A storm or two

I never reached New Zealand.

The forecasted storm last Monday hit. And it hit us hard. My comrade-in-travel, Therese, and I took the train to Copenhagen much earlier than we had to because I wanted to meet up with a friend. This turned out to be a very good decision.

Not an hour after our arrival all virtually trains were cancelled. Thankfully there was a bus that would take us to the airport. After check-in Therese started to feel queasy. And it steadily worsened together with the weather. We had arrived at the airport ridiculously early so for some time we watched as flights were delayed and cancelled, and travellers were stranded.

Therese's sickness got so bad that we decided that she couldn't fly. Following this decision we stood in one queue after the other. First in the transit center, then at the baggage handling help desk (we'd waited in the transit center for such a long time that our baggage had been moved to safekeeping) and finally, believe it or not, at the hotel (SAS had sent 400 flightless travellers there). In all we waited in queues for about four hours.

For the past week we have been wading knee-deep in insurance claims, doctors appointments and denied refunds. We now await our sentence.

A feathery friend

The half term holiday brought with it a trip to Britain. Though the visit was only four days long we still managed to get around. 

We spent the first two days in Norfolk with Grandma and Grandpa. We visited the Queen at Sandringham, though disappointingly she wasn't home. The gardens were quite nice and once inside the house was very fancy, however the facade was less than impressive. It just didn't match the supposed splendor of the rest of the estate.
While waking back to the carpark we met a women with an owl. She offered to let me hold the owl saying: "Apart from me you're the first person that she has let hold her." I'm not sure how much I believe this but it was an interesting experience nonetheless.

The hunt

Coming home from Iceland early has posed a problem: I no longer have a job. Although I have a few things to do at home (applying for university, clearing and cleaning up a little, etc.) I still seem to do a lot of nothing. Whole days disappear into the distance completely empty of productivity. This I had foreseen, and so from day one I added to my to-do list to get a job.

This task is in no way easy. Now, I don't think I'm that picky, I have been cleaning toilets for a month, but it is very hard to find anything. My newly acquired diploma is useless for anything but university applications. My age is also against me: in Denmark you get paid less when you are under 18 and so the young are favoured. Finally there is also a severe limitation of jobs in the area. Even if I also take Århus and Randers into consideration there are very few jobs that I am qualified for. I also trip myself up by wanting a temporary job and because I want to travel during my gap year. This combination is far from optimal.

To be fair I have got two jobs in the near future. However both are very short term and ideally I would like a job that lasts at least a few months.

With my rant over I will continue my hunt in the forests of adulthood for the endangered species the job.

The harvests of Autumn

Autumn is a wonderful season and I'm glad to be home to witness it. Though the leaves have only just started to turn red and yellow, the fruit of Autumn is already weighing heavily on the branches.

In our garden we have numerous apple trees and they always produce many more apples than we can eat.

Every year I try to process and conserve them somehow, but the majority still seems to go to waste. With the extra time I have this year, I have been doing quite a lot. Mostly I just stew and freeze them, but I have also been baking a little: I have made two ginger and apple cakes, and an apple pastry. I'm also planning on drying some apple rings.

There are also a lot of blackberries in the nearby woods. Mum made some jelly and I made a batch of blackberry ice cream but there are still plenty on the bushes. The question is whether or not I will have to motivation to pick and process any more...

Home again

I am now home again after a rather hectic summer. I have thoroughly enjoyed it. From the crowds of scouts in Stavanger and the overload of new impressions in wonderful Georgia to the cleaning of toilets in beautiful Iceland. It has been a summer to remember.

However, I am glad to be home. For the time being I have had enough of airports and the stress they entail, all I want to do is harvest and process the apples from the garden, find myself a quiet job and slowly prepare myself for my trip to New Zealand in November.

So while the leaves start to turn red and yellow, I'm stoking the fire. Tea in one hand and a book in the other, I'm snuggling down for a quiet two months. I hope...

