Dear Scent,

You're taken for granted. And that's unfortunate. You might be my favorite sense. Well, behind sight and sound. But still! You're top three buddy. And I really appreciate you for what you do. You've been on my mind a lot lately. Generally no one takes notice of you unless you're really good... or really bad. And that's what I'd like to talk about.

I really like scent because I seem to have many memories tied to it. I'm sure I'm not the only one. Surely you've smelled something and all the sudden you're thinking about something you haven't thought of in a long time. Isn't that interesting? One of my best personal examples is a perfume used by a teacher of mine from way back in the day, maybe kindergarten. Whenever I smell it I'm immediately transported back to being a young child sitting in a dull room. It's not the best journey, but it's nostalgic now. If I knew the name of the scent and had a dating profile that'd probably be #1 on my list of "please no one with this". Of course there are good things too, my Aunt Martha has always used a similar laundry detergent. Whenever I smell that I think of going over to Will and Jack's to play.

During my time abroad I've had some pretty funny scent based moments. In a post from Iceland I mentioned smelling like a dog and not noticing until I got into the car with our friendly Eskimos' lady. My nylon shell pants still smell quite dog like even after all this time and all this washing. Another dog related scent: raw meat puke. Charming isn't it? I thought so too. Thank you Anubis for the lovely treat. You've burned yourself into my memory indefinitely. And finally, my gloves. Which still hold the fishy scent of the kibble we fed the crew. Yum. Of course sometimes we produce smells of our own. Poor Anna suffered a chemical attack in the Oslo train station as I removed my sweater which had been holding in, apparently, quite a stench. Sorry about that! But we had been in the Norwegian wilderness for quite some time with no bath. It was all part of becoming one with the land. Also let's consider it a bit of payback for your wet running shoes which had acquired a lovely aroma while stashed away in the rental car.

Back to my sweater... there's that wooly smell. Which is neither good not bad. But something I distinctly know. It's only obvious when you've been moving around a bit. The wool seems to warm up, or something. Which reminds me of the taste-smell relationship. I ate a cheese once that I described as "like my wool sweater", strangely folks seemed to not eat much more after that. Guess that's not a good example. But luckily for you I do have a few. Again in Norway there was a perfumey wood, it reminded Anna of the Beatles' "Norwegian Wood". The smell of wood in general is comforting. Splitting wood in Somerset or peeling bark, working in the woodpile here in Nethy, and the smell of a fire. We'd often have fires back in Mocksville, and the smell of a wood fire is friendly.

And then there's what I've come to think of as "the smell of adventure". What does adventure smell like? Speed Stick - Regular Scent deodorant. Next time you're in the store meander by the deodorant section and inhale some adventure. Why do I think that? Because that's the only deodorant I've ever worn outside the US. In Peru I had it because it was one of the few deodorants sold in a small package. Same reason I've had it with me here in Europe. Which may say something, that a small deodorant has lasted me six months. It's not often I need to smell "good". In the woods no one cared. Except maybe Anna. But now the Regular Speed Stick scent is embedded in my mind right next to memories of foreign places.

The mind is an odd thing. Like how this whole post was spurred on by me putting on deodorant and thinking "Ahhh, adventure". Even though I was really just heading to the Lazy Duck to do some laundry. Which smells fantastic by the way. Anyway, get out there and do some sniffing. And don't forget to thank your nose every now and then. Even if it gets you into something very unfortunate. Looking at you Anubis.

Sincerely,
Zeb

Other Smells I Love:
Fresh mountain air
Crisp mornings
Snow
Vanilla
Books
Flowers at night in Spring
Sunscreen (A woman in a shop I stopped at on a ride once told me I smelled like Summer.)
A pack of Pokemon cards
Apples
Fresh cut grass
Coffee (Even though I don't really drink it.)
Cedar
Tomatoes

And much more.

Dear Iceland,

What can I say? You are: magical, cozy, incredible, sublime, amazing, awesome, exciting, charming, etc. But of course I must also add that you're a bit cloudy, wet and dreary. Don't take it the wrong way though, it's part of your charm. A bit like a friendly black cat that sheds and drools. I'm willing to deal with your quirks.

I've been thinking too that maybe it's those quirks that make this place so special. Or maybe I've been rained on so much I've just convinced myself that I like it. Pitching a tent in the rain and then packing it up in the rain can be a bit demoralizing. But like when in Skaftafell that rain clears to reveal the most beautiful night sky I've ever seen, well, sometimes getting rained on isn't so bad. And when you're driving along the coast and mountains are covered in clouds, it adds a certain character to them. A bit mysterious. Images of Godzilla lurking around entered my mind as I looked up. He'd fit in pretty well here. Often I also expressed my wish for a kite, you'd be in danger of flight yourself while flying one. But watching the pattern the wind makes blowing the grass around in a field or on the water in a lake at the bottom of a crater makes you appreciate it.

You get a real sense that this country is alive. Not just from the wind and the rain. At Krafla we saw bubbling mud, Mývatn the volcanic glow in the sky, Skaftafell a bit of glacier and northern lights, Akranes was home to fierce winds and the ocean, and Thingvellir a rift in the land between two continental plates. The waterfalls, like stars, would be near impossible to count. Endless lava fields, some covered in moss, and huge craters remind you of Iceland's past. So do the fjords, giving you a feel for the power of nature. Often we would ask ourselves "Where are we?", "Is this even real?" Asbjørn would mention that he felt like he was in a dream, a feeling I can relate to. Iceland is a different world from any other I've seen. I'll miss it here but one day I'll come back.

Right now I'm writing this post from a comfortable bed here in the Hlemmur Square hostel, downtown Reykjavik. It's quite a luxury. For the first night in a while (50+ days) I'm not in a sleeping bag and I've got a real pillow. Sounds of street traffic comes up into our dorm from below. Yesterday we ate in a real restaurant, with a waitress, and wandered around town. Reykjavik is different from where I've been. And I like it. A lot. As far as cities go this is my favorite so far. Taking down the tent in near hurricane winds with a light drizzle yesterday morning may influence that. Or it might be just that this place is nice. With 66-75% of Icelands population and tourists flooding the streets I never once felt crowded. The stone streets, trees, and architecture all make for a lovely walk. The people are friendly and far more fashionable than I'll ever be. Reykjavik will be added to the long list of places I wish I had more time for. But for now, if only for a bit, it feels nice to be back in "civilization".

