Honeymoon Across Iceland

Before Iceland

August 5Saint Petersburg

Our third day in St. Petersburg and the city is treating us to fantastic weather.

August 6St. Petersburg → Stockholm

Had some Finnish Kroshka Kartoshka. The portion sizes nearly did me in, and the local smoked-salmon soup was beyond praise.

Waiting for our flight to Stockholm. We packed light, by the way — 12 kg checked and 7 kg each in carry-on. Thanks to Pixel for the backpack.

A tip for the home: an iPad also makes a very handy tray, and a mouse pad too.

The "pretend you're in Turkey" campaign was a roaring success.

For the record, we were in St. Petersburg.

All three days in St. Petersburg the weather was great, and we got around exclusively by bike — which seems to be the one upside of the Hello Hostel where we stayed, besides the friendly staff.

Met up with Gleb and Ira. Gleb had set up his stand with 3D printers at Geek Picnic.

Then we met Vova, talked reptilians, Mamluks, ancient Slavs and new-age Ukrainians, and rode around the Kolomna district.

Got on a minibus and headed for Helsinki.

Thanks to a software glitch, the Arlanda Express train can't display speeds above 999 km/h.

On board a Norwegian flight — a budget airline, mind you — there's free wifi above 10,000 feet.

In the booking comments we wrote "please more pillows".

On Matvey's tip we went to eat lobster. Expensive. Awesome.

August 7Stockholm

The Vasa Museum is an incredible place you absolutely have to visit. Probably the most interesting museum I've ever been to, and the first one I've genuinely enjoyed.

Stockholm's city bikes may look unimpressive at first, but they turned out to be a great way to get around. There are only three downsides:

1. You can take one for three hours max, then you have to return it and grab a new one;

2. You can only check a bike out between 6 a.m. and 10 p.m. — no drunken night rides;

3. Because everyone uses them, some are pretty beaten up — lights don't work, gears stick.

You can also only park them at designated stations, though that's not a critical downside, even a plus in a way.

Just remembered something, by the way.

Guess how many people applauded on landing the Helsinki–Stockholm flight?

We're staying in some standardized residential block out of the future, or out of The Fifth Element.

August 8Stockholm

Did someone ask for more food?

"Cake of the day" at Vaudeville.

Found an outdoor street in Stockholm: North Face, Haglöfs, Houdini, Salomon, Norrøna. It flows smoothly into a street with two Naturkompaniet stores (great outdoor shops) and Aliwals, also a nice spot. Everything you need for any sport — from running (everyone here runs) to mountaineering, kayaking (you can rent kayaks in the city) and basically anything. Houdini is a relatively young brand but already makes cool gear; Norrøna, a Norwegian company with almost a century of history, is pure class — gorgeous cuts, great colors, and a repair-and-customization workshop right in the store.

Russia has bugger-all in the way of good outdoor clothing. And on top of that a top-end Norrøna shell here costs around 25k, comparable to a top Arc'teryx or Marmot back home.

Iceland

August 9Oslo → Reykjavík

Quick tip: when flying within the Schengen zone, don't budget extra time for passport control at the airports — nobody checks those passports here.

Strange fact: the Starbucks at Arlanda airport isn't disgusting at all. They didn't dump a bucket of sugar into the coffee.

Achievement unlocked: spend three days in Sweden and never once hold the local currency.

Landed in Oslo. It's sunny and clear here.

SAS, what are you doing? Stop it! There's wifi on board and a mobile signal, you can call home. By the way, you can call or text us — we've got two more hours in the air.

Iceland. Cold and rainy — exactly as expected.

August 10Reykjavík · Esja

Today we went out for a warm-up ride. Caught our first puncture — of course we did — rode over to Mount Esja, climbed it (780 m high, a 3 km trail), admired the views from inside the cloud it was wrapped in, and headed back.

On the way back to Reykjavík we even saw a patch of blue sky and the temperature briefly hit +16; they're promising better weather. And in the city itself there was a huge gay pride parade. That's how it is. Tomorrow we set off on the route.

A few reflections.

What do Russian grandmas and grandpas do? The over-60 crowd. The grandmas, obviously, sit on a bench gossiping about who's a junkie and who's a slut. The grandpas... well, they sit somewhere too, sometimes riding the commuter trains with a grim look.

