So I'm revamping this travel blog - hence the disappearance of all postings. But maybe I'll find a way to fill in the gaps.
Over the break my family was enjoying another silence over dinner when my brother suggested we share our favourite family moments. After another lull, I asked if anyone remembered when my mother had fallen out of the car (approximately three days previously) - this of course was immediately overshadowed by the time she had fallen out of a restaurant booth. It troubled them that they couldn't remember the exact details - luckily I could help out, since dad had called me the next day to relay the incident to me. In Australia. Moving around the table, my mother copped with a reference to all of our trips. And so we began reminiscing about Iceland.
My parents have attributed my 'traveling bug' to the mistake they made taking me along - starting with three early trips to Florida. Where I started off sleeping in the drawer and was gradually promoted to sleeping on grandpa's porch with him over the years. Promoted, or banished, as I later found out he was quite the snorer. Although I don't remember Walt Disney World, I do remember climbing Grandpa's orange tree and riding big old bicycles around the trailer park.
Iceland was our first real family trip - complete with new backpacks, cameras and a pep bar for each of us. From Reykjavik we rented a car and drove the perimeter of the island - staying in youth hostels and grass huts or camping along the road, learning to speak Icelandic/islenka, and pulling off the road whenever we felt like it, from the mountains, volcanoes and smoking lava fields to the dry deserts, black beaches with icebergs and the numerous waterfalls and glaciers. As we drove there were vast expanses of dark moss, dry soils or windy fields until you'd come upon high rising mountains or rocky outcroppings with waterfalls. We'd drink from the ice cold streams, we all bought sweaters of itchy Icelandic fleece and collected rocks and geodes.
(picture)
Iceland is also where I got my start at thrill seeking, learning to love living on the edge. My dad would often pull over and send us off running around fields or climbing over rocks to expel our energy before getting back in the car. The best of these was when we came across a field of tall, overly buoyant, moss - a field reminiscent of a never-ending trampoline. And so we ran, bouncing and jumping with glee until i fell, my leg disappearing into a crevice. At this opportune moment my dad chose to share that under this moss were crevices so deep they had never been fully explored, the depths of which were still unknown.
Another day my dad we stopped on the shore alongside a row of fish drying racks. My sent us running into the field, but keeping my brother close to his side with the video camera ready. As we soon discovered this field contained the nests of flocks of terns.
Over the break my family was enjoying another silence over dinner when my brother suggested we share our favourite family moments. After another lull, I asked if anyone remembered when my mother had fallen out of the car (approximately three days previously) - this of course was immediately overshadowed by the time she had fallen out of a restaurant booth. It troubled them that they couldn't remember the exact details - luckily I could help out, since dad had called me the next day to relay the incident to me. In Australia. Moving around the table, my mother copped with a reference to all of our trips. And so we began reminiscing about Iceland.
My parents have attributed my 'traveling bug' to the mistake they made taking me along - starting with three early trips to Florida. Where I started off sleeping in the drawer and was gradually promoted to sleeping on grandpa's porch with him over the years. Promoted, or banished, as I later found out he was quite the snorer. Although I don't remember Walt Disney World, I do remember climbing Grandpa's orange tree and riding big old bicycles around the trailer park.
Iceland was our first real family trip - complete with new backpacks, cameras and a pep bar for each of us. From Reykjavik we rented a car and drove the perimeter of the island - staying in youth hostels and grass huts or camping along the road, learning to speak Icelandic/islenka, and pulling off the road whenever we felt like it, from the mountains, volcanoes and smoking lava fields to the dry deserts, black beaches with icebergs and the numerous waterfalls and glaciers. As we drove there were vast expanses of dark moss, dry soils or windy fields until you'd come upon high rising mountains or rocky outcroppings with waterfalls. We'd drink from the ice cold streams, we all bought sweaters of itchy Icelandic fleece and collected rocks and geodes.
(picture)
Iceland is also where I got my start at thrill seeking, learning to love living on the edge. My dad would often pull over and send us off running around fields or climbing over rocks to expel our energy before getting back in the car. The best of these was when we came across a field of tall, overly buoyant, moss - a field reminiscent of a never-ending trampoline. And so we ran, bouncing and jumping with glee until i fell, my leg disappearing into a crevice. At this opportune moment my dad chose to share that under this moss were crevices so deep they had never been fully explored, the depths of which were still unknown.
Another day my dad we stopped on the shore alongside a row of fish drying racks. My sent us running into the field, but keeping my brother close to his side with the video camera ready. As we soon discovered this field contained the nests of flocks of terns.Something that reminded me of both Iceland and a blatant disregard...
http://www.asofterworld.com/index.php?id=13
http://www.asofterworld.com/index.php?id=18