One of the stars of my "Dear Friends," post, Anna, has already left. She's headed for Norway and soon I will follow. When my flight lands I'll take a train to Oslo to meet her at the bus station. From there we'll hop on a bus and head out into the wild. Lots of backpacking is ahead of us.

For now though I'll enjoy my last little bit here. So thank you Iceland, again, for being what you are. An island in the middle of the Atlantic that's like nothing I've seen. You've certainly had an impact on my life and captured part of my heart. One day I'll be back!

Sincerely,
Zeb

Dear Friends,

I'm so thankful to have you in my life. Here in Iceland I've seen natural wonders that I can hardly describe. Right now I can step out of our campsite's communal room here in Mývatn and see the distant glow of the volcanic eruption reflected on the clouds. Today we went from skipping stones at the coast, driving in fjords, a tiny fishing village, up a mountain pass, tunnels and a moonlike landscape. Yesterday Asbjørn, Anna and I jogged from our camp in Skaftafell to the foot of a glacier tongue. Later Megan joined us for a 7km hike up to a lookout down onto the same glacier. There we spent a long time sitting in the sun with no one else around. We were all confused as to how we could be in such a majestic location without a huge crowd.  Afterwards we hiked down to Svartifoss and saw incredible basalt columns with a waterfall rushing over them.

The night before all of that we arrived at Skaftafell unintentionally to camp for the night. Another campsite was our intended destination but I'm so glad we landed here. We set up camp and began to make a dinner of assorted soup and mashed potatoes with a bannock dessert. While making the bannock, using a recipe taught to us by Belgians, we realized the sky had cleared up and some northern lights were floating around. So there we were eating bannock and jam at a picnic table in Skaftafell 2km from the foot of a glacier under a starry sky and northern lights. Iceland continues to make me use large adjectives and I often think the word "magical".  We've also seen Geysir, Gulfoss, and a glacier lagoon. I've been in a near state of perpetual excitement for the past few days. Just riding in a car in this country is a joyfull experience. Everything I've seen deserves its own post. But, my time for writing is limited and I'd rather not write that many posts at once. So I'll focus on my favorite place so far. Thingvellir.

A little after 900 AD Thingvellir became the meeting place of the Icelandic parliment. Here at the Althing and the Law Rock they laid down the rules of the land. It's located in a rift valley and is quite a magical place. One of the UNESCO World Heritage sites. But more importantly for me here in the year 2014 it became the meeting place of friends. I hitchhiked up to Thingvellir from Selfoss to spend a few nights. It took me three rides. The first ride was from a nice Icelandic man with a dead reindeer in his backseat which poked me in the back. He said he always tries to give rides to tourists when he can, it's his duty as an Icelandic guy to show us his country. I'm very thankful his attitude. The second ride came from a single mother of three on the way to her Summer house which she is rennovating. She was eager to talk and I was willing to listen. She hopes to save money and begin travelling when her two teenage sons are out of the house. Most of her free time is spent on Google Earth street view day dreaming. One day I hope she follows her dream. And finally I was driven to Thingvellir by a friendly young couple of Germans. The man is a cop and the woman studying at university. They took me all the way to the parking lot in the national park. Relying on the kindness of strangers is an odd way to travel but it's a lot of fun.

Once in the national park the real magic began. After a hike down into the rift I headed for the nearest campsite. It's here I had my first chance encounter. Jack, a touring cyclist from Canada that I met in Selfoss, was walking down a path toward me. We both left the same day and ended up together again. He's a friendly man with many great adventures to tell about. He has spent his life travelling in the Canadian backcountry and around the world. I continued to the camp and pitched my tent next to his. Not long after this I heard English from the covered picnic area so I walked over to investigate. Hearing "their so darn cute" I realized it must be Asbjørn (Esbian) talking about his cats. So I slid into view and we had a grand reunion. It had been days since we last met in Selfoss. I didn't expect to see him again here in Iceland but I'm so glad I did. That night Asbjørn, Jack, a couple Frenchmen and a very interesting man affectionately called Maxi hung out at the Chevro-let bar. Our new French friends convinced us to drink a bit of whiskey and coke. This turned into a long night of playing music and laughing. The next day Asbjørn and I hiked in the park down to the lake and back up by abandoned farms and fields. At the lake we shared a can of beans after he took a dip in the near freezing water.

That night a northern lights tour showed up to our humble homes and we enjoyed the company of so many new people. Particularly two friendly British girls from Nottingham. We stood in the field learning about how boring England can be while watching the lights amid Japanese tourists softly exclaiming "Aurora!" from time to time. And to add excitment to our night an elderly American took to a play by play announcement of it all. Also the incident in which two folks legs gave out due to joy, or age cold and darkness, added a bit of humor. A rather large earthquake must have struck that only they could feel. The next day our French friends had to leave abruptly but they left behind all of their groceries. This is where we met three Belgian medical students that taught us about bannock. At the end of the feast and at their departure we exchanged contact info, another new friend I hope to hear from soon.

And finally, the day after that my real adventure began. Anna and I had a bit of communication to plan her meeting me at the campsite between 12-1. Beginning around 11:30 I learned how a dog must feel waiting for its family to return home. I watched the parking lot hardly moving away from my post. Unfortunately I'm an old dog and my senses aren't the best. Around 1 I heard "Zeb?" from behind me in a voice I last heard way back in Boone. If I had a tail objects placed on a coffee table would be in danger of an unexpected flight. That moment may be the most excited I've been to see someone in a while. Sorry Anna about the excessively long hug. As I have no tail that's the only way I thought to express my joy. To see a familiar face in such a strange place was wonderful. And of course it was great to meet you too, Megan. They were kind enough to let Asbjørn ride along and add some Danish flavor to our adventure. He and I could barely contain our excitement at being in a car we wouldn't be getting out of. There was even music and heat.

And that's how I've been able to see so much and travel so far. Automobiles really are pretty incredible. We've since lost one of our crew, Asbjørn. He stayed behind in Djúpivogur to work on homework. It's such a cozy little town like one out of a dream. I'm sad to leave him behind but glad he's in such a nice place. He would have left soon after anyway as he's trying to take the "party ferry" back to Denmark. We'll stay in touch and I've promised to one day visit Denmark to see the gobbles, his island and to try a Danish hotdog.