What do grandmas and grandpas do in Europe, especially Scandinavia? They run, that's what! Today, going up Esja, more elderly people jogged past us than young ones walked. Older folks run and cycle everywhere in Europe; I'm sure they also paddle kayaks and go trekking.

This is all really about sport in people's lives. In Russia, even among young people, those who do sport just for fun are few and far between — and I mean strictly "for fun", not for athletic achievement. Sure, some go snowboarding once a year, say, but that's not really sport.

So draw your own conclusions, folks. Do you want to sit on a bench at 60 with a grim face, or be out there running and having a laugh? As Vysotsky sang, "...it beats vodka and the common cold."

By the way, my grandfather ran almost until he was 70, until his knees gave out.

August 12Þingvellir · Geysir · Gullfoss

The first day of pedaling wasn't easy, even though the weather was good — sun and +16.

The first half of the day we were climbing, and the second half we were fighting a headwind and crosswind. The result: we wore ourselves out, rode 55 km and spent the night at the campsite in Þingvellir National Park.

The second morning there wasn't a single cloud; we did a tour and pushed on toward Geysir. Right now we're sitting halfway there, eating soup.

It's very beautiful here.

Day 2. As we already wrote, we started off great, with a tour. We rolled out at 11:30 heading for Geysir. The road was pleasant — few climbs, lots of descents (though according to the track it was actually the opposite).

At Geysir we looked at the geysers. An amusing sight. But we didn't camp there; according to the map the next campsite was at Gullfoss, a huge waterfall. The 2013 map lied, though — there's been no campsite there for 14 years. There's a Hotel Gullfoss, which had no rooms. That was brutal. We left our stuff with them so we could nip over to the waterfall, then come back and ride into a headwind all the way to Geysir again. Our spirits were grim. We'd already done 68 km by that point and were thoroughly knackered.

Looked at the waterfall — it's magnificent. Returning to the hotel, we found the owner, who told us they had a room after all. The keycard was in my hands in record time, and we ran for the shower and the jacuzzi.

So much for a tent trip.

Here's the trouble with this Iceland. Don't bring cameras — everything is so beautiful that you'll come home with thousands of photos and won't actually be able to sort them. Everything here is beautiful.

On tourism in Scandinavia.

For a long time I disliked tourism, to put it mildly. Because I'd only ever seen the Russian model. It's stomach-churningly grim, I don't even want to describe it, everyone knows.

Then I got acquainted with the Anglo-American model, I suppose. You take some experience, wrap it in the flashiest packaging possible, advertise it everywhere, and when you buy it they tell you: "here, look at all this rubbish quickly and clear off, people are waiting — and on the way out, you muppet, don't forget to buy the t-shirt." That's why we got so disillusioned with London's museum-attractions. They aren't waiting for you; they know you'll come because you know about them. It feels like washing down a cola with a not-quite-fresh cheeseburger. In short, it differs from the Russian model in quality and service.

This summer we got acquainted with the Scandinavian model.

Same goal — attract more tourists — but what execution. Take the Vasa Museum. The mere fact that a ship which lay on the seabed for three hundred years was raised from it deserves attention. The Swedes built a museum, and not just built it but keep improving it, expanding the exhibition, adding video rooms and so on, and they've earned the hundred-meter queues standing in the rain. Inside there are heaps of explanations, labels, fascinating exhibits that — oh, the horror for a Soviet mind — you're allowed to touch.

All of Iceland is one enormous tourist park. The whole economy rests on it, and Icelanders are far from indifferent. They also care deeply about the nature people come here for. There's tons of info on what to do and what not to do out in the wild. Hundreds of buses ferry thousands of tourists to every corner of the country every day, and nowhere is trashed. The buses have wifi. The campsites have hot showers and washing machines (that's the rule here). The guides genuinely know their subject. It all happens unhurriedly, almost by itself, but you can tell there's a powerful system behind it. Even the souvenir shops don't look tacky. Everything is in its place. Beautiful postcards, traditional jewelry and sweaters, all sorts of little things. I enjoy being a tourist here.

These people spend a little more effort and time so that others come back to them again and again. They're worth taking an example from.

