Frustration abounds

So I should be writing about my trip, with nearly missed flights and nosy US Border Patrol agents, a beautiful wedding, and fabulous friends, but I'm not. I should write about my new job, or buying archery equipment, but I'm not. I'm cranky, so I'll write about that.

Upstairs has been stomping and banging and yelling and playing the radio too loud, generally pushing me toward a lengthy jail sentence. Graze, which is a really cool "food through the post" thing, screwed up and didn't send us the two boxes I ordered for delivery today. So instead of trying to send them for tomorrow (or even Friday) they cancelled the order--but as an apology, they're giving us a free box. Too bad I didn't get the two boxes I actually needed for today. I'll see what Adam has to say, but I'll probably be contacting them to point out that I ordered two boxes because I had a plan for them, and now I have to make other plans, so please give me a second credit.

LoveFilm, in their infinite wisdom, decided to send us a disc from Lexx. Unlike Netflix, where you can choose the order you want to see movies in, LoveFilm only allows prioritization. I can rank a title as a high, medium, or low, priority, but I can't say that I want to see Batman Begins next, followed by Battlestar Galactica. Or whatever. Because LoveFilm only seems to have 1 copy of the fourth season of OZ (the HBO prison show, not an L. Frank Baum reinterpretation), we keep getting stuff off our medium priority list, so they sent us Lexx. That would be fine, except they didn't send us the first disc of the series. They sent the last. This is in direct disregard of their own rules, which say they'll send discs in series order (Netflix did this to me a lot with Andromeda. Needless to say, that also pissed me off). So it looks like I'll be contacting them and complaining, especially as they're beginning to throttle our service again and we're no longer getting discs in a timely manner.

We're also being screwed by our energy provider, who wants to raise our direct debit by over half because their website has only allowed me to submit a meter reading once (I've been trying for months and it's always given me a "sorry, try again later" message) and they never send out a meter-reader. As such, we've been on an "estimated" reading for about a year, and now they want to screw us with that. Fixed direct debit my ass. "Fixed" means you don't change the rate after two months.

Lastly, someone sold our phone number all over. We're on the TPS (Telephone Preference Service), which is the stupidly named equivalent of the US's Do Not Call list. Before we changed phone numbers, we got called left, right, and center for a previous owner of the number, even with multiple requests to the same people to stop calling because she doesn't have the number anymore. With the new number we were blessedly free of such things (the previous people had registered it to the TPS as well). Then suddenly, we started getting called by a "Windows Technical Support" scam that claims to be operating under Microsoft. We got loads of these with the old number, but for the last several months we've been blessedly free of such calls. But now they're back again, so I'm having to unplug the phone before going to bed so we're not brutally awakened at 7:55am by someone wanting us to either take a survey (which Adam may have successfully dealt with today but I haven't been able to because they're so slow on picking up the line when I answer) or wanting to sell us "tech support."

I should be a happier person, but I've been able to get absolutely nothing done today because of upstairs (who have been at it for over 9 hours now), then being screwed by various companies to which I give money, but do not have to. The one bright bit of news, however, is that Adam and I are finally--almost--the proud owners of Starfarers of Catan, which is an incredibly hard to find game by Klaus Teuber and Mayfair Games. It's out of print and it generally goes for about $150 on eBay, which is far more than I'm willing to pay. But Adam and I managed to snag a copy for $50 plus shipping. Well, almost. We actually bought Die Sternenfahrer Von Cataan. Thankfully, the owner threw in the English translation booklet as well. My German is limited to say the least, but is more than Adam has, who is only capable of ordering a beer. Admittedly, that is a necessary skill, but I can also swear, which is also a useful skill.

In which I have a bit of a sportsgasm

So it sucks being away from my husband. He amuses me and generally makes for good company. But he couldn't make this trip, which was fair and reasonable, so I'm alone in the Tacoma La Quinta, watching the Ducks decimate Arizona. I actually feel bad for Rich Rodriguez and the Wildcats; Oregon is just destroying their defense and has stopped them dead every time they get in the red zone. So far that's been six times.

Today I have also watched bits of the Clemson-HalfAssU game (which did not go well for me in my betting pool), a bit of the Michigan-Notre Dame game (which did), part of the LSU-Auburn game (not in the pool this week), and about half an inning of the Mariners-Texas game. I also keep having urges to watch Monday night football, since the Packers play the Seachickens in Seattle. Since I don't normally have any interest in the NFL, I'm definitely having a sportsgasm.

Sadly, I missed--and incorrectly picked--the UCLA-Oregon State game. Oregon State has now beaten two ranked teams, is 2-0, and will probably be in the top 25 this week (they got votes last week). I'm fairly certain Mike Riley has secured his job for another year, and beating both Wisconsin and the Bruins makes OSU look good. 

Sportsgasm complete, it was really good to see people today. I got to spend a few hours with Carter, Lisanna, their little one, and Kellie. We also saw Kristan for a bit, and I'll see her again tomorrow, along with a great many other people. So it's good. A bit lonely this evening, but good.

And I have my Oregon Ducks, who just won 49-0.

Once again

Sigh. Once again, I'm off on a plane. Sigh. I'm excited to see people--and the puppy girl--but it's a long flight, and I'm going it alone. Dammit, that's why I got married--I didn't want to travel alone anymore.

Off to bed, as I need to be up at 3:30am. Yeah, I got boned on the flight times. Totally boned.

Here to stay

Finally. After years of struggling to make our relationship work and months of nervousness that I wouldn't have my documents back in time to travel, not to mention the obscene amount of money thrown at the Tories (assholes), they can't deny it anymore: I'm here to stay. I don't want to be, but that's a different issue.

Yesterday I found a missed package delivery slip. There was absolutely nothing on it besides a tracking number, but when I went to the website to schedule redelivery they mentioned--many times--passports, so I assumed that all my crap (about a kilo's worth of paperwork and our passports) was being returned.

It wasn't. When I signed for it today it was just a tiny envelope, which meant it was my biometric residence card permit thingy (Indefinite Leave to Remain, or ILR), which they're no longer sticking in passports but printing out on plastic. Basically it's a driver's license type thing with a chip in it (because those chips are *soooo* secure). It's horribly ugly, but since it allows me to do nearly everything over here (except vote and drive, and I can drive on my US license for a year if I were crazy, which I'm not), I don't really care. I have to travel with it, which should be interesting; even though they've had these doohickeys for a while, I'm sure someone in Border Control will fuck it up and stamp me in wrong.* That'll be a fun fight to have...

Happily, a couple of hours after receiving my ILR card, there was another pounding on the door (delivery people in this country believe in making a LOT of noise). This time it was a mail carrier who wanted my signature (for Weldman, because he couldn't get it through his head that the "i" wasn't an "l") for a very large packet that appeared to have about a kilo's worth of paperwork in it. It did. They seem to have sent back everything of importance (and at least some of not), and in particular, our passports. So happy days, I'm free to leave the country again. And just in time, too, since I have to leave the country in just over a month for a friend's wedding.

So though I don't always want to be here, I say to everyone who has been a douche to me because I sound different

Suck it. Suck it long, and suck it hard.

I know the residence permit isn't very clear. I prefer it that way for a variety of reasons.

But it's there, and it's mine.

*This happened with my student visa when I first entered on it in 2005. I presented my passport, opened to my visa page, which she ignored and flipped to my ID page, then flipped back to my visa page. She examined it, then proceeded to turn the page and stamp me in as a tourist. I found out when I came back after the holidays in January that effectively I'd been attending classes illegally. Fun times.

