Nine Hours, Fifty Eight Minutes

Made it from the East coast of Iceland to the West cost in 9 hours and 58 minutes. It would have been quicker but I got discombobulated in Reyjkavik, not the first time, either.

Aviate, Navigate, Communicate

Pilots have a saying: "aviate, navigate, communicate," which means first fly your plane, then go in the correct direction, and finally tell people where you are. I'm reminded of that saying now as I retrace my steps back through Iceland without my wife and co-pilot Katrin. I dropped her and the kids off at the ferry this morning. Now I have to make it back to Keflavik without her navigation and language skills. And, oh yeah, I still have to avoid the numerous sheep that occupy this country and wander alongside the highway. I keep telling myself "aviate first."

It's a Small World

Sitting on the East coast of Iceland in the small town of Seydisfjordur I was reminded just how small the world is nowadays. Although we couldn't find a proper hotel to stay in, we did locate a bistro with free wi-fi. Everyone was so excited to instantly communicate with their friends and family back home. Facebook seemed the most popular choice. Perhaps I'll buy some stock after all.

American Werewolf in Iceland

I'm always amazed by the adoption of American culture throughout the world. Here in Iceland we found KFC and a '62 Impala low rider. It is easy to be cynical about it but on the other hand it just goes to show the world is a really small place. What have we adopted from Iceland? Geothermal power for one thing. I'll try to find other examples this week, too.

The Crow Show

At the Starbucks on the corner of Jackson and Occidental in Seattle, see the crow show. I met Dan the local bird man who feeds crows from a device of his own invention, a small plastic container with a magnet for attaching to street signs. Dan and I watched the crow politics while enjoying a few cups of coffee.

Passport por aqui

All my world travels notwithstanding, I made the newbie mistake of losing my passport 48 hours before scheduled to leave for Iceland. Thus I find myself in Starbucks in Seattle patiently waiting for a new passport to be made for me at the passport agency up the street. I am told it will be ready at 2 pm. The weather in Seattle is unusually warm and sunny, so I plan to pass the time in the China Town district. I definitely did not expect to start my vacation to Iceland eating dim sum.

Red Willow People

Taos, New Mexico - Our trip began near the Isleta Indian Pueblo. We traveled north roughly paralleling the course of the Rio Grande River past Santa Ana, San Felipe, San Ildelfonso, Cochiti, Tesuque, Pojoaque, and Nambe Pueblos, finally arriving in Taos, location of the Taos Pueblo. I suppose you could call this corridor along the middle Rio Grande Valley the Pueblo Trail. When I lived here 15 years ago, casinos were just emerging. Now they are everywhere. Every pueblo has a garish new casino (or two) with neon signs calling you to stop and gamble. I guess the Casino Trail fits, too. Despite the "progress", the Red Willow People of the Taos Pueblo do their best to maintain their traditional ways. True, there is a casino on the reservation; however, within the original boundaries of the pueblo, 200 of its residents live without electricity or running water -- even though they can certainly afford both from the proceeds of their gaming and tourist businesses.

Food for Thought

SINGAPORE - The cuisine in Singapore was fabulous with plenty to eat for vegetarians and carnivores alike. Fruit of all types was numerous and ran the gamut from the ordinary (pineapples, mangos, and kiwis) to the unusual (dragon fruits, sour stumps, and durians). There was seafood aplenty, which was often handpicked by the eater from tanks resembling those found in an American pet store. One evening we ate a monstrous crab covered in a spicy but slightly sweet red chile sauce. Singapore is apparently famous for this dish, and as a native New Mexican with highly evolved chile genes, I highly recommend it. Numerous cultures are present in Singapore and one can sample Indian, Malaysian, Chinese, Philippine, and other southeast Asian styles of cooking.

An American Werewolf in Singapore

SINGAPORE - Visit any U.S. city today and you will find them remarkably similar and homogeneous. You are sure to see the usual suspects McDonald's, Starbucks, and Wal-Mart wherever you go and often you can't discern one American city from another, it seems. Much the same can be said about Singapore. Conspicuous among the local shops were American strip-mall standards Burger King, Dairy Queen, McDonald's, Barnes and Noble, and, yes, Starbucks anchoring both ends of the same block. We stopped at the local Burger King to compare it to its U.S. counterpart. Finding: the Whoppers and fries we ordered were indistinguishable from what we get at home. Like it or not, you have to be impressed with ability of these companies to deliver their goods and services so consistently across geographical and cultural dimensions.

Signs, Signs, Everywhere Signs

London, England - We Americans read Webster's dictionary; the Brits read Oxford's. The point is that English has a lot of variations. See if you can decipher these actual road signs observed traveling throughout the countryside. I'll post the answers in the comments later.

1. Adverse Camber
2. No Overtaking
3. Abnormal Load
4. Traffic Calming
5. Soft Margin

If you think about them a bit I think you'll figure them all out -- although they are more subtle than you might think.  Good luck.

