The Case of Elusive Paperwork

Moving to a different country involves a lot of paper work. A huge amount of it connects to the renewal of medical clearance, which needs to be done for every person in a family. A lot of appointments, tests and analyses had to be scheduled and though the process was incredibly hectic, it was bearable. We were congratulating ourselves on finishing this ordeal without any nasty surprises and in timely manner until it was turn for my annual exam – you know, Pap smear and all that.

I called a doctor office and booked an appointment. 10:20 suggested by receptionist seemed like a nice time, not too early, not too late. At 10:15 on the day of appointment I arrived at a waiting room and got to a receptionist to sign my name. “No, no, you did a mistake,” I was told, “Your appointment is at 16:00 not at 10:20.” I stared at her in amazement. Firstly, it is hard to come up with the time 10:20 unless it was told to you by somebody; secondly, total lack of courtesy tend to amaze me to the point of amusement, and in this case it bordered on awe. Since I had to do the analysis anyway, wasn’t in the mood for finding another doctor, I decided to reschedule. “Ok, next week, Tuesday at 10:20” she said. Eyeing her suspiciously I wrote down the date, the time and showed it to her. “Correct?” “Correct”, she dismissed me with a nod.

Next Tuesday I arrived in the office again. This time everything went smoothly. Prior to my departure the doctor assured me that as soon as the results would be done he would call me. Two weeks went by, no call. I let the third week to expire and stopped by his office right before the Easter holiday. The doctor ruffled through the pile of documents on his table, poked in his file cabinet and in somewhat perplexed tone announced, “Him, your results are not here yet. It must be here soon though. Check after the holiday.” Two days after the end of the long Easter holiday I popped by his office again... His office wasn’t there anymore. He moved.

Speaking with receptionist revealed his new address and telephone number. I called and heard familiar, “The doctor will call you as soon as the results will be here.” At this point I started doubt my judgment and requested my friend’s help whose command of Icelandic language is far superior to mine. “Please, please, please call this office, maybe I don’t understand something.” She called, and was reassured that as soon as the results would be in the doctor office I would be notified. Meanwhile two more weeks passed by.

This Monday, mildly panicking, since all the medical documents have to be sent to DC together, otherwise they will be returned as incomplete, I called the office again. “Don’t you worry, the doctor will call you,” was the familiar answering. The day was winding to its end when the telephone rang, “I am looking for Mrs. C.” “Hi doctor, do you have good news for me?” “You know, I wrote your letter and all the results already, I just don’t know where it went. Do you want me to do it again?” “Yes, do it, damn it,” I screamed inside while sweetly going, “Yes please, it will be very helpful.” “Ok then, I’ll finish it today and you can pick it up any time tomorrow.”

And that is how seven weeks after the appointment I got my results back.

Bláa Lónið and Friendship Bridge.

When we were preparing to go to Iceland, a person who had lived there before told us not to do all the tourist attractions in our first year. “Space it out", he said. So we were postponing and postponing our trip to the Blue Lagoon, the ultimate tourist’s destination in Iceland. With two months left and five holidays upon us, it finally happened – we went there.

My first impression upon entering the building was, “Neat, it isn’t very crowded.” Then I found out that they had the coolest magnetic bracelets that close and open the lockers. Then I discovered that if I wanted to ask questions I had better address nude people - they knew what they were doing. Those who had their swimming suits on in the shower tended to be foreigners and were as clueless as me.

What can I say about the Blue Lagoon itself? It is much smaller than films or photos lead you to believe, but since we knew to scale down our expectations it didn’t catch us off guard. The bottom of the lagoon and its shore felt slightly slimy. Hmm, this word has a strong negative connotation; how about slick? Oh, better yet – slimy and slick? In short, you had to watch your steps in order not to slip.

Water was pleasantly warm 40° C (104° F) and murky white. It awoke the very odd impression of swimming in milk soup. It also reminded me of a folklore tale where an old king, desperate to become younger, jumped into a pot of boiled milk. It was the end of him. His protagonist did the same and became astonishly handsome. I kept my fingers crossed that the much talked about healing ingredients of Blue Lagoon didn’t act in such a treacherous manner. According to the Blue Lagoon's site, its geothermal seawater is quite magical. It contains revitalizing minerals, anti-aging algae, and silica that exfoliates and deeply cleanses. So, bathing in these murky waters regularly may have a lot of benefits. Of course, since it is mostly tourists who bathe there and they tend to do it only once during their tour, these benefits can be hard to prove.

There were boxes of mud along the shore, which you are supposed to put on your face and other bits of flesh that you want to rejuvenate. I covered only my face; my male companions (my husband and sons) eyed me suspiciously, partially expecting me to turn into a lizard right there on the spot. Instead I just blended into the ghostly white-faced crowd. I am not sure if the mask did anything to my skin, but it didn’t do any harm, which is a plus.

There wasn’t much to do in the lagoon, except to vegetate in the water. You can go for massages, but with kids in tow it wasn’t meant to happen. After about forty minutes we got bored and left. We didn’t feel much younger, but certainly reenergized and hungry.

