Islands Adventure epilogue.

The adventure is over. The snow squalled late last night, though someone was nice enough to turn off the weather machine at 9 pm, and we were able to walk out to the camper without getting too snowy. This morning, a lovely blanket of crisp, white snow coats the ground, the trees, the van, and as we trudge to the hostel's bathroom, we decide one last bowl of steaming hot oatmeal, one more energizing coffee brewed in the back of our little camper, would cap of the trip perfectly. Next, packing the explosion of stuff BACK into our packs...somehow, then forgo the hot showers. On the other side of the campground is the largest municipal pool in Reykjavik, so a morning of soaking away our stress and worries before our flight is in order. I love the heated pools, the ample showers, the hot tubs of varying warmth, the heated floors...I wish we had the same thing at home - I would be there every day!

All that's left now is one last drive to the airport through surreal lava landscapes powdered with white, passed steaming geothermal pools surround by brilliant green moss, dotted with white birds - a feast for the eyes(of the passenger, at least). Check-in is much less crowded this time around, and it shows that summer is clearly the preferred season for travel. We head to our gate with little extra time, after too much duty-free shopping, and board from the snow-covered tarmac for a relaxing flight home. We chase the sunset all the way to Montreal.

Well, that's it for another whirlwind adventure. My only regret? Booking the Iceland portion second and not first. It was great, and I would gladly do it again, but it sure would've been more relaxing if we had taken 2 weeks of beach vacation after 4 days of winter camping through blizzards.

Until next time.

Navigating the storm

Well, we managed to survive the storm last night. Through the thin, metallic walls of the campervan, we could hear the wind howling, the snow pelting down on us. The windows were covered, so I was sure that I would find about 2 meters of the white stuff when I opened the sliding door this morning. Turns out, it was a lot of noise for nothing, there is barely 1 cm more than what had fallen last night! So disappointing!...well, really not, but it DID seem like a lot of noise for nothing...

Today's goal is to get even closer to Reykjavik, and visit some of the Golden Circle stops along the way. You may remember that we had done this during peak summer season, and found it difficult to experience any kind of enjoyment with the throngs of people visiting. We figure that there might be a chance for redemption in the winter/off months, so we are giving it another shot. But first - I don't mind no shower camping, but that means a visit to a municipal pool to get cleaned up and refreshed for the day - Hourray!

I love going to the municipal pools. We discovered them this summer, a super-cheap alternative to the hot springs and spas available, and they are so relaxing - hot tubs, showers, lap pools and waterslides, all filled with geothermally-heated water, all reaching AT LEAST 25 degrees C! There are free lockers, soap and shampoo in the showers, heated floors EVERYWHERE - and all for about $10 - you really can't beat it. We return to the pool at Selfoss, and slide into the lusciously-warm water. Around us, the trees are covered with snow, creating this magical landscape in which to soak away sore muscles and weather worries. NOW we are ready for the day.

First stop, Kerid crater, one stop we didn't make last trip, but Mario needed to visit at least ONE volcano while in Iceland, so...Already, you can see the differences from this summer, as Kerid is now charging an entrance fee to visit, albeit a small one, and has cordoned-off paths all around the caldera to keep people in. I understand that this needed to be done to prevent even further damage to the surroundings, given the massive surge of people in the country now, but it also seems to cheapen the visit. Kerid is easy access, located right off the road, so it gets a lot of traffic, like the everyman's volcano, and so everyone stops here. Hopefully, charging the fee will aid in conservation efforts.

As we are walking around the top of Kerid crater, the wind picks up, whipping wave after wave of melty, wet snow at us. Luckily, we are dresses in layer, so zip up the puffer, pull on the tuque, tie the scarf a little tighter and zip up the windbreaker every so often to ward off the chills and we are fine. This undulating Icelandic weather continues through lunch(yay hotdogs!) and gives way to little patches of sun as we make our way to our second destination, Gulfoss. Now we are seeing a few more buses - very little in comparison, but there are some crowds, and the gift shop is seeing so much foot traffic that the floor looks like a lagoon from all the melting boot snow! Here, the paths are reduced - no longer can we make our way to the lower viewing platforms, as there could be too much ice, and not enough people have brought their crampons for their layovers(silly people). We content ourselves with showing off our sure-footedness while admiring the falls from several angles. We also praise the foresight of Icelandic architecture - always blending perfectly in to its surroundings visually, while being able to accommodate extensions on itself without looking like pieces just tacked on. The visitor's centre has easily doubled in size, but we have a hard time figuring that out, since the part added on looks exactly like the original, except for the wood exterior being less weathered!

