived colleague, Heather, for my first day back from site. Work commitments nearly had me miss it but I made it back in time. "And a good thing too," I thought, as the very first property had real potential. "One of us will take this" I reasoned until I saw the second and fourth properties (3 was in a neat building but was crap) and realised that there were OK properties available after all (in part because our budget had forcibly expanded.) By lunch I had a favourite and Heather was debating between two and magically there was no overlap.

But I had a hunch about the next place. In a slightly off the beaten path location, promising a rather uncommon balcony, and actually coming in just under budget I really hoped it would be swell. When we arrived through a sea of street art only to have another tagalong on our viewing and only five minutes to view it, the odds seemed stacked against me. Then I stepped out onto the balcony. Woo-eee that needs to be considered.

My agent was against the location and even against the carpets and wanted to get me out of there but I quickly snapped some pictures and then we had to rush across the city to be 25 minutes late for an overpriced but ok flat. The rest cancelled except some hole I'd already viewed and before I knew it the time was 4:15pm and the pressure was on to try and reserve something by 5, lest the day slip away and all the viewings be let, leaving it all for naught and having to start again. I asked to drive by the neighbourhood again as I hadn't explored it before.

With time ticking and both my female companions silently telling me not to pick the balcony something inside me kept calling for it to happen. (But you already knew that because I tipped my hat paragraphs ago.) Not being overly decisive we called to inquire further and then had a back and forth with the agent who had to call the absentee landlord. Nothing was accomplished before day's end and my agent reminded me that if I didn't put an offer in on anything that I was likely to lose out. That evening I mulled and I explained and I received pep talks and by dessert I was pretty sure and then by 6am my dreams were waking me to get it going. I managed to wait until 9:03am before I called to follow up. 

No landlord response. No confirmation. More paperwork. No callback. I was getting anxious. 

Texts were sent and answered but still no resolution. End of business day came and went and my agent reminded me that any chance of a second choice was essentially gone but by now I was determined. Then the phone rang. The letting agent had been in touch with the landlord. 

They would cover the cost of the extra cleanup. They would accept my one year lease with a six month break clause. They would take it off the market. It was mine! 

Well in two months when it closes it will be mine anyhow, and I sure do hope it'll be worth the effort, and the wait.

A Flat to Let (1 of ?)

Figuring I would take the first week to settle in and have a look around by the time Thursday rolled around I was excited to go find my new abode. Having decided to stick with a metropolis I was looking for a city centre place as I'd be relying on one of the three central train stations to get me to work (and wherever else in Britain). With a relatively clear idea of what I was looking for, a vague understanding of the neighbourhoods, and what I hoped was a healthy budget, I was picked up by my agent for a day of viewings. And what a busy day! She handed me a printout upon which she had arranged 12 timeslots with a few additional places to be slotted in where appropriate. However the package came with a caveat that two of the agencies had called just moments prior to let her know that the flats had already been let. No worries - we'll have time for the extras.

Off we bustled in her Range Rover where we met the first agent and were shown a ground floor apartment obviously lived in by a couple of female students. It wasn't horrid but I didn't get any swelling of excitement either so I was glad when out of earshot of the selling agent my agent confirmed that we could definitely do better. On we carried to the second appointment, however along the way a call came through the car speakers to cancel the noon showing. "Do you have any other similar properties that we could potentially see?" to which the answer was that they'd take a look and let us know but it didn't sound promising. The second place was quite nice - floor to ceiling windows on two walls - but it was a shoebox. Having some free time due to the cancellations we went for a cruise to get the lay of the land although this wasn't so simple as the main roundabout in the city is closed for months of repairs.

In that time a couple more cancellations rolled in off the wires and I began to sense consternation from my agent. We stopped for a coffee (ok, OJ) and then went to meet the next man. Except he didn't show up - we double checked the location and called his agency and waited and waited some more. Fortunately we had the time to spare before the next viewing and this was in a sought-after complex so we did want to give it a chance. Eventually we connected with him and he could not locate the keys but he was still looking. Ok... so we waited some more. Nearly an hour after scheduled date we were ready to give up and move on when he came toddling down the canalside having located the key. Following him over the bridge and around the building he took us back into the exact same entrance as the shoebox we had just seen. Ugh. In the end it was a slightly different layout, with a balcony, but the balcony was only slightly above street level and the furnishings were in disrepair with the apartment itself not far behind. No, thank-you.