Settlement Struggles

Perhaps a bit of a misleading title, but it's rare that I resist alliteration. I just received a phone call--literally just; I got off the phone less than 5 minutes ago--from someone (I missed her name; sorry, nice lady!) dealing with my application. Sorta. They're currently dealing with settlement applications from March, and mine is from April.

It's frustrating to me, I can't deny, that my application isn't done with and sorted, and my/our various documents aren't back in our possession. It has been nearly 3 months since I sent the application in. My previous application (marriage/civil partner visa) took exactly 3 weeks from when I posted it to the LA Consulate to when it was back in my hands. Both places have stated 6 month waiting times, so that there's a huge difference in turnaround time is annoying. But on the other hand, I have no idea what they're dealing with. It may be that there are 10 people in the whole of the UK who are dealing with all the applications. It may be that the applications are vetted extra-closely (you choose your reason for that, but settlement is just shy of citizenship and often leads to it, so choosing who stays permanently does have some real ramifications), so it takes longer. There are many different and valid reasons as to why the process takes so long, but it's frustrating nevertheless.*

But the woman was very nice in that she called me, because I didn't expect or need to be contacted, and in fact, I had told them not to worry about it, that I was just writing to inform them of my travel plans. So it was very nice of her (and possibly made for a nice break in her job, though I always hated calling people, so who knows what she thought about calling me), and I found out that a) she thought my application would be done before September and b) what to do if it's not (write/call 28 days before I need my crap back and something will be worked out**).

So we'll see. They have all my crap, since I went in a few weeks ago to have my biometrics taken (again). Now it's just a waiting game. Since waiting games are the kind of game I hate the most, this is not fun, but at least she was very friendly and polite. Not that I've met many nasty UKBA/Home Office people, though some of the passport/border patrol guards were a bit douchy in that they were either condescending or rather shirty about my entering the UK on a tourist visa, but when you're waiting and waiting and worried and waiting (and your last attempted contact with UKBA was an email that still hasn't been replied to 6 months on) any bit of friendliness feels hopeful and nice.

Getting married was supposed to solve most of Adam's and my problems, namely the problem of trying to physically be together, not 6000 miles and 8 timezones apart. How naive it was to believe that once we got married, this would be over and done with shortly thereafter. Even after all this is sorted, we'll eventually move back to the US, which means going through all this crap again to sort out a green card for Adam.  Goody.

I really don't want to have to contact UKBA again. Crossed fingers they get to my application in the next month and it goes on and off the desk in less than a day, and back to me by the end of August.

*It's also stupidly expensive.

**I notice she didn't say if I would have to pay the fee for having my application expedited or not. I chose not to ask and am simply hoping for the best. The fee is outrageous, doubly so given the outrageousness of the base fee. If I thought the people who actually process the applications saw any of the money I wouldn't mind so much, but you know damn well the woman I talked to probably hasn't gotten a raise in the last 3 years, let alone a bonus.

LinkedTwitMyFace+

I seem to have created a twitter account.  Mostly because I have to buy a bunch of plane tickets this year (well, three, and for only two trips, unless someone dies, so no one die because I don't want to pay even more money to the airlines this year), and airlines post deals to their twitter and facebook pages.  I won't join facebook for love, money, or to save my soul, since I believe it is the very definition of hell.*

I do not have a LinkedIn account, nor do I have a MySpace page, though I do have a Google+ account, which I mostly use to play games (yeah, it turns out I am that person, except I don't publicly post/harass others for things in game) and follow homebrew people.  And Wil Wheaton and Jeri Ryan.  Wil Wheaton started the homebrew circle.

I'm debating how much to post to twitter.  I've always like the concept of twitter--I think it's fast and easy and I like the idea of having to keep to a character limit.  Still, I'd rather post here for the most part.  No character limits so I can blather away, and more over, a few people read me here.  Very few, perhaps, but hey.  But if for some reason you feel an urge to follow me on twitter, I'm @KatieWeidmann (creative, no?), and the non-twitter account holding people can see what I have to say (which is one post and not interesting) at https://twitter.com/#!/KatieWeidmann.

*Someone who came over to a party we hosted decided to use my laptop to hop on her account and didn't log out.  Ignoring the fact that I didn't like Henry being violated in such a way, nor do I think it's cool/appropriate/fun to stare at facebook when there are actual people around you, I used her account last night to look up some people and discover that facebook has gotten even more horrible with this new timeline thing.  I also thought about doing evil things to/with her account, but Adam told me not to be mean.  But she started it when she left fingerprints all over my screen!

...and Back Again.

As promised to Barbara via email, the next installment of our 2011 Thanksgiving travel saga.  Because I can always find a way to make it a saga.

So I mentioned in my last post about travelling (There...) that returning home was lucrative.  It was also long.  It also started off badly, but through no one's fault, unless you want to blame my grandfather for getting tumors on his bladder.  I don't, because they didn't do laparoscopic surgery, but rather went in through the urethra.  Joy...

Anyway, the reason my grandfather's surgery* affected our travel plans is because my grandmother gave up her license a year ago** and my grandfather was told that, day surgery notwithstanding, he needed a driver.  Hence, their daughter, aka my mother, was asked to drive.  The surgeon wanted Grandpa at the hospital about 9 am the day we flew out, so Mom drove up the night before.  Makes complete sense, but ironically, she could have taken us to the airport with Dad and still been able to get up to my grandparents' and get them out to the hospital for 9 am.  But I don't blame her for not wanting to do that.

The problem with Mom leaving Wednesday night and us leaving Thursday morning was poor Faith.  The puppy girl had had a tough time of it, since Mom and Dad went to Spain for about 2 weeks in late October-early November, were home for a week, and then left again to spend a week in Napa with us.  Jane is a wonderful dog sitter and watches the house, but she takes Faith to her place some nights, and for the Napa trip, the whole time (she'd had surgery and couldn't drive).  So the puppy sees suitcases and gets worried.  She's adorable like that, but it's also a sign of a rescue dog, at least in my mind.  Jennifer loved it when she got to go to the kennel (Faith can't be kenneled; she has panic attacks because she was abandoned at Greenhill) because they treated her like royalty.

But I digress.  Adam and I eventually managed to get most of our shit stowed into the two suitcases and the rolling carry-on bag, with quite a lot also crammed into our backpacks and my laptop case.  Yes, for those keeping score, that's all free, valid luggage.  One free suitcase (50 pounds) each, the little rolling suitcase is carry-on size, and we each get a personal item.  In Adam's case, a backpack.  In my case, the laptop case, with my second allowed bag my backpack.  I do know how to play the rules, thanks much.  We couldn't take quite all of it, due to a combination of weight and the obscenely large (but light) present my grandmother gave us.  New rule: if a box--no matter how light it may be--takes up more than 1/4 of my suitcase, it's not going.  We like gift certificates.

So at about 3:30am the Thursday after Thanksgiving, we hauled our sorry asses out of bed, loaded the car, and headed off to Eugene airport.  Mahlon Sweet is a tiny airport, despite being the second largest in Oregon.  It is, however, far more convenient for early morning flights, and the staff there are generally awesome.  We got checked in--we couldn't do that online for some reason--after the nice guy who was manning the kiosks*** couldn't check us in either.  The woman at the counter was cranky and wanted us to try the kiosks again, but then decided that my arguing "we tried, it didn't work" wasn't going to get me to try again, so she gave up, became pleasant, and checked us all the way through to Manchester.  Nor did we get charged for our "economy plus" seats, that we did not book, but United put us in and then tried to charge me for later.  So no fight there, which was good.  We also learned that United will overlook a 1/2 pound for your checked luggage.  I wouldn't try it, however.  We then dropped off our barely free luggage with the security boys, and hopped in the security line, where Dad said goodbye to us, but said he'd wait til we cleared security.  In Eugene, this means you can still talk to people, though the TSA crew doesn't really like that if you're too close.  At that point, we uneventfully went upstairs to wait for our plane to San Francisco.

