Winter Walks and Country Guide to Iceland Posted

I am scribbling furiously away on my manuscript about my travels in Greenland, Iceland, and the Faroe Islands. Okay, maybe “scribbling” is old-school, circa junior high when I still wrote my short stories and never-finished novels in spiral notebooks.

I am typing furiously away….

Better?

In all this feverish writing, as the landscapes and people, tastes and smells, sensations and feelings rush back into my cozy home office, I am inspired to tackle a side project. Namely, adding one of my favorite corners of the world to my country guides. In the coming months, I plan to add my own travel guides to all the places I traversed, including some tips for others like me living and traveling with fibromyalgia or another chronic medical condition.

To kick off this mad writing rush, I present my Country Guide to Iceland. City and region guides for Iceland will be added little by little as I write them.

On a side note, today I walked to and from my doctor appointment, a total round trip of 2 hours through melting snow and ice. I am determined to continue walking – the single most important therapy for my fibromyalgia – throughout the winter months.

We’re having a bizarre winter. Mild until this month, my birthday arrived with instant winter and sub-zero temperatures. Until yesterday, when my walk to work presented a crazy mix of 4 seasons in the space of 45 minutes – rain, sleet, hail, and snow. Today, as if I wasn’t dizzy enough, the weather wizard tossed out a pleasant March day of dirty melting snow and warm sunshine.

What will tomorrow’s walk bring? In Wisconsin, you just never know.

A Fibromite’s New Year Resolution

I took a walk in the snow today. Not a delicate, lazy snow of crystal masterpieces and satisfying fluffy heaps that pack into perfect snowballs and dress the trees in formal white tie tuxedos for a romantic gala, but a fine, blowing white-out of razor-sharp, vindictive snow that burned my ruddy cheeks and forced me to hunch into the wind.

Winter has finally come to Wisconsin after a bizarre autumn suspension of time through the Advent season. I am not complaining – I savoured every minute of sweatshirt weather, sunny mild days, and comfortable strolls to work. It was almost like a Portland winter, minus the rain and mist.

But this blinding, slicing snow suits me better. Mirrors what I have struggled with for almost a month now and thus feels more natural, more suitable for my daily struggles with fibromyalgia. I am walking through a metaphor sprung to vivid real-life.

A Scandinavian Christmas….with a side of mischievous elves

One of the joys of the Advent season for me has always been the excuse to let my proud  Scandinavian heritage flag fly. There is very little that makes me feel as connected to my ancestors, farmers who immigrated from Norway and Sweden, than baking with my human weight in butter, rolling up my lefsa and krumkake, and griping with others in our mutual loathing of lutefisk, which for unknown reasons (probably more to do with stubborn pride than anything) still graces many a Scandinavian-American’s Christmas Eve smorgasbord.

Krumkake and a Dala horse

For my German-American husband, this heavily coded world of Christmas traditions is as foreign as travelling to another country. To help ease him in to my emotional journey through baking, decking the tree in garlands of cheery little flags, and pouring aquavit into the hot spiced wine, I do everything I can to merge German traditions with my own, while mixing in some traditions from countries I have traveled to. Like the delicate little egg-shell ornament, hand painted in pastel greens, that I hand-carried from the Czech Republic. The Snowflake Bread recipe from Iceland, another fried dough concoction to go side-by-side with fattingman and rosettes. Eager to incorporate a German holiday, I planned for St. Nick’s Day goodies to tuck into his shoes – until I came face to face with his battered, stinky slippers. Um, never mind.

Have Yourself A Merry Christmas – Fibro Style

This time of year is perfect for reminding me just how insidious the false promises of our workaholic, materialistic, keeping-up-with-the-Jones culture is, despite my best intentions. A pull to be the perfect wife, woman, friend, daughter, aunt, employee, writer, with a perfect Better Homes and Gardens house decked out in artfully arranged centerpieces, trays laden with beautiful cookies, a mulled wine simmering on the stove and a table laid with a gorgeous feast.