PS. Incidentally, these are two approaches — the "effective manager" versus "people for people". The first set the task of "extract as much profit as possible, sacrificing anything", while the second ask "how do we make people comfortable". Hence the different approaches to solving problems.

August 13Hella

Day 3. Grind it out, but get it done.

After a hearty breakfast and goodbyes to the warm-hearted owner of Hotel Gullfoss — a woman of about 70 who yesterday personally carried our things home to wash and dry them — we set off toward Flúðir. The plan was this: lunch in Flúðir (25 km), then on to Brautarholt, 50 km, camp there. If we had the strength, push on to Hella, 83 km.

The morning was cloudy, and after breakfast the cloud came down, a drizzle started and then turned into proper rain. It didn't slow us much though — we knocked out the first 50 km briskly. Met some cool Italians on Bianchi bikes. Feeling strong after lunch, we pressed on. But then we met Irish cyclists who told us a headwind awaited, since they'd come from where we were headed and it had blown at their backs. They weren't lying, and the last 33 kilometers became the hardest of our trip. Wind, rain, hills — the full set. The grind factor was close to a hundred percent. Big thanks to the guys for the tip about neoprene socks and gloves, by the way — it helped us a lot today.

By the time we reached Hella, camping was out of the question. We crashed into the first hotel we came across, ran straight for the shower, then they gave us tickets to the local pool and we went to soak in the open-air hot tubs and ride the water slides while the rain hammered down outside at +9.

So this is a honeymoon. Tomorrow we want to spend the night on the island of Vestmannaeyjar, if the ferries are running.

A small update on Iceland's beauty. In the rain you can't see anything, and it feels like you're riding through Stavropol Krai or the Ukrainian steppe.

August 14Vestmannaeyjar · puffins

Day 4. Puffins.

Setting off early from Hella into the firm embrace of wind and rain (they have a cooperation agreement here — their management always knew how to make deals), we rode 43 km along a relatively flat road to the ferry terminal, where we boarded the ferry to Vestmannaeyjar — an island that in the 1970s went through a volcanic eruption which wrecked a couple of houses, killed no one, and somewhat increased its area.

And we came to see the puffins, which nest here everywhere. When we arrived the sun even came out, and we briskly grabbed our unloaded bikes and rode off to look at these funny red-beaked birds. Everything here reminds you of them, by the way — even the town's road signs are shaped like puffins. Puffins are great, it was worth it.

The weather turned, killing our plans to climb the volcano and ride around the island's perimeter (we had no intention of pedaling any more in the rain and wind). We headed to the local pool, where, as is now classic, we soaked in the hot tubs. Tomorrow we ride to Skógar, stopping on the way at Eyjafjallajökull, that very volcano.

We did the math: our route in Iceland is already 253 km, plus 47 in Reykjavík to Esja and back, totaling 300 km in five days, plus about 100 in St. Petersburg and Stockholm. #pedalhard

August 15Skógar

Day 5. The Icelandic Low.

South of Iceland, out in the ocean, lies a region called the Icelandic Low, where air masses of different temperatures collide, giving birth to cyclones. These cyclones drench Iceland itself and also drift off toward Europe, largely shaping its weather — including over European Russia. So when you're getting rained on in Moscow, you're feeling a little piece of Iceland.

Today that very Low poured a fair amount of water on our heads and we had to push against the wind again, which by now has become the norm and doesn't deserve special mention.

We rode 44 kilometers and reached Skógar, stopping on the way to look at a waterfall and at the "Eyjafjallajökull visitor center". In reality it turned out to be an old garage where they screen a twenty-minute documentary about the eruption and the fate of a farming family — the same family that now screens the documentary and sells a pile of lava souvenirs. They're doing just fine.

It's raining in Skógar and we don't feel like going anywhere. A rest day lies ahead; we're dropping anchor and, by tradition, sinking into the hot tubs.

August 16Vík · rest

Day 6. Rest.

Did nothing in the morning, got up late, went to look at a waterfall and picked a few birch boletes. With good weather we'd have gathered five times as many.

Yesterday at the guesthouse we met a couple from Germany, Konrad and Larisa (named after the city in Greece), and today the guesthouse owner, a very warm woman, gave us her car so we could drive around the area.