Insert here a brief interlude with some rather fuzzy-looking Icelandic horses - a nice farmer en route to Geysir invites people onto his land, where his herds come right up to the fence for some petting, snacks and photo opportunities galore. They are so shaggy and beautiful!

Geysir is just as exciting as ever, shooting off hot steam every 5-10 minutes, but is more visually stunning because the hot water spout condenses into a huge cloud in the cold air, and floats away on the wind, rather than raining back down to the ground. It seems to not shoot as high in winter, though maybe that's just representative of the times we saw it explode, and not a good example of its performance overall. We didn't stick around for too long - again, this site is close to the main road, close to the massive parking lots, so busloads of people come in waves, stand by the geysir, waiting for it to blow, snap their pictures then move on. We move on.

As the sky is getting dark, we decide it's time to head to the campground - through my research on winter camping in Iceland, I noted that the site at Thingvellir stays open all year, and since it is within the Golden Circle route, it makes perfect sense to stop there for the night. We pull up just before 6, and the place is dark. I mean, no reception, bathrooms locked, no cars or campervans anywhere. Not good. I think maybe I got the check-in site wrong, and we head to the visitor's center, hoping for more info. They are closed too. Earlier in the day, we noticed statements on road.is of incoming storms, with warnings to avoid travel between 6 and 10 pm - this may have encouraged many to close up early and head home while visibility was still good...And now here we are, in the middle of the parking lot at Thingvellir, trying to figure out our next move. I KNOW the campground in Reykjavik is open, and since it seems other places are hit-or-miss, we go for broke and head out. Not five minutes later, and the snow starts.

Insert here a very tense 30-km, 1-hour drive through near-whiteout conditions, navigating from road marker to road marker trying not to drive off the highway and down into a ravine. It was slow-going, but we weren't alone - several cars followed us convoy-style as we inched our way closer and closer to the city. When we caught sight of the first street lamps heading into Mosfellsbaer, and then further along to the highways of the capital, I think we both breathed a huge sigh of relief.

We check into the campground, being run for the winter by the neighboring youth hostel, and lucked out that it included use of all the hostel's facilities as well. That means hot showers, clean washrooms, heated lounge area and use of the common kitchen area, which is fantastic given the storm that is still raging outside. We lug our food inside, get warm, get dry, and relax with a little Brennivin after such a hectic end to the day.

We made it.

Hiking and icebergs and waterfalls, oh my.

It's such an awesome feeling waking up in the middle of a snowy campground, with no one around but the mountains and glaciers and crows squawking in the trees. And just like that, the first tour bus of the day pulls into the Visitor's Centre - boo. After a nice hearty bowl of oatmeal and coffee(good morning coffee!), we too head out in exploration, to travel the trails to Svartifoss, a beautiful waterfall in a canyon, surrounded by hexagonal basalt columns. Luckily, we leave the sneaker-wearing tour groups in our dust as we descend the trail to the water with the help of our micro-spikes. Word to the wise: if ever travelling in Iceland in the winter, BRING crampons! They are a total life-saver, and make all adventuring much more comfortable.