Every year I buy into the image, the glossy magazine pages and advertisements of a beaming family surrounded by swags of green and glitter. I plunge into a determined whirl of activity and by Christmas I am exhausted, bed-ridden, and bitter. My holiday is not perfect. A stack of cards still wait to be written. The house shimmers beautifully at the expense of actually having the energy to fill its walls with friends and family. The cats and I enjoy the decor alone. I’m lucky if my husband even notices as he mows through the cookies.

Photos of Northern Faroe Islands

My last installment of photos from my Norse world trip is now posted. Of all of my experiences in the Faroe Islands, my favorite moments came condensed into two exhilirating days when I ventured into the northernmost reaches of the Faroes. I sampled baked delights at my preferred Faroes bakary in Klaksvik and marvelled at the turbulant emotions of Faroese weather at the enchanted Viðareiði, where light and dark clashed like the waves on the cliffs as a rainstorm raced in. I chatted with friendly locals, tossed about on the gritty workaday mail ferry, and soared in a helicopter. It’s hard to beat that.

To view the slideshow, click on the link below.

Northern Faroe Islands

A Pilgrimage Concluded: The Paul Simon Concert

Sometimes fibromyalgia amazes me. I think I finally understand my body, my limitations and my rhythms, and then fibromyalgia sneaks up on my complacency and WHAM – I am flaring.

This time only a minor flare, if four days of fatigue and bone-tired achiness can be called minor. But the cause is worth every painful twinge of my muscles.

After all, I met Paul Simon.

Coming Home to My Musical Muses

In a few hours I will begin a pilgrimage back to my writing roots, my breath mingling with raw excitement and anticipation in the frosty car as we drive south past fields already laced with snow. My legs will bounce with nervous energy, my heart swelling with hope and fear as we speed ever closer to Milwaukee and a stage about to be graced with the presence of an American song-writing legend, Mr. Paul Simon.

This is a pilgrimage a long time coming.

Lessons in Irony – Greenland, Iceland and the Faroes with Fibromyalgia

Irony walks arm in arm with fibromyalgia. I find myself amazed at what I can accomplish, tasks and adventures that sound impossible in the face of fibro pain and fatigue, and shaking my head at the simple activities that flummox me completely, such as twisting open a jar. This riddle colors all my travels and my recent trip through Greenland, Iceland and the Faroe Islands was no exception.

Hike to Kiattut Sermiat Glacier, Greenland

Every time I mentioned I would be hiking between sheep farms in Greenland for a week, I encountered shock, awe, and dubious expressions. “Will you be okay hiking solo? In Greenland?!” Maybe it was the far-flung, exotic nature of my destination. After all, most people only have a vague notion of where Greenland is and what the climate is like. They picture ice, snow, polar bears, mountains. Not Southwest Greenland in the frenzied season of summer, when the days stretch endlessly before you and wildflowers invade the mountain passes.

But even I faced self-doubt. The largest dose of self-doubt I’ve faced since I began this Chronic Traveler odyssey. I would hear myself telling others, “First I’m going to Greenland, where I’ll be hiking between sheep farms..” and the silent panic would grip my gut. What if I really was pushing my limits too far this time?

Tech Issues – Sorry!

So apparently the platform I use to display my photos has been having technical difficulties. Which means no one can enjoy my beautiful photos of the Faroe Islands and Iceland – bummer! I’m working to get the tech issue resolved and will refrain from posting any more photo slideshows until I have a solution.

An Acquaintance with the Foggy Soul of the Faroes

Faroes fog beguiles me. Soothes, transforms, dances, displays a bipolar emotional state that hypnotizes and draws me into its trance. I find my pen has unknown depths of poetry. Through the fog, I hear whispered traces of the Faroese soul. And what I hear fascinates me endlessly.

My introduction to the fog of the Faroe Islands came on a ferry to the southernmost island of this North Atlantic island archipelago. Throughout the day, the fog rolled in and out, obscuring half of Tvøroyri’s fjord in white and barely tangible ghostly form, while the other side blinded me in the intense sun.