It is thanks to my friends and the people I've met along the way that I've been having such a good time. Without the people my adventure would still be beutiful. I could still have seen it all. But maybe it'd be a bit like eating cereal with water instead of milk. Yes, it's still cereal. But it's so much better with the milk (which is my favorite part). So thank you friends for being the milk in my bowl. You enhance the experience and like the milk collect the memory of the cereal and all the sugary goodness to be had again once it's all gone. The cereal is of course Iceland. Maybe Captain Crunch Berries. Certainly nothing bland. And of course my friends are whole milk. There's nothing left out and there's no substitute like soy or almonds. If you're not a fan of cereal I'll simply say, the people I've met and have been with make my experiences much more valuable. Much of Iceland will be here and unchanged when I return some day, but the people will have changed. I've seen so many in a hurry to run and see a waterfall with no time for their fellow travellers. My advice to them is this, slow down to have a conversation or two and maybe even share a meal. The waterfall can wait a few hours but in that time so many people around will come and go. People with unique stories and backgrounds, travel tips and insight. Svartifoss taught me a lot but not nearly as much as my friends.

Sincerely,
Zeb

Dear Hitchhiking,

I've been told by many people that you're easy to do here in Iceland. And now I know that this is true. Even back home in the US I had never tried hitchhiking. But, I guess that I never really needed to. I've always had a vehicle, and my favorite transportation the bike, or friends and family willing to give me a lift. Hiking all the way to Sólheimar even sounded like a proper adventure. It's only a measly 32km. But I underestimated one small detail. The huge backpack nearing 35lbs that I'd be bringing with me. A true monkey on my back.

Yesterday I woke up around 8, I'd love to have slept in. Wednesday night as I was about to get up from the Gesthus couch an interesting individual plopped down next to me. Somehow or another we began talking and we hit it off. Turns out he's from Denmark and despite our different origins we share many thoughts and interests. He told me all about his hikes and dreams of the Gobbles, a jellyfish. His plans are to create a trilogy of albums about gobbles, cats (we both find them to be so darn cute), and seagulls. The latter he was once offended to hear called the rats of the sky. Anyway, he deserves an entire post on his own. What I'm trying to say is that I stayed up late and didn't sleep much. So, there I am at 8 packing my things away and eager to hit the road. But before that I decided it'd be best to eat a fair bit of the food some kind soul left behind at the Gesthus free table. I believe it may have been the open box of cheerios that had been visited by who knows how many hands where I've gotten my sore throat from. After stuffing my face like a bear preparing for hibernation I decided maybe I'd wait a bit to see if my Danish friend would emerge from his tent. Unfortunately he did not and it was time for me to go. I hope you're well Espian (Esbian? or something...) and that we cross paths again. He was headed to the Blue Lagoon after finding his blue speedo and remembering a dream of being there. Don't forget to email me.

So, I finally hit the road. This is the part where I take notice of my monkey. Motivating myself with thoughts of Bill Bryson's unfit friend that he drags along the AT in "A Walk in the Woods", I decide I can toughen up and do it. After all I consider myself an endurance athlete! The bridge out of town comes and goes and my march continues. One more roundabout later I come to the sign pointing toward Geysir and road #35. It's here I remember google maps telling me that I'd be on this road 20km. The distance is offset by the view of a mossy plataeu alongside the road and I'm still paying no mind to the many cars whizzing by towards Geysir. At least until I feel the twin blisters that have taken up residence on the bottom of each foot. Now I begin paying more attention to each passing vehicle. What a marvelous invention the automobile is. All I'd need to do is stick out my thumb and maybe I'd get a ride. But I was faced with a similar feeling as if I were asking a girl out on a date. My mind was filled with thoughts of looking silly, and failure. I began telling myself "What's the worst that happens? They just keep driving." And so my attempt at hitchhiking began. And luckily it went a lot better than my attempts at dating.

After working up the courage I began sticking out my thumb for each car I heard coming towards me. I kept walking as thoughts of failure kept my legs moving. At this point I was still ~3hrs walking from Borg. It was already 3:00. Many cars passed me by but with each one I was never discouraged. It was almost a relief actually. When a car finally stopped I'd be faced with what to do. Again, a bit like dating. And so I almost didn't believe it when finally a car passed and I saw break lights. My heart began beating a little quicker, this was it. Like a scene from a romantic film with two lovers running towards each other. Only I awkwardly jogged and the car slowly backed up until the two of us met. After a bit of talking I hopped in the front seat, monkey in my lap. My new friend was an older lady willing to give me a ride half-way. I told her I'd never done this before and she said it wasn't a habit of hers to pick folks up off the road. But it was windy and rain looked eminent so she felt pity for me. She was coming from Reykjavik where her husband managed a golf course. Her destination was her greenhouse where she now grows herbs but soon tulips for Christmas. We shared small details about each other and not long after she was dropping me off at her turn, apologizing for not taking me further. I couldn't thank her enough. Success! Suddenly reminded of the cold, wind, blisters and monkey I now threw my thumb up with gusto. Thankfully not long after another car came to a halt. This time an elderly gentleman that reminded me a bit of my grandfather. I told him I was headed to Sólheimar and he said he'd get me to Borg. We didn't talk much as his English and my Icelandic could use some work but I do know he has a son that's a doctor in Minnesota.

When we arrived in Borg I thanked him and decided I should stop there. By now it was a little after 4 and I still had 10km to go on a side road. I went into the gas station, spent 500 ISK on a coke and water, and got directions to the campsite. I spent the night alone in a clearing in front of a moss covered hill and some evergreens. Elves and sheep (baa'ing in the distance) ran through my mind as I tried to drift off. The next morning I awoke to waves of rain and feeling the Cheerio sore throat setting in. I stayed lazy and didn't leave the safety of my tent till the last minute. Luckily when I did the rain subsided and I began my trek. This time I hiked the full 10k to Sólheimar. No rides. Once I arrived I learned I had come a bit late and most things were closing down for Winter. However, in the art gallery a lovely woman prepared me some tea and I sat and wrote in my journal while listening to music she played from her laptop. We talked for a bit and she told me it was a dream that had brought her there. Iceland seems to be the place for dreaming. I could have stayed much longer than I did.