Here, specially for my friend who wanted to see photos of my boys. Howdy W.

We proceeded to go to Reykjanestá and later towards the Friendship Bridge. I like Reykjanestá because it has a great view of the sea, a lighthouse and nice places to have a picnic. Going up towards the lighthouse or having a picnic was out of the question because of the terrible wind, so we just drove to the edge of the cliffs and enjoyed their raw beauty.

Friendship Bridge, or "A Bridge between Two Continents" as its name suggests, is the bridge between the European and North American tectonic plates. It was highly amusing to run from one side of it to the other and pretend that you popped to N. America.

And that was the last stop of our journey.

How to Lose a Loose Tooth

How to lose a loose tooth:

• You can patiently and persistently wiggle it with your finger until it comes out on its own;
• You can go to a dentist and let him pull it out in a clean and safe environment;
• You can allow your mom to wrap a string around it, tie it to a doorknob, hold your breath and wait till the door will swing open;
• Or, you can go to play baseball, try to catch a hit that isn’t meant to be caught and let a ball get rid of you tooth.
  
  And that is exactly how my younger son lost his loose tooth yesterday.
  
  (I am utmost grateful that it was only a loose tooth. For some time there on the field with him crying and blood gushing from his mouth I thought that emergency room was in order.)

Down at the Beach

Down at the beach
Gazing at the sea
I see seagulls ridding waves,
I see a boat hurrying by,
I see the bottomless sky.

Down at the beach
Gazing at the sea
I breathe in and see
Waves rushing towards me,
I breathe out -
The water slowly retreats.

Down by the beach
Gazing at the waves
I breathe in unison with the sea.

To the Gateway to Hell and Back

Mount Hekla is the most active volcano in Iceland and was believed to be the gateway to Hell. Old tales tell that the souls of the unfortunate traveled through Hekla's crater on their way to underworld. Towards this mountain we went yesterday. My former Icelandic language teacher invited her students to her summer house. The road there went through Selfoss and further to the east. The weather had been changing every ten minutes - we drove through the sun, we drove through the snow, we drove through the rain, through the sleet and through the sun again. Heads of the mountains had been hidding in the grey clouds and reappearing ever so often - snow scintillating on their tops. Lava fields covered in emerald green moss provided a sharp contrast to the blackness of the stones.

When we reached our destination the sun was shining. Dora's house stood awashed in the golden glow; compact and peaceful. Hekla loomed not far away - clouds hovering on its summit.




First thing I noticed on entering the house was a large bay window in the living room with a great view of the mountains, and then - a wonderful smell of fresh wood. Like any proper summer house it is made entirely of wood and the aroma of timber hasn't disappeared yet. Despite being bran new the house has a feeling of a home where the tastes of its owners shows through every details - flowers on a table, art on the walls, a shelf full of selected books, comfortable kitchen. A wonderful place to retreat from the noise and business of the city. Some day I hope we will have a home, a place filled not with government furniture but ours, in the location selected by us not for us. But for now I am content with snapping photos of places I like, creating a pile of images to use when the time will come.

We spend a pleasant afternoon in this lighthearted household - eating, talking, strolling through the lava fields. The food was delicious - a leg of lamb, sweet potatoes, superb chicken and grapes salad, spicy bean salad and scrumptious cheesecake topped with berries for dessert. Honestly, this lunch was so filling we needed just a snack for dinner.


Our secondary goal on this trip was to find the grave of Bobbie Fisher. I knew that it should be just outside of Selfoss, on the Laugardaelir Church Cemetery, but on the way to the summer house we missed the right turn so figure out we searched for it on the way back. Taking a very muddy off road we did find it, a small not descriptive tomb in front of the church. Such an obscure place for such a great mind. It was his wish to be buried there and it went well with his solitary personality but still...

Parallel Universe

While in real life I am going around attending to everyday business in Iceland, for almost two weeks now I have been enjoying the parallel universe of ancient Rome. My immersion started with HBO series “Rome”, progressed into reading Colleen McCullough’s books and extended into “Meditations” of Marcus Aurelius.

My head is filled with weighted words – pontificate, ameliorate, copious, pedagogue (not often we use this solemn word instead of everyday teacher) – strong images and acrimonious intrigues. Roman history is an intellectual soap opera – there is passion, love, incest, deceits, suicides, murders right and left and never ending quest for power.

Their intricate moral codes, understanding of integrity or compassion are so differ from modern, it is awe inspiring. The level of self control needed for survival in that society seemed to be humanly impossible; there is no doubt in my mind that I would not survive there.

Ancient Greece holds more appeal to me than Rome. When I think of Rome an image of a tight lipped centurion comes to mind, while Greece brings an image of the Winged Nike, the Goddess of Victory. It is ironic, since it was the army of Roman centurions who marched victoriously through Greece in 146 BC and took it under control. But then of course some centuries later Rome itself fell.

Well, as Marcus Aurelius mused, “All things are in a process of change. You yourself are subject to constant alteration and gradual decay. So too is the whole universe.”