SFO was equally uneventful, to the point where I can't remember it at all.  Newark, however, overshadowed all of that.  We had to go through security again, because that airport has shit for signage and while we were supposed to be able to transfer terminals and bypass security somehow, we couldn't figure out how.  We were distinctly not happy, and Adam swears he'll never fly through Newark again.  Since I'm the one who books tickets, he's being awfully bold about that, but since I also swear to not use Delta or fly through Atlanta (mostly because I hate Delta), he can hate on Newark and I'll try to respect his wishes.  We finally made it to the gate in Newark, after about an hour of trying to get there (no exaggeration), I might add, and it was crammed.  As before, they oversold the flight, though at least this time we weren't getting a smaller plane (I might have thrown a tantrum if that had happened again).

So Adam and I sat at the very busy gate, filled with lots of British people who were presumably visiting New York, and waited.  And waited.  And they kept announcing they needed 2 people to take a bump.  A flight later that night to Heathrow, and then a flight from Heathrow up to Manchester, arriving about 5 hours later than the original flight.  $500 (in travel vouchers) for that.  $100 an hour isn't bad, but the fact of the matter was that Adam and I were on 3 flights already to get home, and were already tired and cranky.  Instead of getting back to the house by 11 am, we'd be boarding our flight out of Heathrow then, so we said no.  But...

But...after a couple of announcements at that price and no more takers (Adam said someone took it at $500), the price was suddenly $800.  Same deal as before, just more money in vouchers.  I gave Adam about 10 seconds to make up his mind, and while he was hemming and hawing, I sprinted up to the counter.  And stood there.  After a minute or so, they finally looked up and said in that long-suffering tone gate agents have because all they ever deal with is cranky customers, "Yes, can I help you?" and I said "Yeah, do you still need a couple of people to bump?"  They looked slightly more cheerful at that point (I wasn't complaining, and it's not their money, though the woman who upped the offer said to someone else "I need you to back me up that I tried 3 times at the lower price and no one would take it"), and so the paperwork commenced, at which point a couple of other people had meandered up and tried to take the bump.  I handed them all our tickets, my passport, and went and grabbed Adam, his passport, and our luggage.  They then sent a gal to pull our checked luggage off the plane and reroute it, a process that made me feel like we might never see our luggage again (we did, and even before we got to Manchester for one piece!).  Then we filled out forms and signed them, and were instructed that if we lose the vouchers, we're screwed.  She also told us to write down the number in several different places, because that's what's needed to redeem them, and use them within a year, etc. etc.  Supposedly they're usable on any Star Alliance flight.  I'm not convinced, but I bet I can make it work (just make sure the flight is code-shared with Continental, which is who we bumped from).  They also gave us $12 in food vouchers a person (we didn't need them, but hey, I paid a lot for the original tickets, so I'll take what I can get.****).

So that's all done, and we have to walk to the far end of the terminal.  Same terminal, but it's like a mile away.  In hindsight, it was a lot less far after our hike through Heathrow.  We got food, fought over redeeming the vouchers ("yes, I know I can't get change.  I don't want change, just keep the extra 18 cents and give me my $11.82 worth of food"), and eventually reached our gate in the creepy part of the airport.  Creepy because they had cordoned part of it off, I assume to create a secure area for a international flight that was continuing on from somewhere to Tel Aviv.  That flight left very late, since they last-called it for about an hour.

The later part of Newark and our flight to Heathrow was uneventful, minus the fact that we were late touching down, and not sure we would make our flight (we totally did, but we were only supposed to have an hour).  Because we were connecting through Heathrow, we got a completely different passport control line, which was good, because it was empty.  Then we got a bus to a different terminal.  Then we got security, followed by weird creepy security, as in the kind that photographs you (it's in a testing phase, and we can't figure out what good it does, so we're betting they scrap it).  Then we ran and ran and ran and ran and ran.  And ran and ran and ran and ran and ran.  And ran some more.  Then we finally saw signs for our gate (8) and gates 77-80.  Then we saw gates 77-80 turn off.  Then we ran some more, and found gate 7.  Then another 5 minutes on, we got to gate 8.  Or should I say gates, since it was 8a-8f.  And if you think I'm exaggerating, I'm really not.  From the time we cleared security the last time (the creepy photo turn-in one, because there really were 3 different security things) we still had almost a 10 minute walk.  It was really bizarre.

At the gate area, we hadn't missed our flight (Heathrow is organized and fast if you've travelled at all), and so we went to the counter to talk to a BMI rep to see if she could get us seated together.  Continental could get us confirmed and seats, but because it's a different system, they couldn't get us seated together. Woman at the gate had no problems, though all she did was cross out my seat and write a new one on it. Not very official, but whatever.  Then at boarding, the gate agent looked at it, and asked me a couple of questions, and then said "ahh, I see.  You're on my list (points to a sticky note) to move your seat."  So no problem, except that we now can't see the person in front of us in line.  Shouldn't be a problem, but we're walking down a very long hallway that ends in stairs going down.  That ends in a propped open door.  Hmm...zombies?  Or maybe we'll get arrested for walking out on the tarmac?  Nope.  A plane was out there, and it even turned out to be ours.  So we gate check our bags (it's a small plane), and board.  We're in the second row.  It was lovely, and there were two seats on one side, and one on the other side of the aisle.  And the plane was mostly empty.  Actually, it turned out it wasn't, as we discovered when we deplaned and about 8 million people walked past us that we never saw board before or after us.  Granted, half of the people on that plane were dead-heading to Manchester--there were I think 4 pilots on the plane, plus two full captains flying the plane (instead of a captain and a pilot or co-pilot), as well as several other flight crew members.

We boarded, collapsed in our seats, and waited.  A long time.  Then the gate agent comes on board and asks me for ticket information, because the bump for some reason said we were issued paper tickets, but we weren't, just e-tickets.  In Newark, that was solved by the gate agent crossing out paper and writing e-ticket on it.  So I said "well, I can show you everything they gave us" and handed over our new tickets from Newark.  She said "perfect, I need that bit" and I said "fine, but I want to keep the rest of it so I can have proof when they don't issue our airline miles."  She laughed and gave me back the stub, and all was good.  Until a few minutes later another guy--this one new--came by and asked for me.  This time I needed to confirm that a piece of luggage was ours.  Why, I have no idea, but that's how I knew that at least one of our bags had made it.  I tried to find out about the other one, but they didn't know.  Luckily, when we grabbed our bags after an uneventful flight up to Manchester, they were both there.

We never did go through Customs, by the way.  In the UK, you go through Customs in your final destination, because you don't have to pick your bags up at the port of entry like you do in the US.  It's great.  Except we arrived into the domestic terminal in Manchester, where there is no Customs.  Awesome.  Too bad we didn't want to smuggle anything in.  To be fair, I don't know what we would have smuggled in.

An uneventful train ride, followed by a second uneventful train ride (punctuated by my trying to fall asleep in the 8 minutes it takes to get from Huddersfield to Slaithwaite), and a stagger down the hill, and we were home.  I was hoping to stay up until 8 pm that night, but I passed out about 4 pm.  Classy.  After his shower, Adam found me curled up in bed, arms protectively around Henry the laptop (I was "watching" Leverage).  So he removed Henry, put on his jammies, and used his computer for an hour so before he came to bed, which is when I woke up, but not for long.

