Wildlife

Wildlife

I have been in Iceland for close to two months now. I have seen three animal genres represented. Cats. Dogs. Horses.

That is all. 

The only native land mammal in Iceland is the Arctic fox. The tourist shops however, would have you believe that sheep, polar bears (not beers), harper seals and puffins are abundant.

It’s all a lie.

If polar bears make it to Iceland, they would be very hungry, hence dangerous, hence shot.

They even chained up the fake one...

 Harp seals are seasonal and not native.

They don't look super happy...

I have left Reykjavik on several occasions and have not seen one sheep.

Since when were sheep wear collars?

Puffins are most likely to be seen on your plate in a restaurant. So much for wildlife tourism.

They're not even sure of the real size....

A Wild Life

I have purposely put off talking about this ‘wild life’ since my arrival. There isn’t any doubt in my mind that Reykjavik turns people in party animals.

Confession: I only went ‘out’ three times last year, in Dunedin (a.k.a party central). Only one of these times was to town. Two of these times were in the first week of university, commonly known as O-Week.

But Reykjavik has worked its magic on me.

Kiki

Here, it is normal to go out three times a week.

Prikid (said Prikith)

Here, you can get in if you're a girl. Regardless of age.

Bravó

Here, there are parties with free alcohol.

For a good time call....

Here, if you go home before 4.00 am you’re a pussy (which ties in nicely above). Meow.

You have no idea...

Here, life gets wild.

Pansies

A pansy is sook. A whiner. A whimp. Someone who complains about the cold. Unfortunately, this has been me all week. I haven’t received very much sympathy.

My Norwegian flatmate gives me that look of utter disbelief before scoffing at me.

My Canadian friends just seem amused before enlightening me to the fact that back in Canada it is – 40 ˚C. There’s a reason I didn’t go there…

At least I provide them with some entertainment.

Entertainment.

Maybe for some people, Iceland isn’t cold. But for a pansy like me, it’s freezing. And, if you’re in doubt, I have developed 3 SureFire ways of determining with confidence if it is cold enough to complain about or not.

It's not really a desert here...

SureFire Way #1

I share a talent (of sorts) with Karen, from Mean Girls. Her amazing talent is that:

“My breasts can always tell when it is going to rain.”

Granted, mine talent is slightly less developed (and less impressive) than hers. My hands have the ability of telling me where on the cold scale (mild - moderately cold - cold - freezing cold - dysfunctional cold) the current temperature is.

Photos don't do temperature.

It’s very scientific. Dysfunctional cold happens when my little finger gets stuck out at a 45 ˚ angle and I literally don’t have the ability to pull it back to 90 ˚.  Having only happened once before in my living memory, it happened here again in Iceland. I was not impressed. And it was definitely cold.

Looks can be deceiving.

SureFire Way #2

A friend who doesn’t have my talent. It’s unfortunate, although amusing. In order for him to decipher just how cold it was, he thought it necessary to go for a quick dip through the ice (not on purpose). If your pants freeze after this, I would say that it is legitimate to complain about the cold. His pants did freeze by the way. 

Swimming sounds appealing...

Just to clarify, that is completely frozen.

SureFire Way #3

You know it’s cold enough to complain about when the highest waterfall in Iceland is 90% frozen and is nothing more than a trickle cascading down the 156m face. But it was cool… (pun intended).

The fjiord (fiord). 

Where there should have been a waterfall.

The Girl From New Zealand Advantage

I am:

"The Girl From New Zealand"

This, in turn, means that I have "The Girl From New Zealand Advantage."

I would have liked "The Kiwi Advantage," as I think it has a much better ring to it, however it turns out the term ‘Kiwi’ I not nearly as widely used as I originally thought.

Skiing in Iceland

White out

Non-New Zealanders think ‘kiwi’ is a ‘fruit.’ Personally, I find this definition dangerously close to being ‘vegetable.’

Kiwi = fruit.

Fruit = vegetable.

Therefore:

Kiwi = vegetable.

I am not ok with being identified as a vegetable, so I refrain from using 'Kiwi' to describe myself.

Lengthy lift lines in Akureyri

Anyway, having "The Girl From New Zealand Advantage" is my get out of jail free card in all situations. Nobody knows anything about New Zealand (other than The Lord of the Rings and Flight of the Conchords) so anything that I do that is deemed strange, I can simply smile and say:

‘Well, in New Zealand…’

In NZ we find it funny when our friends can't ski

This explanation works time and time again. Jokes on everyone else. 

Everyone hates snowboarders.

Interestingly, as soon as people know I am from New Zealand, I am automatically ‘cool.’ I find this funny, given my inherent 'uncool' status, that is easily observable if you ever have a real conversation to me... Jokes on everyone else (again).

...however, this guy...

...will never be cool...

...no matter where he is from...

I was skiing this weekend, and my friend commented:

‘Wow, what a view.’

The view.

I looked at it with repulsed disbelief and thought:

'You have never been to New Zealand,"

And said:

'Oh, it’s ok... It’s pretty grey though.'

Maybe I should change my title to:

"The Snob From New Zealand."

However, I did see the Northern Lights last night, for the first time. I was suitably impressed. I said ‘wow’ twice.

durrie (n): retard, munter, generally ridiculous person.

When I first told my sister that I was going to have a blog while I was overseas, her immediate response was:

'You should call it "A Durrie Abroad"'

I’m sure that she thought this would be funny. However, I wanted to expose my deep side, so I called it:

‘follow your feet’

Dyrhólaey

Ironically though, as I spend more time here in Iceland, I realise what a durrie I truly am. This week, through my very own ‘durrie’ moments (or moments of my friends), I learnt five things about the wind (other than that it cannot be photographed).

1.  The car.

The car is not friends with the wind. The wind kicked the door in.  Only $550 NZD damage. The wind must have been feeling generous.

Sólaheimajökull

Sólaheimajökull

2.     Rocky beaches

Are not my friend when the wind comes out to play. I went home with welts from where the stones decided to give me a high-five in the face.

Reynisdranagar

3.     Eyes

If you manage not to poke yourself in the eye as your hand goes flying past your face then I’m sure that your hair would suffice in doing the honours of blinding you for a 5 minute period.

A mountain somewhere

Basalt columns at the beach

4.     Running

My real ‘durrie’ moment of the day was when I stupidly tried to run perpendicular to the wind. The physics behind this is that the upwind leg gets transported downwind to exactly where your downwind leg should be placed, taking it out in the process. Result: you fall over yourself. That whole, ‘Walk, don’t run’ thing just got real.

Seljalandsfoss

Skógafoss

5.     Flying

Not really a feat of engineering at all. All that is required in this country is a sea breeze and a handkerchief. Unless you're a plane.

Plane wreck

If the wind doesn't make you feel like enough of idiot, try pronouncing the place names. 

So much to learn, so little time. 

Ironically, ‘A Durrie Abroad’ is actually quite an apt name.