When I finally left I was feeling quite tired and was eager for a ride. But I knew this road was not well travelled and my hopes weren't high. Less than 100m after I left the man who keeps the greenhouses stopped and gave me a lift, he was headed for Borg. We talked about Sólheimar and what he grows, how long he had been there and more. But soon enough we were at our destination. Here I prepared myself for another lonesome night but decided to again test my luck. If I could make it all the way back to Selfoss I'd spend the night at Gesthus. I stood on the corner of the Borg campsite road and 35 with my pack at my feet and thumb out. I'm not sure how long I waited but it wasn't too much. A nice rental car pulled up and a man hopped out of the car to open the trunk. I threw my backpack in and hopped in the back. It was a father/son couple in Iceland on business but they had been up at Geysir for fun. They're from Switzerland and own a horse meat processing plant in Selfoss. They used to import from the US but since Americans became horrified at the idea of eating horse that has become difficult. Not so here in Iceland. The son told me he had a bad experience with Americans around 10 years ago and used to dislike us. But he worked writing songs for a musician in California and through her he learned to give Americans a chance. I hope I left a positive impression. He told me how he'd like to visit the US for Thanksgiving and Black Friday. While he'd rather spend money on nonmaterial things he's fascinated by the idea of our shopping day. These two kind Swiss gentlemen got me to road #1. I hopped out here as they continued to Reykjavik. Soon after I was passing the roundabout, crossing the bridge and walking down the street to pay my money and get a place for my tent.

I began this post in the communal room, all the faces are new, and I'm ending it in the tent. The owner came in to let us know the northern lights are starting. Tonight's show is supposed to be spectacular according to a man at Sólheimar. I've been out in the field but now I'm attempting to warm up a bit. Soon enough I'll be out there again. The lights come and go and I'd hate to miss something good. In between the satellites, shooting stars, regular stars and moon keep me entertained. The world isn't such a bad place. I've been reminded that there's lots of good out there. Something I'll try not to forget, and maybe one day I'll give someone a lift. Physically or emotionally.

Sincerely,
Zeb

Dear Gesthus,

Currently I'm sitting in your campsite common room on a large, black, L-shaped couch. I'm charging my phone while waiting for my instant noodles to finish cooking. Someone that looks to be aroud my age is cleaning up after the meal he and his friend just ate. The large windows looking out into the campground are slightly cracked and a cool breeze along with the sounds of children playing is finding its way in. There's a pond and a group of young school kids seem to be having a lesson involving it. They're all wearing neon yellow vests and rain gear.

Here in the common room people come and go. Every now and then a kind British man pops in. He's touring Iceland by bike, this is his second year. While others I've seen since my arrival yesterday disappeared into the country for good. Tents are taken down and new ones are put up. Soon I'll be one of those taking their tent down and heading out. Iceland is home to Sólheimar which is called the oldest eco-village in the world. It began as a children's home and now offers creative and fun employment for those with special needs. They also offer classes in sustainable living. In fact Sustainable Development is a large part of what they do. Along with classes they offer various volunteer and internship positions. As I'm not sure what it is I'll be doing in the future, maybe it's worth a look. It's 32km away and I think it wouldn't be such a bad walk. Maybe I'll even try a bit of hitchhiking. I've got 8 days to kill before my friend Anna and her friend Megan arrive.

For now though I'm enjoying my relaxation at the Gesthus resort. There's a very hot shower available whenever I want, WiFi from the tent, a kitchen, this cozy communal room and a toilet that flushes. I'm loving the toilet. But stand up before flushing, it's a bit powerful. There's even a place to do laundry for the steep price of 1,000 ISK, the price I paid for one night! But when it has been 5.5 weeks since the last time you properly washed anything you feel inclined to pay and not haggle. There's also some great entertainment in the form of a few old Gestabók, or guestbooks. Filled with good, poor, foul and interesting art. Accompanied of course by lovely entries with praise and thoughts on this interesting country. The guestbook is much like conversation here in the room. Most of it is in a language I don't understand but it's nice to hear or read a bit of English. There's even an entry in a made up language from the Artemis Fowl books. A series I loved to read at a younger age and may now have to revisit.

Today I'll probably be a bit lazy. There's a grocery store not far off that I need to visit, this is my third instant noodle meal. And I read about an independent book store. The British man told me he saw a bike shop, that'd be fun too. I think Selfoss has a bit to offer and I'm in no rush. Another night surely wouldn't hurt. The only other two Americans that were here could spare no time as they tried to plan out their last two action packed days. It seemed to be such a hassle to be in such a rush.

I'm now alone and the British man has said farewell. My noodle lunch is almost gone. The wind in the trees sounds peaceful. Maybe a nap here on the couch should be added to my agenda.

Sincerely,
Zeb

P.S. I left the dogs behind a bit suddenly. I feel that I'll have to wrap that up properly with another post at another time. The opportunity came up to be on my way so I went.

Dear Nature,

You are sublime. And I don't mean you're not quite a lime. If I remember correctly a sublime feeling comes about from seeing a sight that is quite frightening but at the same time enchanting. A couple of my classes at Appalachian State dealt with what the sublime is. I should have paid better attention. My apologies to Tim Silver and Chuck Smith, two wonderful teachers, who taught me quite a bit. Or tried their best to. Someone else I've recently learned a bit from is my Uncle Jim. While his knowledge comes from outside of a classroom and is offered free of charge I find it valuable all the same. I'm not saying I'd pay you Uncle Jim, but you'd have made a good college professor. When asked what spirituality is his reply included: "But, while we respond to physical stimuli, what we sense and our responses are non-material. We are sensing, holistically, more than our physical senses are providing." A spiritual feeling may come from a lack of our senses being able to fully tell our body what we're experiencing. This sounds frightening and enchanting.