In short, that is how Adam and I are $1600 richer in travel vouchers.  Here's hoping he can use his next year--but that's a different story, one without a middle, let alone an ending.

*Day surgery, and they removed all the tumors and a bit of surrounding cells to ensure it was all removed, but the biopsy said the tumors were benign, which was both a major surprise to us all, and quite awesome.

**This is a problem for her, because she no longer has a valid ID, and can't understand why places aren't willing to accept an expired license.  She refuses to go get an Oregon ID card because--sorry Mom--she's old and crabby and doesn't like it when people don't do things her way. Ironically, about 20 years ago she used to complain that old people were stubborn and set in their ways and it made them obnoxious and rude.

***These always seem to be manned because they a) never work or b) people can't make them work.  Cost cutting measures indeed!

****This included a blanket on the flight out.

There...

As I so often do, I apologize for not posting sooner.  Between jet lag and the holidays--and our anniversary tomorrow--I've been swamped.  But for now, we'll start with going out there.

The first snag Adam and I hit was his ESTA.  For those who don't know, the ESTA replaces the green card that used to get stapled into the passports (and then removed upon leaving) of "ferriners" from visa waiver countries (aka those who are less "ferrin"--or more white--than other "ferriners").  In all their stupidity, the US has started charging for $14 for ESTA--$4 admin and $10 "tourist tax."  Most people pay it without a second thought (don't have it, can't enter), but I think it's ridiculous.  Regardless, we knew that, and so Adam made a point of renewing his ESTA (good for 2 years) just before the charges came in.  Therefore, we knew that it would be good for this year's trip.  But just in case, Adam decided to check the ESTA status about 18 hours before we flew.  Sidenote: you're supposed to apply at least 72 hours in advance.

Problem.  Adam tried to access it online using his name and passport number.  System can't find him.  Tried to access it using the number I copied down.  Can't find it.  Tried multiple times, multiple ways.  Either can't find it, or more worrying, it's invalid.  Well shit.

Finally, I tried a different tact.  See, I knew they might want proof at the airport that he had ESTA, so I copied down the number from the copy he wrote down, and chucked it in the passport case.  That's the copy he used, after not bothering to check my copy against his (which I asked him to do for this very reason).  So when everything else is failing, I went digging around on my computer for a copy of his ESTA number, which I found in our flight stuff from last year (and proof why never deleting travel files is good).  Tried the correct number, and he's all happy to travel.  But the ESTA website still sucks, since searching via name and passport number said he didn't exist (those were correct in system and he was copying it from his passport).

Our next snag was not a snag.  It was a lovely, if not very restful, night at the Radisson Blu hotel in Manchester Airport.  Cue commercial here, but we love the place.  It's not cheap--the cheapest is about £70 a night--but it's clean, big, clean, nice, clean, in the airport, and clean.  There's nothing like sleeping in an airport for convenience for those flights at stupid o'clock, but unlike racking out on (or under) benches or on the floor, this is an actual hotel, with heated bathroom floors (seriously), nice big beds, big rooms, TV, and privacy.  We talked about someplace cheaper, but decided that the Radisson couldn't be beat for knowing what we were getting (clean and less than 1% chance of death, rape, mugging, or bedbugs) and likelihood of making the flights (very high).

Checking in was a snag, however.  I think the Continental staff at Manchester was either all brand-spanking-new, or else they got yelled at recently, because we had the most anal-retentive, "but this is what the form says and I must fill out the form" staff I've ever seen.  The security questions guy in line I thought was going to subdue me for the police when he asked if I had anything that could be classed as weapons and I said my keys.  Then we get up to the counter, and because Adam isn't a citizen/visa holder, they need an address for him for the first night.  Normally, the hotel name and city is enough, but not for this lady.  Nor was my parents' address enough.  No, she had to have the hotel for that night.  That is not what she ultimately got, and had we taken a bump (more on that later) we wouldn't have even been in the same time zone.  So after she went all bitchy on me and I went all bitchy back, and they don't have internet, so I had to pay on my phone to use it (which is why I was all bitchy) I gave her the Napa hotel address because I knew where to find that, rather than from a website I'd not been to before.  And when she said in a nasty voice "Is this where you're staying tonight?" I said back, just as nasty, "Yes."  Next time, Adam/I is either lying or making it up.  On the west coast, zip codes all start with a 9, so just give them five numbers starting with a 9 and everyone is good.

Until we got to Newark, all was fine.  Boring, cattle class, and shitty, but fine.  Newark, however, doesn't appear to have any bathrooms.  Adam decided he didn't want to use the first one we saw off the plane, because everyone uses that one.  Turns out in Newark that's because it's the only one.  So we hopped in line for passport control.  His line, not mine, because, well, we feel it's safer.  About 35 minutes later (Adam still hasn't peed, despite there being a loo next to the insanely long border control line that people were hopping out of line to use then hopping back in--something that works well when travelling with others) we finally made it to the front of the line, where our guy then proceeded to go take a leak for about 5 minutes.  Hey, when you gotta pee you gotta pee.  Then the two men right in front of us created a hold-up.  Not sure why, but the one guy's answer to all questions was "yes, I know him."  Didn't matter the question, that was the answer, and presumably all the English he spoke (or for those who know about a previous trip of mine "train come every 10 minutes").  So he got hauled off to a separate room, presumably to find someone who spoke whatever language it was he spoke--I didn't recognize the passport.  Then the guy had to log the thing.  Then Adam and I got called up.  First words we hear?  "Why are you here?"  So I explain that while I'm a citizen, Adam's not.  "Yeah, but why are you here?  You're a citizen.  Take him through your line--you shouldn't have to wait."  He barely looked at my passport, he barely biometric'd Adam--a thumb and a finger, instead of all 10 fingers/thumbs, and we're through.

And still no bathrooms.

Finally, we got the luggage, cleared customs, rechecked the luggage, and eventually found a bathroom.  Or maybe we got lost trying to go through Newark's insanely bad security set-up first.  I can't remember, but two things come to mind.  First, pee when you see a loo in Newark, because you may never see one again, and second, don't go through Newark, because the security set-up there may even be worse than O'Hare, and O'Hare's used to be the worst I'd ever seen (unless it's changed since 2006, it was in no way able to handle the amount of people who need to go through it, and it backs up into the escalators so you nearly die trying to get off).

Eventually though, Adam peed, I probably peed, and we found our gate.  Where we were informed that our scheduled plane was no longer available (don't know why, but I'm guessing it was late or not coming in at all), so they crammed us into a significantly smaller plane.  As in something like 25 seats smaller.  They needed to bump 25 people--I'm betting that flight was also oversold, a practice that I'm rapidly thinking should be banned, though it did prove to be beneficial for us (as will be documented in "...and Back Again.").  Regardless of what was really going on, they were offering hotel, 2-4 food vouchers a person (depending on the number of meals between then and the new flight), and $700 a head for people to take later flights.  For 25 people.  Because that's what happens when you oversell flights and everyone turns up to take the flight.  Instead of making money, you have to spend $17,500, plus hotel and food.  Only 5 people took the bump that I know of though, so no idea what happened to the other 20 people who didn't get on the flight (we checked in about 30 hours before that flight so they couldn't bump us as being the last to check in).