After our walk to the falls, we begin the drive for the day. The threat of bands of storms coming from the south is looming, and we want to beat them. We head east - away from Rekjavik, though only temporarily - to the iceberg lagoons of Jokulsarlon and Fjallsarlon. With all the chunks of thousand-year-old ice breaking away from the glaciers to begin their journey to the ocean, the lagoons are quite the sight to behold in summer, but they are something else in winter! Less heat means less melting, so there is a sort of traffic jam of bergs in the lagoon. Not pretty, but what draws the eye is the brilliant blue of the ice, so much more bright and technicolour in the colder months. And they are visually ever-changing, so the beauty we saw at Fjallsarlon this summer is dull and brownish, whereas Jokulsarlon shines like a jewel. And neither one can compare to the amazing views at Diamond Beach, where the bergs wash up with the rough waves of high tide, and shine like stars on the pitch black sand. What can I say? Icebergs are cool in all their forms.

Through all of this, we travel on roads that are snowy but cleared, with the sun peaking out every once in awhile, but the weather is good. We discover that a storm hit just past Skaftafell overnight, so we were spared the mess, especially driving back west, slowly making our way back to Reykjavik. Unfortunately, the storms catch up, and we are met head-on with blowing snow somewhere after Vik. We make our way forward, following a convoy of snail-slow cars, inching closer and closer to our final destination for the night. There are some campsites near the Seljalandsfoss waterfall(where you can walk completely behind the falls), and they are supposed to be open for winter. When we finally find the road and the campsite, everything seems to be closed. Uh oh. Back at the falls, a man cleans out the washrooms. I inquire if the 24-hour parking also includes use of the toilets all night, and could we possibly camp out here for the night. He responds no problem!...as long as we pay the 700 krona parking fee. Awesome! I practically run to the pay station with my money, thank you very much. Even better? The washrooms are HEATED! No sooner do we set up for the night and huddle into the campervan to cook dinner, but the snow starts again, mixed with wind and ice pellets, and boy are we ever glad to be stopped for the night. Plus, the view of the waterfall just out the window isn't half bad, either.

Winter camping in Iceland!

So...thinking the trip was done, huh? Nope! Just a little 24-hour layover in our hometown, a chance to sleep in our own bed, and we are off again! Turns out, after we booked our 2 weeks in Guadeloupe, I found out that we could stay away for a third, but it was too late for an extension. After a little research, and previous encounters with such a beautiful location, I found dirt-cheap tickets to another island, albeit a little colder. After a Quebecois inspired-dinner at Archibald's(gastronomical poutine and pâté chinois!) and great conversation with an older couple at the neighboring table, we head to gate 64 and board a flight to Iceland. I hate to say it, but we are heading there to get away from the Canadian cold: In comparison to our -16 degrees C, Reykjavik is enjoying a balmy +5! Onwards!

We land at an ungodly 4:20 am, collect our campervan(that's right, we're camping, too) and make our way to the Blue Lagoon. Though a little expensive, Mario and I find that it is the best way to get over the early morning combined with the jetlag. Plus, with a reservation first thing in the morning, combined with ability to change quickly, means that we are the first people wading out way into the lusciously warm water at 8 am. It's such a wonderful feeling, bathing in the mineral-rich thermal waters - plus, with the one-free-drink included, we wake ourselves up with the "Green is Good" smoothie, heavy on the ginger.

Our goal for this first day, weather permitting, is to make the 5-hour drive to Skaftafell, an excellent campground in the Vatnajokull National Park. We loved it there this past summer, it has excellent facilities, and is one of the few places open in the winter for camping. Now, I say weather permitting because THIS is Iceland, and weather can change at a moment's notice, so we never know when we might run into gale-force winds, or a freak snowstorm. All attention on the road now.

We make only stops along the way: One is at the black beach of Reynisfjara, which you might recognize from a certain Liberté Skyr yogurt ad. The waves are wicked here, pounding the beach with crazy force, mists whipping up into the air. People try to run in for photo of the nearby rock formations, but you can get sucked into the ocean here, swept away by the water. People have died here, and still, crazy tourists will attempt anything for a photo. We watch one woman fall over and roll in in the surf, soaked from her experience with Reynisfara. We stand back and shake our heads. Our second stop is just around the bend in Vik, at the IceWear factory, because we love us some woolen goods. Blankets, socks, sweaters - we fill our bags with toasty warmth.