We nipped over to a glacier, a big arch in the sea, the basalt cliffs, looked at the puffins. Went to a restaurant in Vík and soaked in the jacuzzi with a beer.

In short, a great comatose day. Tomorrow we take the bus to Skaftafell National Park.

August 17On the road

In the end the ultralight tent turned out to be super useful. It's not too heavy to carry from guesthouse to guesthouse and from hotel to hotel.

August 18Skaftafell · glacier lagoon

Day 7. Skaftafell.

We decided to take the bus to Skaftafell. Arrived, had lunch and set off on an 18 km trek to see the surroundings. True to form, of course, a cloud settled on us and we didn't see much, but we ground it out on the descent — everything was flooded with water and we walked through a bog.

We stopped in the tent; tomorrow we head to the glacier lagoon and figure out how to get to Reykjavík.

The internet everywhere is rubbish, so we'll post all the photos once we're in Reykjavík.

A few thoughts about the locals and about mountains.

The Caucasus is good because it's close, relatively cheap and, most importantly, in the mountains themselves there are no locals. Sure, there are heaps of myths about Caucasian hospitality, but more often it boils down to jacking up prices for who-knows-what, or even escalates into shooting tourists and blowing up your own cable cars — some pointless feuds with one another, and the less said about mountain folk's behavior in Moscow the better.

But even in the mountains, where you've supposedly gotten away from the locals, there are plenty of jerks. Tourists who don't carry out their trash, for example. And I'd definitely never leave an iPad and wallet in a tent next to unlocked bikes somewhere in Russia, or the CIS in general.

That's the very difference in the travel experience.

Here the locals have turned the whole country into a museum-reserve, and they haven't forgotten that a place is clean not where they clean up, but where they don't litter.

And as for theft — the guide didn't even immediately understand why I was asking how best to lock the bikes so they wouldn't get stolen — for the locals that's an absurd notion.

Day 8. A bit of a flop.

Climbing Iceland's highest peak didn't work out; in August the state of the glaciers doesn't allow it.

Went to the glacier lagoon, looked at the micro icebergs, the gulls and the seals.

Nipped over to the airfield. The pilots said the chance of flying to Reykjavík tomorrow is 50% — and that's only with good weather. We really want to take the plane, to see everything from above.

We're sitting here, mulling over the weather. We'll probably ride the trekking trail on the bikes now. Walking sucks.

Tomorrow we'll be in Reykjavík no matter what.

In Iceland they respect powerful vehicles; without them there's no point being in the central part of the country — there's even a "4x4 only" road sign. And in winter it's frankly unclear why you'd own a regular car at all.

Apparently the locals aren't just showing off when they buy bigger jeeps.

A bit cheesy, sure, but while trying to recreate the shot I nearly flew into the ditch.

August 19Reykjavík

Another story about the locals.

We were going from Skógar to Skaftafell with a stop in Vík. We were supposed to change buses there, but the driver didn't tell us, apparently deciding it was self-evident. We stayed on the Skógar–Vík bus, which then headed back.

When we'd driven off and realized we were going back, we told the driver. He stopped the bus, called the driver of the Vík–Skaftafell bus, who turned around to come pick us up. Incredible.

Iceland's south coast honestly has every chance of becoming a second Crimean Riviera — it just needs a mega-cleanup hero to scrub it all down. As it is, you could put up a lot of interesting multi-pitch routes: lots of cracks, chimneys and so on.

The weather's rubbish, though, and the farmers probably wouldn't allow it anyway.

PS. About the weather. In winter, they say, the wind off the ocean bounces off the cliffs, strengthens, and sometimes tears the asphalt right off the roads.

Day 9. Reykjavík.

Packed up in the morning. None of the pilots were flying to Reykjavík, so we had to take the bus. Three transfers, but with power sockets and wifi. Strætó, the local buses, are more than twice as cheap as the tour ones, by the way.

In Vík we met up with Seryoga, took a few shots and very nearly missed the bus.

In Reykjavík we met Kirill, who had recently led a group out to watch whales.

Then we wandered, shopped, and now we're off to find a bar. Tomorrow it's the Blue Lagoon and eating lobster.

August 20Blue Lagoon

Today is our last day in Reykjavík. The weather was magnificent.