That flight was horrible.  Seat-back entertainment, at $7.99 for the flight.  And people pay it!  Idiots.  We're charged more and more, given less and less, and expected to thank them for the chance to pay for things that should be part of the ticket.  While I don't think entertainment is necessary, I should get to take a bag with me for free--since that's part of travelling, when it gets right down to it--and be fed at least a token meal for free. Instead, they charge a quarter to a sixth of what cable costs a month (unless you have a stupidly expensive cable/satellite package) for a few hours, cram you in as tightly as possible, and give you a tiny little box of food for a huge amount of money.  Adam and I watched (without sound) the entertainment of the people in front of us who paid (idiots), and starved.  We starved because all our food went into the hold when they had to gate-check all the rolling bags because people no longer check luggage because it costs money (if they have to gate-check it, it's free to the passenger, because it's allowed on board normally).

Ranting done, but that was one of the absolute worst flights I've been on in a long time, and I flew not long after 9/11, 7/7, and the debacle that restricted liquids to 3 oz.  But thankfully, when we landed in SFO, Mom and Dad met us, and then proceeded to take us to an In-n-Out Burger for our collective first In-n-Out experience.  We all enjoyed it well enough, but I think I prefer Sonic Burger (which I've also only eaten at once).

I will endeavor to write about Napa and Eugene at some point, but the next time I get around to the blog will be for our return trip, because that was less horrible (in most ways) and much more lucrative.  Also much longer, but did I mention it was more lucrative?

Home Again

I apologize for the complete lack of posts--here and on the Food Blog--while we were in Eugene.  It was a combination of being extremely busy, being on the road, having food poisoning, and just not wanting to bother.  Proper recaps of the trip will follow, because while we didn't get nearly everything done or purchased that we wanted to, some good things happened to us.  And some bad (see: food poisoning).  But now, alas and alack, we are back home, which isn't quite so horrifying as I thought it might be, though it is rather cold in here (that's getting better, due to leaving the heat on to build up residual heat in the walls).  And there wasn't any snow, which was a nightmare last year.

T-Minus Whatever

Yeah, we're at the airport--in the hotel, still actually, but it's attached to the airport so close enough.  We're flying in about 2.5 hours (provided we leave on time--ha!).  A week in Napa, and then two in Eugene.

Kisses!

Because it is Thursday

Because it is Thursday, and Mom and Barbara go out on Thursdays (and apparently talk about my blog from time to time, which makes me think that hobbies need to be found--not that I don't appreciate the readership, because I do), I need to post something.  I have a whole bunch of posts stored in my head for the food blog--though I'm forgetting how to make the curried carrot soup, so perhaps that's one post less--but I'm rather lacking in worthwhile content here on this lil ol' blog.

Depending on your perspective, there's either nothing to report or lots to report.  Three weeks from tomorrow we'll be in Nottingham for the weekend, at what might possibly be the coolest beer festival ever. We went last year for the first time, and it was awesome to max, and we're meeting up with friends from Leicester again this year (same friends, even.  Perhaps our only friends.).  This year, however, we're more prepared.  Not only are we going for two nights--because you can't sample 900+ ales and ciders in only one night--but this time we're going prepared.  Camping chairs for the festival, since seats and tables are not provided, Tylenol/paracetamol for the head, multi-vitamins to prevent the crushing weakness brought on by alcohol purging all vitamins and minerals from the body, and "magic juice" which apparently prevents vomiting.  Water nearly made The Boy hork--in Sainsbury's, no less, while I was trying to find a sandwich--but Copella Apple Juice made him semi-human again.  I'm also insisting upon some V-8, which has a different set of nutrients in it.  We'll even bring some food to supplement the pork pies and other food at the festival, though we're planning on eating at Olde Trip (under the Castle, where the festival is) and I'd like to try the pub that's across from the entrance to the Castle grounds, which I believe is a Castle Rock Brewery pub.

Eight weeks from Sunday we'll be on a plane to the states.  Eight weeks from Saturday we'll be on a train to the super-posh Radisson-Blu hotel in Manchester airport, because I didn't think about trains when I booked our flights.  My logic was "hey, it's the same price to fly Sunday as it is to fly Monday, so we get an extra day for free!"  Except trains don't start running on Sundays much before 9am, and our flight leaves Manchester at 9am, so that doesn't really work.  Oops.  But still, a nice way to ease us into our holiday.  And no faffing about with cabs or hotel shuttles, because there's literally an entrance to the hotel *in* the airport.  Badass, that is.  Also, we've stayed their before, and the fear of bedbugs or getting raped/robbed is minimal.  In our advancing years, The Boy and I seem to be afraid of new hotels, especially if they're cheap.

Beyond our future travels, I've applied for a few jobs, made about 2 gallons of soup in varying flavors (broccoli cheddar, curried carrot, parsnip Parmesan, and chicken and dumplings), randomly made a half-batch of chocolate chip cookies last night (note: a half batch makes way faster than a full batch, but far fewer than half the amount of cookies.  I did eat a bunch of dough, and saved some for The Boy, so that may account for part of the problem).  I have a weird variant of writer's block, in that I know where and what and how, but I need the words to get them there (trans: I hate and suck at writing prophecy.  I also hate the notion of prophecy, which is not lessening my problems.).

I also bought this:

I named it Roger.

For reference purposes, the white bit is nearly as long as my arm, and I can't actually wrap my hand around it and have my fingers touch.

Random spewing of crap

I'd apologize for not posting, but between two birthdays, various bits of news from various friends, seeing friends, going out, bottling beer, and just generally staying up too late and thus getting up too late, I didn't care.  Not that I really went to bed particularly early last night--or got up particularly early--but I'm feeling somewhat more proactive today.  I've done two loads of laundry, vacuumed, and sorted out my dresser drawers.  That last one sounds lame, but when we moved in I just dumped all my socks and underwear (and a shirt, apparently--don't know how that got there) into the drawer and so for the last four months have been rooting through its random lack of sorting whenever I needed socks or underwear.

Hmm...that sounds like I don't wear such things very often.  Rest assured, I change my underwear daily, and I don't wear socks all the time.

Since I started on the sock/undies drawer, I decided I might as well tackle the other two as well, since a) they get messy over time (I start off thinking I'll always put stuff where it belongs, but it's not like that ever lasts) and b) because this place holds so much damp in it, all my clothes seem to smell somewhere between slightly musty and downright nasty, so I threw some laundry sheets in the drawers to help combat the funk.  Adam's on his own though, despite the fact that he thinks I should do it for him.  I'm his wife, not his mother.

The other thing I've done so far today was resort our bookshelves.  You might have gathered that I like to read.  A lot.  Adam also likes to read, and is obsessive about owning books.  We both asked for books for our birthdays, and Mom came through like a champ for Adam, getting him 4 books to go along with the 3 I got him (I think).  And he came through for me, getting me 5 books (I think), bringing our total to 12 new books (I think) in 10 days.  That doesn't include the gift certificate from my folks which I blew on 3 more books, and two CDs (I love the My Chemical Romance, but Adam's obsessed so I wanted more variety in our MCR playlist).  Mmm...15 more books (I think...) for us to devour.  We've each finished our first ones, so yay!

But yes, the bookshelf was getting a bit...piley...before we added to the collection, and since the three gift cert'd books arrived today, I broke down and reorganized the books in order to get a few more on the shelves, instead of piled and shoved into whatever space could be found.  Too bad I can't do that for our children's lit shelf!

I have no idea when we'll move back to the states (I'm hoping sooner rather than later, but between my citizenship here, Adam's green card for over there, and the general chance that the US will be rated lower than several third-world nations soon) but in preparation for that eventuality, I've started stockpiling books that won't be re-read in the next year to go in a suitcase for November.  I fear that I may already be close to the 50 pound limit, which since we also need to bring clothes and toiletries and the like, is somewhat problematic (ie we need one suitcase for all that stuff).  Fun times.  Packing is a bitch, and when you have people on both ends of the journey who want stuff, it gets interesting trying to make it all work.  Especially when some of what you need to pack is homebrew.  Speaking of, I should look up the US duty-free limit on beer.  Mmm...more fun: government websites.