The sun sets somewhere around 4:30, but twilight lingers long in Iceland, so when we pull into the campground at Skaftafell, the sky is still tinted with blue. Later, a nice cover of clouds ensures that any chance we might've had at seeing the Northern Lights is gone. That's ok - we're tired after such a long drive. A nice warm shower, a hearty meal of Shakshuka(eggs poached in a spicy tomato sauce), and we tuck ourselves into the back of our campervan, snuggled deep into puffy layers of sleeping bag. It's a good thing the air outside is still a balmy 2 degrees - our heater doesn't work.

Layover in Montreal?!

We wake up to the constant chirp of the frogs - turns out the heavy rain fell all through the night and the ground has become saturated with water. Also saturated with water? Our hiking boots, which, though they were well sheltered on our deck, were right under a leak line in the canopy, and got dripped on ALL NIGHT. So begins the task of trying to dry them out before our departure for the airport.

The rain continues off and on all morning, which makes it that much easier to move on to next destination. Our bags are already packed, we are eating up the last bits of food in the fridge, arguing with the wifi to check in for our flight. We sit down with our host, Cécile, to chat over coffee while she graciously allows us to use her internet connection, and like that, our seats are booked. Time to load up the car and say goodbye to this beautiful little quiet corner of paradise.

On our way to the airport, we stop to wash the mud off the car - we've managed quite the build-up this time around, what with the trips up to La Soufrière and Saut de Trois Cornes, accompanied by the less desirable weather. We then try to avoid every single puddle for the rest of the trip, every large truck that might send a messy splash our way. DON'T GET THE PICANTO DIRTY AGAIN!

We get to see the brand new Terminal 2 at Pointe-à-Pitre airport, a small, round satellite off-shoot of the larger main building. It's bright and colourful, and filled with lots of nice comfortable benches, but besides a small duty-free shop, there is nothing. Food is limited to a few vending machines, and all around us, people are lunching on bags of chips and duty-free chocolate. Having experienced a similar situation last year, we thought ahead and packed bananas and baguette sandwiches, but are sad to not be enjoying a final rum punch with our lunch. At least we have a meal!

After an uneventful flight, we get to Montreal and HOLY COW! Is it ever COLD! Puffer coats are good, but when you drop a cool 30 degrees in one day, it chills to the bone! Of course, there is construction even at the arrivals gate, and so we are funneled outside to wait for our pick-up(Thanks, mom and dad!). So cold... Dropped off at our "Airbnb" for the night, we turn up the heat, take hot showers, and begin the arduous task of washing all our clothes for the next leg of the trip. An easy supper comes in the form of a bowl of pasta with tomato sauce, and after some much-needed fur beast cuddles, we curl up in the best bed ever for a good night's sleep.

Best shower and best bed EVER. Funny how most Airbnbs' can't get this part right, as it is such an integral part of the stay...

Last day in paradise

One final day of discoveries before we hop on a plane to our next destination. One more day of experiencing all that we can, all the sights, smells, and tastes of these beautiful islands, memories to file away, so that when the snow gets too high, or the nights too dark, we can take them out and savour all the goodness in them, at least until the next time we find ourselves in Guadeloupe.

One good thing about Guadeloupe: everything is within a short drive of where you are. From Le Moule, where we are staying, it's barely a 20-minute ride to the other side of Grande-Terre and the town of Petit-Canal, for one more hike in the rainforest. We pass some of our old haunts as we go, recognizing shops and gas stations, a brightly-coloured hindu temple and a wall of graffiti...We arrive at the Boucle de Deville hiking trail, on a ecological  reserve set in place to protect the last real forest in this area. All the other have long ago been transformed into agricultural lands. Right from the start, you can tell this area is different from the other hikes we have been on - the trees are younger, the vines are less present, the giant leaves of the tropical plants are less gigantic - there is less rainforest growth, period. Mario finds it resembles the deciduous forests in North America, which begs the questions: if Guadeloupe never experiences fall or winter, when do the leaves fall and renew themselves on these trees? Another thing we notice is the continued presence of the mud we have become accustomed to on our hikes - caking up our shoes, trailing up the backs of our legs, glooping all over the trail. Here, the mud holds tight to the form of our boots, building up and adding more weight to every step, requiring frequent stops to scrape it off. And just when we think the trail is drying out, we round a bend and are presented with ANOTHER mucky puddle.