I believe spirituality and the sublime go hand in hand. And I'm not sure I understood either before I came to Iceland. Back in Boone I of course saw wonderful things. Every day I think fondly of my mountain home and the friends I have there. But I think I became too comfortable there. It's a place I could see myself growing old. The sights became a part of the everyday. The ordinary. I expected grand vistas, smokey mountains and blue skies. Every now and then though something would catch me off guard such as Little Lost Cove or a new road shown to me by a friend. But it wasn't until I got out of my comfort zone here in the alien world of Iceland that I was really caught by surprise at the beauty of nature. Here I have had three encounters with nature that left me feeling blessed. Or if I may use the word, sublime.

The first came on a cool morning around 7:00. I had recently woken up to throw on my jogging attire. Hiking boots, sleeping shorts, trusty llama hat and long sleeve shirt. My morning jog takes me down by Pjorsa, the glacier fed river. A sight to behold on its own. But this morning it wouldn't be the river that made me stop. It was the sun, a few well placed clouds and Eyjafjallajökull. The infamous volcano was lit up by the sunrise like I had not seen before. By this day I had done this jog many times but it was as if I saw the mountain and glacier for the first time. Even after attempting to take it all in I couldn't take my eyes off the view the entire jog. How many landmine poos laid by the dog militia I set off I can not say.

The second and no less terrifyling awesome was a bike ride to Urridafoss. This past Tuesday I hopped on a bike and headed for the waterfall. Little did I know what awaited me. After much joyfull pedalling I came across a dinky parking lot that could fit at best 8 compact cars. Luckily there was only one SUV. Plenty of room for my bike. As I pulled in I wasn't sure it was even the right place. But then I spotted some mist and heard the roar of water. And what a roar it is. Urridafoss is the most voluminous waterfall in all of Iceland. The entire Pjorsa river flows through it. As I walked down the path to get a better view the only other couple of people there were on their way out. I found myself alone at what should surely be a highly visited tourist destination. Again I stood still and tried to take in what was in front of me. A waterfall like nothing I've seen. I lack the words to properly describe it and the mathematics don't do it justice. Unless you own a power company. In which case you see the math and think "how lovely". Which is why one day Urridafoss might turn into a trickle as a power company may divert the water to convert a magnificent sight, a unique sight, into simple electricity. As I sat down to eat my peanut butter and raspberry jam sandwich I tried to wrap my head around that idea. I may never understand.

Most recently, last night actually, I was confronted by a third and final (for now) blessing. Never have I felt so small. I've always dreamed of seeing the Northern Lights and last night that dream came true. I was awoken by some awful sound and for a while sat in my sleeping bag bewildered as to why my new bunkmate Ricke had set her alarm to 11:30pm. It took me a bit to realize it was my staff phone ringing. I hopped up and sleepily answered it to hear "we have the Northern Lights". I had asked Siggi to let me know if he saw them, he must suffer from insomnia. Suddenly I was awake throwing on a sweater and pants to stumble out into the cold feeling like a kid on Christmas morning. And there in the sky in the direction the sun set was a green line. It seemed to be alive. Growing and shrinking and changing in intensity. At times it seemed like a big green misty cloud. Above me was a clear sky with countless stars and at my back was a moon nearing fullness. There was hardly a cloud and the silence was broken only by cows mooing at the next farm over. I'd like to think they were reviewing the show. "Nice one tonight isn't it Bessy?" I'm not sure how long I stood out in the cold looking above but it wasn't long enough. Now I can say I've seen the Northern Lights but I'm just as excited to see them again. Just like Christmas. Hopefully this comes more than once a year.

Three experiences and three times I was left feeling blessed. Left feeling there was something more at work than what I was sensing. The sublime. It all left me with a great ammount of respect for the world we live in. And what a world it is. I'm eager to see more. Thank you Iceland for shocking me. For showing me things I had dreamed of and reminding me some dreams come true. Like my Mom said, maybe this is the ultimate education. Soooweeee.

Sincerely,
Zeb

Dear Work,

How should I describe you? I haven't really said what an average day of work here is like. Mostly because there is not an average day. Each day is unique from the rest. Part of that is due to when tours are scheduled and part is working with live animals.

One thing is guaranteed though. Every morning I wake up around 6:45. Some days I go for a jog and some I'm lazy and just write in my journal or cherish the last few minutes in my cozy cocoon. At 8:00 it's time to visit my 46 fluffy friends. I walk from the caravan through the barn, cutting on the water, and round the corner to the kennel. There's something special about saying "Good Morning!" to a pack of stretching, yawning and yapping dogs. The wagging tails and excitement gets me every time. Judge and Odyssey are closest and always get the first pat. Narnja across the way makes her usual "oooooooh" noises as I walk to get the wheelbarrow and trusty shovel. I get the same shovel every time. It has a smooth wooden handle, a curve towards the bottom with a flat rusty blade and then a T grip up top. By now all the dogs are up. I start with Judge and Odyssey and work my way down to Jake and Magyuk scooping, spraying and filling bowls. Jake by the way is a funny dog. He's really shy but likes a pat. He'll look at you and then look away slowly getting closer while wagging his tail. After that row it's on to Maniitok and Mauricette down to Jasper who lives alone. I always have to pause along the way to say Hi to Nukilik the gentle giant. He does look down on me when standing and looks quite fearsome. But he's just a big puppy. A dog that didn't forget his childhood. When I walk away he'll turn his head sideways and wave his paw asking for me to return. Most of our dogs do this, it's really cute. Then it's on to my last row, Nilak and Nanooq down to Graumann and Nikita. Nilak and Nanooq like their brother Nukilik are giants. Graumann is another character. He's always grumpy. He growls a lot but he's just misunderstood. He's a good guy. His roommate Nikita is a sweetheart.