Iceland Part II

So last we left off, Adam and I were being screamed at to not use camera flashes.  We got back to the hotel about 12:30, and after a leisurely lie-in, we went back out and explored Reykjavik some more.  This was actually a repeat of Tuesday, and we repeated it again on Friday.  The highlight of the exploring at this point (though it was a web exploration before we left) was supper that night.  We planned on one really nice meal for the trip (we actually ended up with two, which was my fault), and Wednesday's meal was scheduled for Lækjarbrekka--pronunciation is on you to figure out.  The website is here, and we decided to go with the prix fixé menu.  These were three course feasts, and while expensive, a good deal, although wine was not included.  Which, by the way, the house red is quite nice--this was good, because none of the wine was cheap (including the house red), and the price made us both cringe.

I had the Icelandic Langustine Feast which was slightly different than the website's menu.  The first course was creamy langustine soup with a taste of cognac and whipping cream, and it was absolutely divine.  Perfectly smooth, with the lovely sweetness of langustines, the warmth from the cognac, and the coolness from the cream.  Think of the best lobster bisque you've ever had, and this was probably better. My second course was langustine three ways: grilled in garlic butter (4 tails), which were beautifully flavoured, slightly crispy where they were grilled, and smooth and sweet and moist on the inside; tempura fried langustine chucks, which were delicious, but probably the weakest part of the meal; and chunks of langustine in saffron sauce.  I'm not a big fan of saffron usually; I don't know why, but I don't like the flavour.  This sauce, however, could make me change my mind.  And there was a load of it, so I was able to dunk my tempura langustine in it as well.  Third course was dessert, and that was an interesting concoction.  I adored the creativity, if I wasn't a big fan of the flavours.  Essentially, it was an ice cream torte: the bottom layer was solid dark chocolate, the middle layer was a blueberry sorbet (I don't really like blueberries), and the top layer was an anise ice cream (also don't really like anise).  The flavours all combined beautifully, however, and went very well with the strawberry coulis that was on the plate.  All in all, totally delish.

Adam had the Lamb Feast, which was also totally fabulous.  His first course was lamb carpaccio and smoked lamb with a crisp salad.  Choosing the better of the two lambs (smoked or carpaccio) was not possible--they were both excellent in their own ways.  His second course was roasted lamb with crispy roasted potatoes and a thyme sauce; simple, traditional preparation, and oh so tasty.  It was probably the best of everything we ate, and that's really saying something.  But his dessert was also to die for.  He had the chocolate special of the house, and it was three small chocolate dishes.  The first was a small ball of chocolate sorbet.  Again, simple, but the sweet and the chocolate were perfectly balanced, making for a rich, flavourful, but not heavy sorbet.  The second one was a tiny chocolate soufflé.  Again, simple and traditional, but soufflés do require some mastery, and this one was light and airy and moist, and rich, but not overpoweringly sweet.  The last of the three was the true masterpiece, however.  It was a white chocolate mousse.  I'm not a mousse fan, really, nor do I particularly like white chocolate.  I would have cheerfully beaten Adam to death for it all, however.  Perfectly smooth, a bit thin (which is probably what I liked it, but it also worked well to put a bit on the soufflé), and all the nice flavours that exist in white chocolate without the flavours that I associate with cheap tasting chocolate (as white chocolate so often does to me, even not-cheap white chocolate).

It was a delicious evening, even if I almost died in the restaurant; we (well, I) were somewhat overdressed, as I was wearing my little black dress and strappy heels.  The problem was the the snow had frozen into ice soles on my shoes, so I had no traction on the highly polished wood floor (until it all melted, probably leaving a large couple of puddles).  And we had problems getting the check, but we seemed to run into that elsewhere--though others didn't--so I'm not sure what the deal on that was.

On Thursday, we went out to the Blue Lagoon for the day.  It's a tourist spa, but it's very pretty and well worth a visit (but only once, I think).  Unless it's jammed packed with people, then it probably blows.  But we were there with maybe 200 other guests total, and not all of them were in the water at any given time.  It's also--at least when it's not busy--a very romantic locale.  Everyone spread out in the water, and though we were all pretty much in site of each other, we were more or less private, so there was lots of carrying each other and kissing and the like.  And then playing with the mud.  Then the in-pool bar opened...and Adam and I decided to leave (this was like 3 hours after we climbed in the water, however).  You could only drink around the bar, supposedly, though I stepped on plastic cups more than once in other areas.  We both kinda wanted the luxury of having a drink in the water, but a large, very loud contingent of older, hairy men--I think they might have been Greek, but I don't know; they were mostly speaking accented English--was gathered around the bar, and I didn't feel like dealing with their drunken behaviour (don't think they were actually drunk, however).  Other than that though, we had a good time playing with the muck at the bottom of the pool (equal parts gross and fun), smearing mud all over our faces (not the stuff from the bottom of the pool, though the idiot drunk guys used it--gross!), standing under the waterfall (not as awesome as claimed), and hanging out in the grotto steam room (fun cave, until the lifeguard stuck his head in.  Thankfully, we were not doing anything).  The naked showers here were overrated, and yet people still freaked out.  As an FYI, all public bathing in Iceland must be preceded by a naked shower.  Why?  Because they don't put chemicals in their pools, so they want you clean.  Freshly clean.  The locals will get pissed off if you don't do this.  And though there are no locals at the Blue Lagoon, the policy holds.  But all the showers practically were private cubicles.  Both Adam and I had a hard time finding open showers, and even those were semi-private.  And yet I still heard one girl (American/Canadian) bitch "Why?  I just showered this morning!"  My reason for showering first?  Slather their conditioner all over your hair and leave it in (yes, this probably violates the "clean rule" but is suggested to do): the water is super salty and will fry your hair.  Every time we went in to wee, I hit the showers and threw more conditioner in.

Steamy.

Could it be any more picturesque?

The not open pool bar (it opened later).

More picturesqueness, this time with added bridge over the pools.

More of the pools.

Still more pools (and now I'm getting really flippin' cold out of the water, so Adam's taking pics).

Outside the actual spa area.

And again.

Thursday night's supper was fish and chips.  Why?  Because while we may get fish and chips here in England, Iceland is well known for it's fish, and we wanted to try some there.  It was our weakest meal, probably, and was still tasty.  It was also super-organic.  We went to Icelandic Fish and Chips, where I had wolf fish (turns out it's on the edge of being endangered, so now I feel bad, but it was delicious--since it's eel, I'm not surprised I liked it--kinda like a combination of unagi and catfish.  Adam had cod, and garlic oven chips (they don't fry the potatoes there).  My chips were plain.  And actually, they were all more potato wedges, but it didn't really matter, because we got the skyronnaise sampler platter to dunk everything in.  Skyr is a traditional Icelandic cultured dairy product, similar to very thick yogurt.  They used skyr as the base to make a variety of sauces, including tartare, honey-mustard, mango, and five others.  Not all of the sauces were fabulous, but that was a taste preference thing, because Adam loved a couple I didn't, and vice versa.  But as good as everything was, it really was the weakest meal.  And it was tasty!

Afterwards, we stopped by the Ice Bar.  One of the other Girl Museum interns suggested it, and well, yeah.  It's a schtick.  But Adam and I spent some time chatting with a very nice bartender, and got these pictures.  Dad would be upset for the bottle of Jaeger.

At least it's cold enough.

The only photo of Adam and I.