Lists

Things I have often had to say:
-"I don't speak Icelandic. But I do speak Danish, if that would help."
-"No, we don't have WiFi."
-"Yes, the showers are warm."
-"Thank you, for bringing the dog back from the middle of the road." (Though actually it's not our dog).
-"Yes, that is the phone I use." (See picture in a previous post).


Strange things I have said:
-"Sorry, I can't sell you that plate."
-"So, you're going to send the false teeth back in an old tea box?"
-"No, I don't know if you're allowed to camp on the beach."

Talents I never knew I had:
-I can carry sixteen pillows at once
-I can cook numerous meals with very few ingredients (though admittedly most of them were rather boring)

A strange fact:
-Sheep can, in fact, get over the cattle grids, making them completely useless

An infuriating fact:
-Two guides (there are often large groups staying) showed me pictures of northern lights that I'd missed. Each guide showed pictures from a different night

The cave city and contemporary transport

Near Gori there is the cave city, Uplistsikhe. Caves have been chipped out of the rock. Halls, houses, stores, wine cellars and temples are all to be found there. It is very hard to imagine people living there but for centuries it was one of the safest places around.

To get back to Gori we took a bus that was being driven right to the ground. Every part of it was somehow in disrepair: all the seats were ripped and some were bent, the door of the bus would not shut, there was a big gaping hole in the floor of the bus so you could see the road, the bus almost refused to go uphill and the whole time the bus sounded as though it were a cat being run over. 

This is not the sort of thing you would do on an ordinary package trip, and that's why I love going with the scouts! 

Defending Gori

Being the birthplace of Joseph Stalin, Gori was never going to be a cheerful place, but the sad story of a local scout did not exactly make the atmosphere any jollier.

Wandering through the Stalin museum was a very strange experience. Most of the writing was in Georgian and Russian but not English. Faded pictures and discoloured documents lined the walls of the dark museum, telling a story of false glory and hidden cruelty. One room was dedicated only to objects made in honour of Stalin.

The Georgians have very mixed feelings when it comes to Stalin and the Russians. In Gori it brings tourism and money, but the resentment is still there. The Georgian scout who was with us was very reluctant to follow us into the Stalin museum, and later when he showed us round the rest of Gori he told us about the Russian invasion of 2008.

He had been in Gori, which had been taken, at the time and had watched as bombs fell over the city. He told the story with deep sorrow in his eyes and took us to a monument dedicated to those who were killed.

Just above the monument there was a fortress overlooking the city. We climbed up to have a look. It was a very impressive view with the city below and the mountains all round it. After a little misunderstanding the leaders and the Georgian scout decided to ask the guards if we could sleep at the fortress. And to our big surprise they said yes.

It was amazing being able to pitch the tents on such an old, historical site. A once in a lifetime experience!

 

A shot of Russia

After the, supposed, glamour of Batumi we headed for Kolkheti national park near Poti. The plan was to rent kayaks for a few hours and then wander into the park to find a suitable place to stay the night. On arrival we realised that we would have to abandon these plans completely: The park was a swamp. We would not be able to walk more than two kilometers and there was nowhere we would be able to pitch our tents. As for the kayaks, they were apparently all broken.

A woman at the information center helped us find a lake in the area to walk to. The Golden Lake was used for the European water ski championships and we were not quite sure what to expect. And rightly so: on arrival we were surprised to see some very dilapidated buildings by the side of a small, dirty lake. A bridge that looked less than trustworthy stretched from one side of the narrow lake to the other. And on one bank there were some broken and rusty stands.

We explored for a bit, finding a beach and a Russian man running a shooting gallery. The leaders decided that we should all have a go with the guns and so we spent a good 45 minutes trying to shoot win a broken watch and a discoloured Buzz Lightyear figure. Unsuccessfully.

We searched for a long time before we found somewhere suitable to pitch our tents. With bushes and trees on almost all sides and a river on the last we had succeeded in getting away from the paths and the people. However, we did not get away from the mosquitoes and were bitten to death while trying to enjoy our bonfire.

My surroundings

Living in Iceland, even if it is for a short period, has showed me how very different life here is. Though Iceland has many connections to Denmark the similarities are few and far between.