The trail itself is a good one - flat and easy, weaving its way between fields of sugar cane, under the shade of the raisinier trees, the bois d'inde perfuming the air with its spicy incense-like scent. We pass many murky ponds, watering holes for the cattle chained here and there in the pastures we see, always in the company of their garde-boeuf bodyguard birds. We try to guess the varieties of flowers and plants that we pass, relying on the what we remember from our tour of the Deshaies botanical gardens, and failing miserably. Ultimately, it is a nice hike, and great way to commune with nature one last time.

Next, a few brief stops along the Route des Exclaves: First we pause for a few moments of reflection at the stairway of the slaves, also in Petit-Canal. It is meant to be a memorial to the abolition of slavery in 1848, the stairs themselves having been used to move people in from the nearby port. There is some beautiful contemporary artwork in the nearby park down below, and a large church crowns the top of the staircase.

Next, we cross Grande-Terre completely, to visit the slaves' cemetery in Sainte-Marguerite. The area was only recently discovered, and deemed to be a cemetery for the slaves, given the placement of the bones and the lack of ritual on a good part of the buried. A great deal was done to protect the site from erosion, as it is located next to the ocean on the windward side of the island, as it is such an important part of the history of the Guadeloupe people. There is even an indian burial ground discovered UNDER the larger slave cemetery!

On our way back to the bungalow, we stop at a little local beach, the Plage de la Baie. It is in a sheltered little inlet, so the water is still and nice for swimming, but murky and warm, much like swimming in a lake. We walk along the shore and look for little fish and crabs hiding in the seaweed, and laugh at a quartet of Swiss bagpipers attempting to play in unison(and in tune). Sounding more like a chorus of squawking ducks, their every note elicits laughter from the two of us, though muffled by our beach towels, trying to be polite.

Tonight, there is a night market in Saint-Francois, so we return to browse around the town. The stalls, set up in a circle around the Marché de la Rotonde, are much like those of the daytime market: bottles of flavoured rums, bags of spices, sticks of cinnamon and vanilla pilled into baskets, all manner of clothing made of the popular and brightly-checked "Madras" fabric. There are also some local artisans making more authentic and original crafts, and just outside, farmers selling their wares from the back of pick-up trucks, bananas and coconuts, manioc and breadfruit aplenty. We stop at a few food stalls, choosing plump little "boudins creole", spicy blood sausages, and stuffed chayote for dinner, and snack on a bag of accras dumplings as we shop. Again, we take in the hustle and bustle, the sights and smells of the food stalls, the sounds of far-away drums on a basketball court where a local carnaval group is practicing their rhythm. The sounds follow us back to our little bungalow in our well-manicured garden on the outskirts of town. Well into the night, we can hear the banging of drums and melody of the horns on the breeze, as the chirping frogs lull us into our last sleep in paradise.

Another day in Guadeloupe

Not a big day in terms of story-telling, I'm afraid.


There was some shopping to be had, down in Saint-Francois and near Pointe-des-Chateaux.

There was some hot, hot time spend at the white sand beach at the very tip of Grande-Terre(and I got a lot more colour on my skin, hourray!).

There was some tasty chicken, tasty accras, and more tasty bokit sandwiches.

And there was the usual solid downpour around 6 pm, and barrage of moquitoes to keep us up at night.

It's just another day in Guadeloupe.

A trying day

Today was the most trying day of the vacation. Now I want you take that as lightly as possible, because we did some awesome stuff, and ultimately finished with a rum punch in our hand and a smile on our faces, but there were definitely moments that were harder to overcome today than most up to this point in the vacation. Ok, here goes:

We left our bungalow(perched much too high in the hills outside of Deshaies) comfortably late this morning, not needing to pack, just throwing all our bags into the trunk of the Picanto. Our goal for the day was to acquire some of the manioc flour galettes we had read about(only available on Sundays), but that involved wasting time until around noon,  when we would be sure to get some. What better place to waste time than a gorgeously soft, sandy beach with turquoise waters and lots of sun, right? Ok, off we go to soak up some rays on Plage de Grande-Anse, THE beach where everyone goes around Deshaies.