Friday was, as I mentioned, another day of wandering around Reykjavik.  We hit another couple of museums--the first was the (free) photography museum on the top floor of the library.  Nothing exceptional, but great to kill some time.  Also, the exhibition on was of abandoned farmhouses and such, all taken fairly recently, which was a nice contrast to the turn-of-the-century farm photographs we saw at the National Museum of Iceland on Tuesday.  We also went to 871 +/- 2 Settlement Museum, which was really neat.  In the middle of Reykjavik a few years ago, construction began on a building and they found a Viking Longhouse, so they excavated it and turned it into a museum.  For something as small as it is (one room that surrounded the longhouse), we were there for nearly 2 hours.  It was really fascinating.  From there, we decided on an early meal, as we had to be up at the ass-crack of dawn (ok, about 5.5 hours before dawn) to catch our flight back home.  Sadly, our early meal plan didn't work out quite as planned, but we did eat at The Fish Company, which turned out to be even more money than Lækjarbrekka (which only cost us more because of the wine).  The Fish Company has received the "Best Restaurant in Reykjavik" award (or whatever), and the food was absolutely inspired.  A few reviews have claimed that it's too complicated or over the top, but I disagree.  It was complicated, but I thought it added layers and depth, as did Adam (and he's simple--take that how you will).  The premise is that each dish is inspired by a country and flavour from the region.  So for my starter I went to Norway and had (I've copy/pasted here) GREEN LIME rosmarin marinated BEEF & crispy GOAT ROLL with goat cheese snow, smoked tomato, raspberry jelly, cashew nut & mushroom foam.  Complicated sounding?  Absolutely, but the variety of flavours all worked wonderfully together, whichever mouthful you got.  It was amazing working my way through the dish.  Adam's wasn't quite as many flavours, but he went to Spain and had SERRANO mustard glazed PORK BELLY & GNOCCHIPASTA in creamy TIO PEPE sauce, black olive sand & rosemary marinated tomato.  Mostly he saw the words pork belly and spooged a little (Dad got him hooked on pork belly in Eugene).

For our mains Adam went to Madagascar for CACO BEAN fried MONKFISH & CHEEK with butterfried asparagus, smoked parsnip, parsnip milk, oregano polenta & chocolate cinnamon sauce.  I had the Iceland selection (aka fresh fish of the day) which included salmon and the same chocolate cinnamon sauce (reminiscent of a mole) that Adam had.  Amongst other flavours.  Mine also had langustine (I just realized that I think I'm using the Icelandic spelling).  It seemed to have elements from a variety of other plates, which suited me fine, because the flavours still all blended beautifully.

After having gorged ourselves on all that, we decided to split a dessert, and went to Italy for NUTELLA real TIRAMISU with nutella chocolate cream, coffee toffee sauce & STRACCIATELLA ice cream.  Which was super-rich, especially after all the rich food we'd already had.  It was tasty, but the weakest part of the meal.  It also went to prove that when presented with 500 different people, you'll be presented with 500 different, all authentic, tiramisu recipes.  For all the claims of nutella flavouring in the tiramisu, it was not overpowering, so I think Dad (who thinks tiramisu should be basic and not flavoured with orange or other crap, just coffee) might have even approved.

After that incredibly tasty, expensive meal, Adam and I decided to stagger back to the hotel, so we could pack our crap up, shower, and go to bed early (hahaha) so we could catch our early flight back to reality.  Given that reality was cold, windy, and rainy, we would have preferred to stay in Iceland, where it may have been cold and windy, but it was snowing and pretty, so that was ok.

In all seriousness though, you should go to Iceland.  I know Katie and Doug are going over spring break, but you should go too.  It was beautiful, tasty, filled with fabulous people, and quite possibly is the ideal place to live, provided you can handle very very short days contrasted with 24 hours of sun.

Iceland

We've been back for a week now, and so some of the magic has worn off, as is the case when reality and jobs so rudely intrude.  Still--and perhaps especially because of the weather--we keep thinking longingly of that lovely little island.

The sun had not yet risen over Reykjavik.  It was about 10am.

Our flight left Manchester a little after 11:30am on Monday, with a stop in Glasgow before continuing on to Keflavik, where the international airport is (about 50km/31mi from Reykjavik.  Despite some people's complaints, this is not that far.  Heathrow is an hour by tube from central London, SeaTac is in Burien, which is still a good 15-20 minutes south of Seattle, and so forth).  We hit our first snag before we even got to Glasgow; Adam had the window seat--he whines less that way--and so he saw why we suddenly slammed on the brakes in mid-air.  Apparently there was another plane there.  I have no notion if our pilot, their pilot, or ground control screwed up, but yeah, slamming on the breaks in mid-air does not make a happy Katie.  The cockpit (probably wisely) never said anything.  I rather doubt most people saw the other plane--I didn't.  Other than that, the flight was uneventful, and that plane had seatback entertainment systems.  Not bad for a flight that took about 4 hours, including stops.

Kevlavik airport is very Scandinavian; clean, nice, pretty.  It is, however, an airport, so we got out of there as fast as we could, and hopped on the FlyBus (an expensive, but useful service that also runs in Dublin and other various airports; buy round-trip tickets in advance) into Reykjavik, where we got dropped off at our hotel.  Our hotel, by the way, was the old international terminal when the international airport was in Reykjavik.  IcelandAir still owns it (they've got the tourist industry by the balls in Iceland, with some help from Reykjavik Excursions).  It wasn't as bad as it sounds, but if you know that, you can see that it used to be something else--something crappy.  Also: the star definitions for hotels in Iceland are not perhaps what you're used to in the States.  The IcelandAir Hotel Loftleidir is considered 4 stars, but, well...regardless, it was clean and nice.  It was also backed onto the runway for the domestic airport (not a problem, never heard a plane inside), and about a 20 minute walk from the centre of Reykjavik, but they run shuttles throughout the day (to and from, though the ones back to the hotel were never at a convenient time for us), and walking is healthy, provided you can find a way across the busy roads (pedestrian bridges).  Or, as was the case on our last night, find the path at all (lots of snow).

IcelandAir Offices, as viewed from our hotel room.

So our first night we got to the room, dropped our stuff, and decided we were hungry.  Adam went through our hand LonelyPlanet Iceland, and decided he wanted to eat at Santa Maria.  Yes, that's right.  We flew to Iceland to have Mexican food.  And by God, it was good!  Adam is addicted to burritos, and though I don't generally like mole, I had the enchiladas mole, and it was fabulous.  The nachos were suitably American and tasty, and the chocolate cake we split for dessert was to die for.  We were soaked on the walk back, but we did meander a bit through the area around the church, and it was lovely (minus the rain).  Then we slogged back to the hotel, and to bed.

Yes, those are two separate beds, with two separate duvets, and a weird thingy over the foot.

This seems to be the norm for hotels, from what I can tell.

Clearly, they do not wish to encourage intimacy.

Tuesday we decided to explore Reykjavik.  So we went to the church (Lutheran), went to the top of its tower (freaky with all the wind), visted an art museum (skip that one), and generally just wandered around and shopped--I got a hat, and Mom did not get a lovely cloak for her birthday, because it was approximately eleventy million dollars (or 30,000 ISK).  We also ate Big Boats, which I think is the slightly bizarre translation for subs.  Or maybe it was just that sandwich bar.  Regardless, they weren't quite a foot long, but they were certainly delicous, and everyone in the itty-bitty stand thing seemed to be local laborers.  The bread was soft on the outside, lightly toasted on the inside, and mine was filled with beef and grilled onions and sauce and general goodness. Adam's was the same, but with lamb and cooked red cabbage.  Definitely worth a visit for lunch, and a good bargain (comparitively) for 1100ISK each (including a drink).  The museum was the low point; Reykjavik has an art museum divided over three sites, and this one was pants.  It featured Erro, whose work it turns out I don't really like, and some travel art, installations, and a weird travel video thing that was just kinda creepy.  That was at the Hafnarhús, and I would totally give it a miss.  Maybe with different exhibitions it would be better, but I think Erro is a permanent exhibition, and the building was awkward for an art museum.