Cleaning and watering all the dogs takes me between 30-60 minutes depending on the poo situation. Afterwards on most days it's back to the caravan for a hot drink and breakfast. Sometimes though we have a tour at 10, no break these days. We offer tours at 10, 12, 2, 4, sunset and midnight. People go for midnight to gamble at seeing the northern lights while out. A typical tour costs $160 which sounds steep but after tax and dog expense only $3-4 out of every $10 is profit. To prepare for a dryland tour we get the cart (2 people) or trolley (3-6 people) ready. This means rolling it out next to the chain, attaching a gangline and puting concrete blocks in front of the tires. This is when the dogs get excited. They know they're about to run. You can feel, and hear, the joy. Next we bring out the harnesses for whichever team is being taken out. You take the harness and step into the cage to place the dog between your legs before slipping it over his/her head. Most dogs will pick up their paws when you ask for them to put through the holes. Once dressed you take the dogs to the chain, lead dogs up front and wheel dogs in the back. The front two are smart or should be. They listen to commands. The two behind them are the swing dogs, they help steer. Between the swing and wheel dogs you have the team. Your wheel dogs drive, they're your real power. When its time to go you ask the customers to hop on to add extra weight before you put the dogs on the gangline. The dogs will listen for the "Ready? Ok!" go command but they're so excited they might run off without you. Extra weight helps. On the gangline you hook them by the back of the harness as well as the neck. It's pull or be pulled. Slackers bring down the others' moods and makes for a slower run. When it's time to go the lead dogs are unhooked from their cement blocks while the ones from the tire are removed. Then the dogs are off!

While the tour is out unless I go I usually take time to do additional cleaning and make sure the dogs have water. Some days I may do a little grooming. Or if like today a family member stays behind I'll chat with them. Every now and then folks are driven to us by a guide service called Eskimoes. The driver that comes to us is named Karlina and she's fun to talk with. She thought my confusion over the company name was a real riot. In my ignorance I expected real Eskimoes. I look forward to her visits but she may be done for the year, we'll see. She once invited me to sit in the company Range Rover to warm up and it was this moment that I realized how much I smell like a dog. Next time we sat in the barn. When the team finally returns I'll help guide them in. We unharness the dogs while one person goes into the kennel. Once unharnessed you can let go of the dog, say "In", and they head for their home. People love watching that part. This process repeats on days with multiple tours. And no weather is bad enough to cancel. Rain, snow, shine. Or like today with a bit of a dust storm. In Iceland. Who knew?

On days without tours I spend most of my time grooming or walking dogs. Often there is an odd task to be done like strengthening the kennel walls or cleaning the barn. There usually isn't much of a schedule. At some point I'll take another break for lunch and maybe some journal writing. After this I'll work until it's time to feed. Feeding can be stressful. The dogs know when it's coming. When you chain up the first dog they go wild. We chain the dogs up so they don't fight over the food and they know this means dinner time. We bring out the bowls and place them in front of the cages then go down the lines filling them with food. Different dogs get different portions depending on how hard they work and how quickly they gain weight. Of course food goes in and poop comes out. Unless it's raw meat. They hang onto that. But usually afterwards it's scooping and filling water bowls. It's anywhere between 4-8pm when we finish and I'll eat my own dinner. The rest of the night is listening for a possible fight and checking in on the crew.

Breaking up a fight is unfortunately part of the gig. 90% of the time the dogs are calm. Maybe some barking or minor arguments and lots of howling. They're like roosters that howl. But every now and then it gets rough. You know it when you hear it. Most of the time you get there and pull them apart before any damage is done and life continues. Sometimes you show up and someone is missing half an ear like poor Jaquan. Aquilles got a snack. And rarely you get some bad news. Like when Iceman went to the vet to get put to sleep to have a couple teeth removed but didn't wake up. Life can be hard. The dogs can be a source of just as much sadness as joy. But it is mostly joy.

Working with this pack of dogs is something I'll never forget. I'll probably think of it often for the rest of my life. Like the description said it really is more of a lifestyle than it is a job. Every day I feel lucky to be saying "Good Morning!" to the kennel. I just wish they pooped a little less.

Sincerely,
Zeb

Dear Ennio,

It has been great getting to know you and I'm really glad that you were here on the farm.

Ennio is my 17 year old German buddy that lived in the caravan with me for three weeks. For the past 21 days we spent a majority of the time together. We ate breakfast, lunch and dinner together. We walked dogs, cleaned the barn, scooped poop, cleaned the kennel and fed the dogs together. His bed was three feet away from mine. I've since taken over that bed because it's a little closer to the possible internet connection we have. Despite my slightly greater chance of having internet I'm sad to see him go.

I won't act like adapting to this lifestyle has been the easiest thing. In fact the first week was pretty hard for me. Suddenly I was away from everything and everyone I know. It was a strange farm where the dogs outnumbered the people 44:3. In the first few days Ennio and I didn't talk much. Of course we were polite exchanging good nights and good mornings, casual conversation. We went on cart rides together and chatted some. When we were put to the task of walking dogs we started out walking at different times. At some point there was the realization it may be more entertaining if we walked together. So Ennio and I began taking out dogs that get along two at a time. I believe this is the point we really became friends. And that friendship helped me settle into life here.

I learned a good bit about what life is like when you live in Germany and you're in high school. I also learned about Germany in general. Ennio is very on top of things politically, something that surprised me. I hope I seemed as smart at his age. We talked about all kinds of topics from gay rights to Germany's position on shipping weapons. He would read a lot of articles that we would someties discuss. One of my favorite Ennio moments was when he read one about a cross between a donkey and zebra. Only he didn't know the word donkey and asked me.. "How do you say.. It goes eee-ahhh?" He's also encouraged me to do a bit of hiking in his country. There is a 285km trail that runs through the black forest that I now plan to hike when I visit. Originally I was going mostly to see my friend Cinthia but now I may also run into Ennio. His name by the way is Italian. He was named for an Italian writer and not the composer. In my ignorance I know neither but hope to one day know both.

We also spent time making light of our isolation here. For a few days there was a lot going on, there might have been 10 people total! I joked with him about the possible motives behind their arrival. Are they police who have pinpointed the barn as a murderers body dumping site? Will we be questioned? It turned out the property has been sold and they were just here to begin moving things. Siggi just rents the land. We had thought it might be interesting to be questioned by Icelandic police. We hear the jails are quite nice.

We also dreamed of adventure. Along our walk you see an island in the middle of the river, it'd be fun to visit. There are folks building a house there piece by piece. We often see them drive by or on our walks. Ennio didn't find my idea of stealing the boat for a joyride too good. But maybe one day one of us would walk to Keflavik from here. Or we could take bikes to Selfoss or the waterfall nearby. One adventurous dream we fulfilled was a bath in the river. On a sunny day during a lunch break we walked down and hopped in. It wasn't too enjoyable but it was an experience.