We nipped over to the Blue Lagoon, where we relaxed like royalty, with all sorts of spa treatments and lunch at the restaurant. We've never eaten such tender lamb, and the prices in a genuinely good restaurant were the same as in a little eatery in Reykjavík — whereas in Moscow they wouldn't have cooked it like that and would have charged three times as much.

Back in town, we returned the bikes, sent a second parcel of licorice to Moscow, took a stroll and, completely by chance, ran into Kirill again at a local burger place, where we each had a magnificent burger. In this restaurant, by the way, they keep a tally of Iceland's population, and every time someone is born the waitresses announce it over the PA, everyone applauds and cheers.

Packed our things; tomorrow we're up at five, flying to Prague with the by-now-classic six-hour layover, this time in Amsterdam.

We'll write about Iceland separately, but we already have a list of things worth coming back for.

After Iceland

August 21Amsterdam → Prague

Turns out Amsterdam never did pass that law banning foreigners from lighting up. So there's a strong smell of weed everywhere.

Achievement unlocked: don't get high in Amsterdam.

UPD: a gram here costs perfectly reasonable money, plus you can choose the strain — at least a dozen of them.

Breakfast in Reykjavík, lunch in Amsterdam, overnight in Prague. That kind of day.

August 22Teplice nad Metují

We arrived in the Czech backcountry, the little town of Teplice nad Metují, where the thirtieth annual mountain film festival is taking place. The town is packed with tourists, and the streets are a proper outdoor bazaar — gear sold straight out of boxes, every brand big and obscure. Everything is on sale and it all gets snapped up in an instant.

Naturally, we leaned hard into the local beer and sausages. We're staying at the "Rybárna" guesthouse.

And most importantly! This is the very place where the Czechs climb, protecting themselves with bits of rope that are sold everywhere here!

How could we have screwed up so badly and not brought climbing shoes... Then again, you can pick up decent shoes here for 500–1000 rubles; the discounts on gear are simply staggering.

Tomorrow we'll look at the rocks and do some slacklining.

By the way, yesterday Prague greeted us with a poster for "The Last Show of David Coprofield". Now we've seen everything.

August 23Mountain film festival

Czechs are like Russians. And I don't just mean that echoes of the USSR are everywhere here, mostly in how anything is organized — from the placement of toilets at the station to that very "International Film Festival" they're running.

Despite over 70% of the films being foreign, there's very little English signage. Almost nobody speaks English, not even the organizers; at the guesthouse we communicate through drawings and Google Translate.

And it turned out the Czechs, across the board, simply don't know that English. We've gotten used to Scandinavia — time to head "home".

The Incredible Adventures of Dasha in the Czech Republic.

Results of the festival's second day:

The Czechs have zero sense of tact in editing — we watched such a mountain of nonsense, even their slackline film was a dud. They walk better than us, but we can and will film better.

It's generally amazing that genuinely trashy videos come out plastered with a heap of sponsor logos.

Honnold 3.0 is an absolute bomb — everyone go find, download and watch it.

We nipped over to the local rocks. It's insane, you could live here. At the same time the locals are so unprepared for foreigners that there isn't even an English guidebook, but the rocks don't care — come and climb. And the climbers, notably, almost all speak English.

Tomorrow they'll screen my little film, so I'll have to go up on stage and say something — I'm wondering whether to use Google Translate or not.

August 24Adršpach rocks

We stocked up nicely at the outdoor bazaar. It feels, of course, like being a kid at the market again, trying on new jeans for school while standing on a dirty piece of cardboard. But here you genuinely don't care, when you can grab cool Rejoice pants for a grand and get an extra nice little bag for complimenting the saleswoman.

Today we did the 16 km route to the Adršpach (the Czechs got carried away) rocks. The most beautiful places, magnificent crags, crowds of climbers. And most importantly — the nature. Everything here harks back to the times when the tales and legends of wood-goblins, water-spirits and kikimoras were born. It strongly reminded me of The Witcher.

The Czechs have, however, managed to genuinely trash their biggest national park. Literally. There's crap everywhere, even by the stream with drinking water.

Tomorrow is the festival's last day; we're staying one more night, and then it's on to Vienna via Prague.