A Milestone: The Mediterranean

Limassol, Cyprus - The Traveling Bone reached a milestone today: First trip to the Mediterranean (some would say the Middle East). For those few who read this blog, you know that I like to give little stories about the people I meet, so here's one about the trip over on Cyprus Air. I'm not usually surprised by plane trips since I log 50,000 to 100,000 miles a year, but this one caught my attention. In the states, we all sit like zombies in our seats listening to iPods, working on laptops, and sleeping. On the short haul flights, you're lucky to get pretzels and water. Boy, was Cyprus Air different. First, the in-service included a full bar (soft drinks, beer, wine, and hard liquor). Free. That was topped off with an actual hot meal. This is only a four-and-a-half hour flight mind you -- about like Boise to Cincinnati. Second, almost everyone was engaged in a spirited conversation. People were standing in the aisles, turned around in their seats, and carrying on like crazy. I don't think the fasten seat belt sign was on once. If it was, no one paid any attention. This is the first plane ride I can remember when the voices of the passengers exceeded the noise of the jet engines. Finally, when the wheels touched down the plane erupted in applause. I turned to my neighbor, a Greek, and asked, "Why are they clapping?" He responded matter of factly, "It was a good landing." Yeah, I guess it was. And it was a good flight, too.

Swimming to Cyprus

Limmasol, Cyprus - It's 6:45 a.m. and the sun is just up over the horizon on the Mediterranean. Stripping off my shoes, t-shirt, and baseball cap, I ease in to the cool sea and begin to swim. The water is colder and saltier than expected, but definitely preferred to the chlorine in the gym. The buoyancy of the salt water and the gently rolling waves make progress easy and within seconds I'm warm and comfortable. After 15 minutes, though, the cold and current have combined for a nice morning workout. I paddle back to the beach, dry off, and pad back to the hotel room for a hot shower. Great fun. Not as racy as the time I swam in Lake Meade under a full moon but definitely more exotic.

Spero Meliora (I Hope for Better Things)

Limmasol, Cyprus - As a boy growing up in Albuquerque, New Mexico, I had few thoughts outside Field Street and Bellhaven Elementary School. Barely removed from the hard scrabble lives of my parents and grandparents, I recall not even being able to comprehend the concept of moving to Santa Fe, New Mexico, a mere 60 miles away when my father took a good civil service job in the federal government. How odd that I find myself now (30 years later) in the home of Lord Westbury in one of the ten nicest villas on the island of Cyprus. A blue pool and waterfall sit just outside the doors of the room overlooking the Mediterranean Sea where we are conducting the board meeting. During breaks in the meeting we admire Lord Westbury's family portraits dating back to the 18th century. Later that evening at dinner, after the board meeting, Lord Westbury produces a large Cuban cigar for my benefit. He had recalled an off-handed comment I made earlier in the day about the time I smuggled some Cuban cigars in from Amsterdam. Truly, it is incomprehensible that a shy, awkward kid from New Mexico has made it this far. It is definitely better to be lucky than good

Sunday Roast

Brighton, England - On the advice of a business associate, Keith Rochford, I drove from my lodgings in Hickstead to Brighton, which is on the sea. It was a trip of only a few miles. Brighton was famously mentioned in the Who's song "Pinball Wizard," so I felt compelled to visit it. I'm glad I did. Thanks to my vast experience driving the narrow streets of Amsterdam, I was able to navigate the tricky traffic of Brighton and soon came to "the South Coast's hottest destination," the marina. I wasn't all that impressed with the American retail feel of the marina's boardwalk, but once I got a few blocks away, I felt better. I found a nice pub advertising Sunday Roast, which, I learned, is an English tradition. So, I sat down to a nice lamb roast with gravy and Yorkshire puddings. Fantastic. My hostess was a struggling Dutch artist named Loeske (pronounced Loo-ska). Being a right-brained abstract painter she didn't have a clue how to get her work on the 'net. So, she gave me her e-mail address and I hooked her up with my sister-in-law, also a starving artist with a fantastic blog. And I'm not just saying that because she has drawings of my kids on her site!

Smoked Salmons

Tampere, Finland - The Finnish are famous for their love of the sauna. Nearly all homes are outfitted with one, and I'm told it is often the first thing built when a new house is erected. A modern Finnish sauna is similar to what you might find in your local gym: nice wooden benches and an electric stove to heat the room. For the real connoisseur, the traditional smoke sauna is preferred, though. So, it was real treat to get for me to be able to enjoy this cultural phenomenon while in Finland. As its name suggests, the smoke sauna is heated by a wood stove. The smoke sauna does not have a chimney, so the smoke literally fills the sauna and coats the entire room like the inside of a fireplace. The stove is used to superheat a pile of rocks and when the rocks reach a sufficiently hot temperature, the smoke is ventilated out and the sauna is ready for use. The sauna is enjoyed in the nude (men and women use them together at times and they are not thought of as a sexual place). Water is thrown on the rocks to create steam and the sauna may reach 80 degrees Celsius, which is just short of the boiling point of water. It's no wonder then that the sauna-goers are jokingly referred to as "smoked salmons." After sweating in the heat for a while, we trotted down to a nearby lake for an invigorating dip in the water. In our case, since it was winter, ice coated the lake and had to be broken before we could jump in. Quite obviously, we didn't spend any time swimming laps. Rather, we just jumped out and ran back to the sauna to get warm

Kick-Off Post

I recently closed my Traveling Bone blog (travelingbone.blogspot.com).  In re-reading it, though, I felt it contained quite a few worthy posts.  Here then I repost some of my favorites to kick-off this site.