And we talked about the future. Our travel plans and what we'll be doing later on. He's somewhere in Reykjavik right now. Afterward if I remember correctly he's off to Holland with his family before starting a year of general studies at university. His parents like mine were both involved in teaching. I told him about where I'd like to visit, where my friends are and my planned expenses. He had some solid advice and sounded hopeful about my budget. And he gave me travel pointers while teaching me some about geography and the metric system. For instance I learned I could take a train from Norway to Germany but it's not practical as you must go around a sea. You're better off with a ferry which may take two days and drop you off in Denmark. Or just fly.

No matter the topic of our conversation I enjoyed it very much. Thank you Ennio for teaching me quite a bit and being my friend here on the farm. I hope our friendship continues. Good luck travelling in Reykjavik and try not to worry about the volcanic eruption too much. I know you will. Find someone to buy you a bit of Icelandic beer, relax and let me know how it is. And most of all good luck at university. I know in general studies you will find something you're passionate about and excel at it. You're a bright guy and I hope there are more younger dudes like you out there! I think tonight I'll boil water for two, I'll drink your tea. Or would you have had hot chocolate?

Sincerely,
Zeb

Dear Siggi,

You're a great guy. I've met a lot of people but you're certainly one to be rememered.

Siggi is the bossman. He's the alpha dude of the dogsledding business. Top dog. He's also not quite what you might expect when you imagine someone that would own their own sledding kennel. I tend to imagine that typical guy in some action movies with big attack dogs. Siggi isn't the tallest, loudest, most jacked guy around. In fact he is a bit of the opposite. He's on the shorter side, speaks softly and is slim. But there's something about him. When he talks you listen. He was a policeman for something like 16 years and I'm sure he was good at it. And he's a father. His son is about to enter college and his daughter Mary Lou is two. And while not really important I'll say for my own memory that he's a smoker. You can often tell where he is from the scent of a lit cigarette. Seeing him smoke one while we wait for the dogs to quiet down during feeding will stick in my mind for a long time.

So how did this university educated policeman and father of two become a dogsledder? He says it was almost by mistake. One day he was working on the glacier as a snowmobile guide and saw a team of dogs running. Not long after when browsing the internet he saw an ad for a dogsledding company for sale. He passed it up and kept browsing. When he saw the ad again he took a closer look. It was the company he saw on the glacier. A while later and he was the owner of Dogsledding Iceland. Siggi bought 16 dogs and the remaining 11 were put down. In hindsight he thinks he should have gotten the other 11 too. However 27 dogs seemed like a bit too much at the time, he now has 47. If it wasn't for Siggi there wouldn't be a professional kennel in Iceland anymore. He was trained by the previous owner, a man from Denmark that worked in the military. Training was harsh when he started. You did three runs as a trial. The first you were on skiis with the sled watching. The second you guided the sled with an experienced musher to help out. The third you were doing the same but this time the musher made things more difficult for you. It was tough and you worked hard. There was one man that didn't know how to ski. He spent every bit of time outside work and 6.5 hours of sleep learning how. It's still tough but not like it was. Siggi wonders if "maybe we've gotten soft."

Things were different then. Just walking into the kennel was enough to make the dogs hunker down and be quiet. Now they wag their tails and yap. They might be happier but maybe there is more fighting and disobedience too. It's a fine line between their happiness and what is safe. There is a lot of trial and error and Siggi always strives for improvement. The dogs diet is part of this. From a processed putty like substance to meat to kibble. The putty was too nutritious and full of energy. A litter raised on it grew too big too fast and many suffered health problems. Meat causes a well... stinky dog. And they would hide bits of bone that might cause fights later. Now there's the kibble, it seems all right. It's made in Reykjavik for Greenland but we get some here. The dogs eat 26 20 kilo bags in 2-3 weeks, that's half a ton.

Physically and emotionally Siggi always tries to do what's best for the dogs. His commitment and passion is clear. In all these years he could only remember a couple of times he came close to quitting. Once was while trying to keep the dogs alive during a volcanic eruption. They required constant care during the event as he tried to wet the ash and keep it down, keep the dogs hydrated and build shelter. The second time was on the glacier. He went up with three others and eleven days later he was alone. They quit, it was too hard. While giving a tour he injured his knee twisting it 180°. He continued to work on his own caring for 20 dogs while hurt. One of the days a line got loose and a fight between all the dogs broke out. Siggi believes this is the only time he has had to really yell for help. A group of people were 100m away but they didn't come to assist him. Somehow in the end he was able to break up the fight without help and with his injury. Despite these difficulties he keeps going. He doesn't like to quit or give up. Siggi has said before that "we make things work here, that's just what we do."

So this one is for you Siggi. Everyone could use a little bit of what he's got. His drive to keep going, the compassion he shows for his dogs and his ability to adapt. Also some of his humor. Whether intentional or not a well timed toot during a serious discussion on the consistency of poo had me out of control with laughter. Maybe we could each use a few catch phrases too. It's almost a guarantee that you'll hear him say "it's a joke", "it's just a fact" or "the fault is" once per day. At least. It's just a fact.

Anyone that is able to spend time with him and learn from what he has to offer will gain some insight to life. I consider myself lucky to be one of those individuals. He has told me all kinds of great stories from skydiving to stinky dogs and upset vets. I've written it all down and will certainly try to share in the future. He's a true character which is something I think we need more of in the world.

Sincerely,
Zeb

P.S. I thought I was good at scooping poo but this man is a legend. It's like watching a master at work. One quick fluid scoop and no use of the boot, a sight to behold.

Dear Caravan,

You're my home away from home. Right now I'm sitting inside your shelter on my bunkbed writing this post. I don't know much about you but I do know you're from Oregon, or so your license plate says. Maybe that's why we get along fairly well? We're the only Americans on this farm.