We arrive early enough that there should still be empty spots on the beach, set up our towels, and I head for the water(I love swimming in the ocean, and clearly don't get to do it enough) as Mario settles in with his book. The sand line here is steep, so when the rather violent waves crash into shore, they crash out with just as much force. You have to swim  quite far out to get to the calmer waters and float - so I do.  After, we lounge in the shade, relaxing, reading, people-watching(which is always fun), then sometime around noon, we head over to the Plage de la Perle and hopefully manioc galettes!

In a shack not far from the beach, a man grinds manioc root into a flour, that his wife then cooks into large round pancakes, stuffed with ham, cheese and spice, or coconut mixed with cinnamon. She fills large ring molds with the flour, topping, then more flour, and through the heating process, the manioc releases its very sticky starches and binds together into a chewy white cake. Called kassavs, they are warm, chewy and delicious - so much so that, after finishing the first round, we returned for seconds!

En route to our next airbnb, we decide to spend a few hours hiking an easy circular trail I found, which begins and ends at a natural sulfur hot spring, its water channeled into a sort-of shower. We drive up to the top of the mountain, head to the trail that departs right off the parking lot...and immediately find ourselves stuck in sloppy, gloopy mud. And lots of it. All over the trail. No way to get around it, no way to avoid it. We trek down the switchbacks and hills that should descend to the base of the Saut des Trois Cornes waterfall. In fact, we can hear it getting closer and closer with every sticky step. We turn off to continue along what we think is the right trail, and are presented with an even steeper, even muddier climb back up, and realize than the sound of falling water is getting further away the higher we go. At this point, I am fed up - scaling steep slopes is one thing, scaling them through slippery, sticky goo is another, and it is definitely not MY kind of thing. Mario ventures ahead to check out the terrain, as I inquire as to our whereabouts with other hikers. Turns out, we took the wrong turn for the falls, heading straight for the parking lot instead. Fine by me, I am DONE with this trail anyway. We finish the rest of the ascent, and walk through every puddle in the parking lot to wash our boots.

We take a quick splash through the stinky sulfuric hot springs shower, just to get the mud off, then away we go, practically running from this place. Mario admits having loved every hike that we have gone on this trip, but would NOT recommend this last trail to anyone. It was not fun, it was not enjoyable AND it was supposed to be ranked EASY!

From here, we head straight through Sainte-Rose, stopping for gas and carnaval monkeys, then through Pointe-à-Pitre to the other side of Guadeloupe, the flat side. Our stop for the night is on the east coast, in Le Moule, and so off we go to meet Cécile, our host. However, the directions she gave were not quite clear, nor were the maps she sent, which indicated more of a region rather than a specific house. We try to get closer using the GPS coordinates, but with no luck. Up one lane, down another we drive, looking for a white portal where we are supposed to turn right, and we should be right here!...Admitting defeat, we call up Cécile, who meets us at a nearby supermarket and leads us in the complete opposite direction! Down a dark gravel laneway we turn, into what looks like someone's driveway, and further still until we pull up in front of the house. Ouf. We NEVER would've found this place ourselves!

All is not lost, on this beach day-turned bad. After a really great shower, we venture back out into town, pull into a gravel parking lot with filled with colourful picnic tables and old men playing boules. A brightly-lit food truck pushes its wares to just about eveyone in town, or so it seems, so we join the crowd. We order 2 bokit sandwiches, fried dough stuffed with meat, lettuce and spicy sauce, take a seat in a green patio chair, and enjoy the warm alizé breezes blowing in from the ocean as we watch the town happen around us.

Sleep will come easy tonight, I think.

(on a lighter note, turns out that tropical frogs sound like Yoshi. Discuss.)