August 25Teplice

La Dura Dura and Honnold 3.0 took everything. Sure, there were some other films, but after watching that pair you run out of the cinema with your blood literally boiling. Sender Films doesn't make rubbish.

So, the festival is over, everyone has scattered, the rain has started. (photo from yesterday)

We decided to ignore all the warnings from horror films and, forgetting a flashlight, set off for a walk in the forest at 6 p.m., and an hour and a half later found ourselves in a twilight — and a little later a fully nighttime — forest.

Ah well, a map, a compass and GPS are our everything. We marked the occasion with a beer.

Tomorrow, Vienna.

August 26→ Vienna

Part two and the finale of the Incredible Adventures of Dasha in the Czech Republic.

August 27Vienna

Yesterday was a long day.

First three hours by train to Prague. There, for some strange reasons that have become the norm, we spent six hours in the city, wandering around and joining a genuinely ridiculous walking tour. We noted again that the McCafés in Prague are superb.

Then by a train named after Mendel to Vienna. Almost five more hours (trains in Europe are in no hurry, yet they cost decent money). The train resembled the Nevsky Express almost completely. Unfortunately it was Czech rather than Austrian, from which it followed that the toilets were, after all, more Russian than European. There was a dining car, though.

The whole way, a fellow passenger of Indian appearance from Slovakia tried, with varying success, to strike up a conversation with us. In places it worked, and I even drew an infographic about our journey.

Arriving in Vienna, we briskly made it to the hotel, where it turned out I'd extended the booking by phone for nothing. The girl I'd spoken to hadn't written down a damn thing, and they weren't expecting us. At half past ten, after a long journey, hearing that was, to put it mildly, no fun. In the end it all got sorted out, we checked in and fell asleep.

Today we went for a walk around Vienna. The rain came with us, but that scares us least of all. We climbed St. Stephen's Cathedral, came down and by chance ran into Lyokha with his wife and daughter. Naturally, we went to a beer hall and marked the occasion with a magnificent brew.

Then we walked, went through the architecture museum, where I gave the group a tour of the exhibition on the history of Viennese architecture over the last century, strolled around and wrapped it up at Salm Bräu, joyfully smashing a full glass of excellent local beer.

On the way home we dropped by a little festival put on by some Austrian region in the center of Vienna, but we had no strength left to celebrate and drink.

We're thinking about what to do in Vienna and whether it's worth going to Bratislava.

August 28Vienna

The Incredible Adventures of Dasha 2: Dasha in Vienna.

A selection of interesting Viennese signs. Figure them out yourself.

1. Lines for cutting off a pedestrian's legs

2. Don't whack a person behind a wall

3. Run away from trees

4. Chicks aren't allowed to ride bikes

5. Caution: sliced people

A very packed day.

We walked around Vienna, made it to the Hundertwasserhaus (why is it all Russians here?), dropping in on the way at the local alpine club with its enormous library. They refused to rent us gear for the Via Ferrata, though, since we're not club members, so no climbing for us.

We also visited a butterfly greenhouse. I've loved butterflies since childhood and these were some of the best minutes I've had in a while. Butterflies circled in the air, gathered in little flocks and landed on the visitors. Pure joy.

It turned out Dasha has been to Vienna three times now and never once eaten a schnitzel. Naturally, we corrected this misunderstanding and went for a walk through the Naschmarkt, bought some wine and cheese.

Tired, we sat down at a café where we sampled some decent but not-cheap cakes, and then in an underpass someone tried to short-change me by two euros buying pastries. In the end I came out 50 cents ahead. The nerve of them.

August 29Vienna

Hooray! The last day of the trip.

Today we strolled along the Danube, rode the hellish super-swings at the amusement park — basically didn't know what to do with ourselves.

Ate a huge Bangladeshi lobster.

Tomorrow it's back to the world of rudeness, sour faces and birch trees. The world we're so used to.

Practicing my Russian face for the return. Looking at the rotting capitalist West like it's garbage.

August 30Home

It really is bloody great coming back to the motherland. You buy an S7 ticket and end up flying some budget carrier, Niki. You circle over Moscow for an extra forty minutes, and at Domodedovo every toilet is splashed nearly to the ceiling. Welcome back.

From the unpublished files. Three kilometers to go.

And here we are, home. The photo album crammed full, happy and content.

It was a really awesome month.