Having wasted the hour we were pressed for time and scarfed down a burger, stuffing my pockets with chips to eat on the way (not really) and we were still late for the next viewing. This was a shame as it was the first place I could see myself living in. I had to look past the grime but I could see it. But no time to dwell, we were already late for the next. It was memorable only for the six Turks who joined us and had a powwow on the patio. The final spot was really neat, with a balcony overlooking a churchyard running the full length from bedroom to living room, but it was a one bed and it was pricey. At the end of the day there was nothing I could get excited about and didn't want to settle.. surely I could find something to be happy to come home to for the next two years!

I Made a Mistake

Rounding out a 90 minute, Friday night drive that had turned from dusk to dark along the way, I was more than ready to get out from behind the wheel. The pressure on my bladder played into that. Sure enough, Gypsy, my GPS, instructs a left turn but the Diversion signs say otherwise. No problem! Carrying on a straight and two lefts are surely the same as one left. However after I make the first turn she starts yelling "Make a U-Turn in five feet" and "Make a U Turn! Now Dummy!" Okay, okay.. except this is a very tight road carriageway and there are vehicles parked on either side. Eventually I execute the desired manoeuvre and am back at the original traffic light, looking to retrace my steps. I'm halfway through my right hand turn when I stop short. Something's wrong! You can't make turns on red here. Phew! Luckily I caught myself!

But wait a minute, why is this car turning into me, and why are they coming from the wrong side?? Oh flapjacks! I'm on the wrong side and I have been since the U turn! Spying what should have been my traffic signal flash yellow before green I look around, double check where I'm supposed to be, and ease back onto the left side of the road.

Profile:English Bloke

[Ed. Note:Please read all of the italics in my terrible impression of a thick, English accent]

Wutsdatiimdaremate?

Sorry?

Wutsdatiimdaremate?

Oh, uh, eight twenty.

Ah, you're American then?

No, Canada actually.

Whereabouts in Canada are ya from?

Toronto.

Terronno. I've heard of that. 

What about you? Where are you from?

Moved up here from the Black Country. - Layla, chill!- Know why they call it that? It's not like there's a lot of black people down there, no. <laughs> See there was lots of industry and all the smoke turned everything black.

Right. What brought you here then?

Had to move for work. Lost my job down there. Went on the dole. - Quit it, Layla- My landlord kicked me out - I was up to date and everything! Took my furniture...

...that sucks... Um, so what kinda work do you do?

I'm in building production; work for myself. Well, I'm starting off anyway. 37 years old! Starting a bit late! Got my plumbing certificate last year. -Chill Layla!- Went to a plastering course this week - went to a plastering course Monday and Tuesday. Yesterday I woke up at 4 in the afternoon so I gotta start another new course. -Layla!- So how long you been here?

I've only just arrived - about three weeks.

So you must not know anybody yet! That's alright, mate, you'll meet people here; they're pretty friendly. Well some of them are assholes.

Ha! That's everywhere.

I should give you my number - we could go down a pint sometime. You must not know anybody yet.

It's a bit tough to settle in when you're hotel living.

Yeah, we should go get a drink sometime. But I don't have my phone so we can't exchange numbers.

<exhales>

I'm usually here walking my dog so I'm sure you can find me.

Gotcha. That sounds good. Anyhow, I've gotta go find some dinner.

Dinner?

<inhales sharply>

Well there's Dickies - that's like KFC y'know? - that's nice. Chicken there is nice. Pizza there is nice. Chips there is nice. Everything there is nice.

Dixies? Great, I'll keep that in mind.

Or there's... well there's... don't go to the other chippy place. No, every time I eat there - the next morning <points at stomach> got a bug, y'know, mate? No, don't go to the other chippy place. Dickies is nice. Chicken is nice there. Chips is nice there.

Thanks! I'll be sure to skip it. Catch ya later.

See you around. If you ever want to go for a drink...

Ok, take care!

...

...

Hey! Mate!

<turns hesitantly>

One more thing, just have to ask.. How's it like having Justin Bieber as a countryman? <laughs><laughs> If there's one lad I'd like to punch in the mouth..