The caravan I call home isn't anything fancy. It's a big red metal box. It has one door, many windows, a small table, 2 bunk beds and a small kitchen. At some point in its life it lost the step outside the door. We're safe from visits by the elderly as it would be a real hassle for them to enter and exit. I know this because even at the age of 22 a good jog can make me feel as if I'll never make it in or out. Once you have tackled climbing in you'd find yourself standing in our kitchen. Don't be alarmed by the constant buzzing, it's just the flies. Other than the flies in our kitchen you'll find a number of luxurios appliances. My favorite is our refrigerator. It's powered by propane and acts as a small space heater while somehow keeping our perishables at a cool temperature. I still don't understand it. Next to the fridge is our sink. There is no tap and a slight leak from the bottom, it's rarely used. All water comes from the barn, we carry it in in jugs. The first time I filled one up the water pressure nearly blew the jug out of my hands. Below the sink is a small stash of canned goods. And next to the sink you'll find our burners which are all, the three of them, powered by gas. They get the job done and boil water quickly. At the front of the kitchen there's a built in shelf which is where we have our dishes, pots/pans and more food.

Let's pretend you're staying for dinner. Ennio and I may cook up some gourmet Hólmasel cuisine. Just the other night we had one of our specialties, goop. It's a few canned vegetables, lots of garlic, lots of onion, some pasta sauce, cheese (it's put on everything) and of course pasta. Pasta I quickly learned is vastly different from noodles. Noodles are Ramen. Pasta is pasta. Feeling adventurous? Try some mystery meat. What's in it? Ahh, we can't read Icelandic. Don't ask. While you may be concerned don't be, I haven't eaten anything yet that I didn't like. Somehow it always works out.

Plate in hand and with a large quantity of pink cocktail sauce squirted on everything we'll head 6 feet over into our quaint living/dining/bed room. It's all very convenient. You can sit on either sofa you'd like. The one on the right is my bed and 3 feet away on the other side of our coffee/dining table is Ennio's. Be warned if you pick mine I have some socks hanging to... air out. If you feel inclined to spend the night you can have either top bunk. If you've come late we'll be having a romantic battery lit dinner. While yes we do have electricity we don't have lights. After dinner if you'd like to be a good guest and assist with the dishes just grab some toilet paper and give everything a nice wipe. Need to use the bathroom? #1 behind the caravan is ok. #2 a short walk to the barn and you'll find a lovely porta-potty. Take some dish washer with you, you never know. We won't hear you yelling for help.

I surely haven't encourged many of you to come by for a bit of tea tonight. But in all honesty I enjoy my small red box. I look forward to coming in in the evenings eating dinner and crawling into my sleeping bag. Sure when it's windy it feels like we're out at sea which is why we have plastic where our door window should be. The wind took that from us. And yes there are flies. Maybe (definitely) it even smells odd. But in a weird way it's comfy. It's my home away from home.

Thank you for being you Clifford the big (small) red caravan.

Sincerely,
Zeb

Dear Dogs,

You're pretty cool. At first I wasn't so sure that we would be getting along. I was thrown into a new world and a new lifestyle. From airport to scooping dog poop in around 4 hours. Having only slept a very uncomfortable 2.5 hours on the flight was certainly not helping. The bus ride from Keflavik to Reykjavik took around 45 minutes. We went from the coast through lava fields into the outskirts of town. I almost dozed off but knew I'd want to stay up to see all of the trip and I'm glad that I did. Sitting in the bus station I saw many young folks carrying backpacks like myself come and go. Not too much waiting and Erik, a Dutch musher that hates Holland, was walking in and asking "Charles?". Yep, that's me.

We hopped in what appears to be a minivan on steroids and took off. Another hour drive through what looked like more lava fields and we'd be in Selfoss. I couldn't help but picture all the rocks as Fairy houses after reading some articles about road routes being changed to avoid them. Driving up Erik pointed out a red caravan that I should toss my stuff into. Then it was off to meet the 44 big furry critters. They're wonderful. And did I mention big? These guys and gals aren't your typical dog. They're bred to work. I've never been close to a wolf in person but I now have a pretty good idea what it might be like. When Nukilik stands up he's looking me in the eyes. Just about all of them are. Some are even a bit taller. At first I saw the eyes of a predator. But not anymore. I see brown, friendly, almost human eyes. Asking for a scratch behind the ear or on the neck. Wondering if it's their turn for a walk or to be harnessed up and get to go to work. I wish everyone could love work as much as these dogs do. The moment they see a harness enter the kennel there's an explosion of excitement. Tails wag and whining begins. In these moments it can be easy to forget how dangerous they can be. Like the bossman Siggi says, you have to set them up to succeed. Brutus is one of our largest dogs, a huge Alaskan Malamute. He hates every male dog. If you put them in a situation where they can make a mistake they almost certainly will. Brutus is a happy fluffy guy but if you walk him too closely to another male on the way to hook him to the cart you've got a fight. Not a friendly fight. Not a play fight. But a legitimate fight to the death. Siggi once broke a shovel over a dogs head and he kept on fighting. It's not a mistake you want to make.

So we try to set the dogs up so they can't fail. And when we do that we get to have a pretty great time. We're a 1km walk from a huge river fed by glacier ice melt. Round trip it's my favorite walk to take the dogs on. Eyjafjallajökull is always in sight on a clear day. So is Hekla, one of Iceland's most active volcanoes. Sometimes I get to take as many as 8 dogs out in a day. That's 16km or around 10mi of walking. My feet certainly get tired but my eyes never do. Even when we go out on the road with the dogs there is always something to see. And there's nothing like the feeling of jogging along the team and helping them follow the musher's commands. Except maybe one thing. Dog Scootering. Sometimes if I'm lucky I get to harneness up a dog and hook him to a scooter. And really, really, there's nothing like that. As soon as you say "Ready? Ok!" and let off the brakes you're flying down the road. It's spectacular.

All of the fun of course has a price. I'm a pro poop scooper. Not to brag but I'm pretty damn good at it. I can hold the shovel in one hand and be in and out of the kennel before the dog even knows I was there. We fill a wheelbarrow or two per day. We could fertilize every farm in Selfoss. I've pretty much picked my favorite and least favorite dogs based on their poo. For example I quite like Hetja. Hers is always a compact little package easy to get on the shovel with very little residue. Akira on the other hand has serious mud butt AND likes to walk while pooping. Not my favorite dog. But one scooter ride or walk later and ya know, I remember it's not all shitty.

I've been fairly bad about updating this! Hopefully I'll be changing that. Soon I'll try to tell you about where/how I live, the folks I live with, my favorite dogs and more! I type all of this on my phone so it can be hard. If you have any questions though please ask! I do love to talk.

Sincerely,
Zeb