I did not take this picture.

http://www.sacred-destinations.com/iceland/reykjavik-hallgrimskirkja

Or this one.

http://www.sacred-destinations.com/iceland/reykjavik-hallgrimskirkja

This one either.

http://www.sacred-destinations.com/iceland/reykjavik-hallgrimskirkja

Or this one.

http://www.sacred-destinations.com/iceland/reykjavik-hallgrimskirkja

I did take this one, which is why it's blurry.

And why this one is dark.

Tuesday night was the Northern Lights tour.  Absolutely worth doing, but I would suggest trying to schedule that with a smaller tour (SuperJeep maybe?) if possible.  The good thing about Reykjavik Excursions is that they seem to have a bunch of different options of places to go, and people who call in and tell them if the skies are clear and such.  We did actually see the Northern Lights, and despite what Adam claims, it was not some dude in a helicopter shining a green light on some clouds.  We even got some pictures of the Northern Lights.

Point-and-shoot digital cameras don't have long exposures.

Aren't they pretty?

This is not what we saw.

The funniest--and most obnoxious bit--about the tour was the crew of people screaming "no flash" every time someone used a flash (accidentally at first).  They kept doing it, so I think people started intentionally using their flashes.  Adam and I would have, except my camera died out there.  We don't know if they were part of our tour or part of the caravan of cars that were following our tour to the viewing areas.  Either way, I'm not sure what they expected.  Idiots.

I have a feeling this post is plenty long enough for the moment, and I have to get ready to go look at a house shortly, so I will post more about our trip later.

Iceland, or Why the hell haven't you gone there yet?

Adam and I both absolutely loved Iceland.  Reykjavik was clean, beautiful, and friendly, and within 24 hours Adam--without me saying a word, though I was already thinking it too--said "we could live here."  I repeat, he said that without prompting, and I completely agreed with him.  I'll write more about our trip in a day or two (and post our few meager pictures--the camera died, so most of them are on our phones), as it's already well past my bedtime, but first, a brief bit of info on Iceland.

The population is slightly under 350,000, and just over 60% of people live in Reykjavik.  A quick bit of comparison thinking will tell you that rush hour in Reykjavik isn't exactly like rush hour in New York, or even Seattle.  It's not cheap, but it's not as expensive as it's been made out to be, although food isn't cheap.  The food is, however, stunningly delicious (unless you don't like fish or lamb), whether it's simple (fish and chips or sandwiches) or high-fare (lamb carpaccio or langoustine in saffron sauce).  There is also a wide range of international cuisine.  The Mexican restaurant we ate at the first night (one of two we found), for example, was as authentic as you can expect when you're about 6000 miles away (the mother of the owner was flown in from Mexico City to teach the kitchen how make the food properly, which sure beats the "Mexican" I've had in London).  From what I can tell, salaries seem to be comparable to the US, and prices slightly higher (no idea on housing; the only place I found was listed in US dollars, and was 500 acres with a river and it's own geothermal power plant--$10,500,000).  The country is almost completely powered by geothermal energy, which makes sense, as it's on the mid-Atlantic rift, and so is slowly growing due to being pulled apart by two tectonic plates.  It can get 24 hours of daylight for a few months in the summer, and while we were there (aka the beginning of February), sunrise was around 10:15am, and sunset around 5:15pm.  It snowed nearly the whole time, but people drove fine in the snow (except for what I believe were a few tourists).  It was cold, but not unbearable.

Yes, we were on holiday, which can gloss over the negatives.  But comparatively, there are very few negatives to Iceland.  We WILL be going back.  We've even got plans for a pub/brewery that we could open there.

Iceland, here we come!

We're leaving for Iceland tomorrow.  I managed to find just about the only hotel/B&B in the country that doesn't offer free Wi-Fi (it offers Wi-Fi, but I won't pay for it).  It also appears to be the only place that doesn't offer (again) free breakfast.  It's also a 20 minute walk from the centre, and appears to overlook the domestic airport's runway.

This sounds like bitching; really it isn't, just a stating of the facts (ma'am).  I knew what I was getting into when I booked it, and chose to anyway, given reviews and prices.

Mostly the point of this post is that we shall be out of contact for the next week.  I'm both irritated by that and find the prospect glorious.  We're taking the camera, so provided the batteries don't die and we take it out with us, I'll have pictures to post when we get back.  Cross your fingers!

Reading List: January 2011

A new year, a new reading list.  In less than 4 days I finished my first book, and I wanted to finish it sooner; I really, really enjoyed it.  Shortly before we began circling Heathrow on our flight back from visiting my folks, Adam and I started watching an Aussie movie called Tomorrow, When the War Began.  Had we known that we were going to be in the air for an hour or so longer than planned, we would have plugged our headphones in, but we understood enough of the movie to enjoy it even without audio.  Sadly, it doesn't seem to be released anywhere outside of OZ/NZ, so we can't rent it, or buy it without having it shipped from OZ (we have a region free DVD player, so no worries on that front at least).  But the good news is that the movie is based on a series of young adult novels (The Tomorrow Series by John Marsden) and Adam was kind enough to pick up the first one for me as a Christmas present.  After I got over the self-referencing first person style and the narrator gets into telling the story, it's really good.  It's a teen adventure/suspense/drama/romance thing, and it works fairly well.  Compelling storyline, and the balance of teen love and angst is just that: balanced.  It appears, and just as it starts to bug you, it goes away.

Sadly, however, I'm done with it already.  I have a nice Amazon gift certificate to spend, and while I have a lot more stuff I want to buy than the certificate is worth (which is saying something--thanks to my overly generous parents!), it looks as though I'll be picking up at least some of the rest of the series.  Probably all of it, because I am a completionist.  And the first one was quite good.

***

If you read on, you'll see I've acquired the rest of the Tomorrow series.  None of them are exactly long, and they get shorter as they go on (except for the last one), so I'm reading basically one a day.  On one hand, I'm not sure they're quite as good, but on the other hand, I really want to find out how it all ends (which isn't really the case, since after the 7 Tomorrow books Marsden wrote 3 more about Ellie, the narrator of the Tomorrow series).  But I'm enjoying them still, despite all the frustration in trying to get ahold of them.  In fact, I'll be asking Levi if he can help me out with that shortly . . .

So without further ado, January's reading list:

10. * Mrs. Pollifax and the Golden Triangle, by Dorothy Gilman (Mrs. Pollifax Series #8)
 9.  The Other Side of Dawn, by John Marsden (The Tomorrow Series #7)
 8.  The Night is for Hunting, by John Marsden (The Tomorrow Series #6)
 7.  Burning for Revenge, by John Marsden (The Tomorrow Series #5)
 6.  Darkness, be My Friend, by John Marsden (The Tomorrow Series #4)
 5.  The Third Day, The Frost (aka The Killing Frost), by John Marsden (The Tomorrow Series #3)
 4.  The Dead of Night, by John Marsden (The Tomorrow Series #2)

 3.  Skin Trade, by Laurell K. Hamilton (Anita Blake, Vampire Hunter #17)
 2.  *Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows, by J. K. Rowling (Harry Potter #7)

 1.  Tomorrow, When the War Began, by John Marsden (The Tomorrow Series #1)