Day two at last…
The next day we were up bright and early after our first night under canvass (or more accurately nylon – but I liked that phrase). Sadly there was no coffee for breakfast, because of the big boo boo with the stove…argh don’t remind me.
So we went back to that dreadful fizzy water with some muesli and yoghurt like milk for breakie. Unfortunately yogurt comes in pretty much the same looking carton as milk – turns out, if I had managed to make the coffee it would have had to have been black anyway – yuk! I can’t say I much enjoyed my muesli mashed up with yogurt in a tin mug, hardly the high life, but it was food.
We then packed up camp, squeezed it all in the car and headed onto our whale watching trip at Olafsvik. When we got there, about an hour later it was raining hard.
Again , the town was much smaller and more parochial than we had expected. This was a common theme throughout the holiday. A town to an Icelandic is more like a small village to anyone else in the Western world. So really the whole country in my mind was made up of lots of tiny hamlets, villages, perhaps a couple of towns and one city.
Whale Watching Gets Scary
Just as the captain of the whale watching trip was about to warn us about wearing suitable clothing, he stopped himself. We both looked like the abominable snowman, nothing more needed to be said. We were more than prepared for the high seas, all clad up in thermals, our puffa jackets and water proofs. I was determined to wear the expensive waterproof trousers that hubby had insisted on me purchasing a year back, for our walking trips – which I’d hardly worn.
We alighted with the other six tourists on board this 200+ person vessel and headed off for the high seas to marvel at the marine life. We tagged onto a school (it’s not a school but called something else) of Orca whales, or better known as killer whales. It was truly, awesome. Even I, miss chatter box, was somewhat dumbfounded by the experience.
The weather started getting real bad; it was time to turn back. The whole turning back experience was quite horrific. At the front of the boat stood hubby and I, a couple from Scotland and a few other people ogling at the sites. The boat then turned round amidst the thirty to forty foot high waves and we clung on for our dear lives on at the nose of the boat, ducking and diving. Stomach churning, feet slipping, eyes watering, and pretty much petrified. The Icelandic’s are not big on safety precautions and didn’t feel the need to warn us that they were going to turn. After that, we scrabbled back to the seats to sit out the journey while trying to hold back the instinct to chuck up our guts. By the time we returned to the harbour, riddled with a deep sense of nausea infused with fear, we were glad to be getting back to our faithful Suzuki.
Next time find out about our next night of campsite nightmares as hubby wakes everyone up at 2am in the morning by pressing his elbow on the car horn – oops!