The pace here is slower and there is a lot of make do and mend. The telephone at the school looks like this:

It works when it feels like it and the sound occasionally cuts out, but I love it!

The car I drive is also somewhat out of the ordinary:

Though I don't have a picture of it, the inside is also falling apart. Lots of handles and other plastic thingies are gone, and the car is full of miscellaneous objects, that may or may not be of use.

And finally, here is a picture of the house I live in:

More posts of this nature will follow.

An odd feeling

Today I received an e-mail with my Icelandic ID-number. After reading through the many warnings against staying in Iceland longer than three months, I got to the ID-number and paused.

The length and general system of the Icelandic ID-number resembled that of the Danish. However, in Denmark the ID-number ends with an even number for females and with an odd number for males. I therefore stumbled somewhat in my reading when I noticed that the last number of my Icelandic ID-number was odd.

Holey sheet!

The owner of the guest house I work at owns two guest houses. The one I work at I will refer to as the school because that's what it used to be (and also because I can't say Hrollaugstadir).

Usually people bring sleepingbags and so the beds only need a sheet. At the school we only have two washing machines and a very small room to dry them in. Not only do we have a lot of sheets that are constantly being washed (this is a never-ending job I can assure you) but the sheets also start to show a lot of wear and tear. I often find sheets with one or more holes in, just like this one:

A little note about how this blog will continue

I am very slow when it comes to writing blog posts, and I am nowhere near finished rambling on about my trip to Georgia. However things are happening here in Iceland too. Not at quite the same pace, but still fast enough for me now to have quite a build-up of future post topics.

I will, therefore, send out a little warning: this blog may get a little confusing! I'm going to continue writing posts about Georgia. However, at the same time I will also start writing about my experiences here. So I hope it does not get too confusing.

Gambles and shambles

Once back in Tbilisi we wasted little time before taking the train at 22:30 to Batumi, the city of tourists and gambling. The beds on the night train were too short, even for me, and the heat, noise and light were very uncomfortable. However the night on the train was definitely the best night's sleep I had on the entire trip.

On arrival at Batumi station we were surrounded by the usual crowd of dodgy taxi drivers wanting us to pick them. We went by mashutka, instead, because it was cheaper. However, for the first time the mashutka let us down: the driver took us to the wrong address but by the time we had worked out what was wrong he was gone. The mistake was honest enough, he took us to Kldiashvili Avenue instead of Kldiashvili Street, but it confused us a great deal.

The hostel itself was very strange. Outside there was a training ship and indoors the walls were decorated with old sailor uniforms and paintings of ships. The rest of Batumi proved to be just as bizarre. Everywhere you looked there were building sites, swanky hotels and casinos. The beach stretched a whopping 8 kilometers and had a walkway along the whole length of it. All this was in stark contrast to the first place we had been dropped off by the mashutka. Here the houses were very down at heel and there was nothing fancy about it at all.

One of the selling points for Batumi is the beach. The thing is, though, that the beach really isn't very good. There is no sand only large stones, and the water is far from suitable for swimming. There is a strong current and the stones will easily cut bare feet. Most of the others went in the water, just to be able to say that they had swum in the Black Sea, but I didn't see any point in drowning so early on during the trip.

The Caucasus mountains

After a few days in the Georgian capital Tbilisi we headed along the Georgian Military Highway to Kazbegi situated in the middle of the Caucasus mountains.

With four Georgian scouts to lead us we walked into the wilderness. Or so we hoped. It turned out that the route they took us along would mainly follow a road, which was a bit disappointing. Not long before we turned off the road we even walked through a pitch black tunnel where cars occasionally passed us. The Georgian scouts didn't seem to mind but it scared the living daylights out of the rest of us!

Once properly in the mountains and away from the road the path became very steep and the going got much harder. It was all worth it, though. The place where we set up camp was beautiful, save for the stray bits of rubbish that are found in even the remotest parts of Georgia.

The next morning we went back to Kazbegi and hiked up the mountain, without our rucksacks, to the Gergeti Trinity Chruch. The church is at the very top of the mountain, overlooking Kazbegi.

This time we camped nearer to civilisation, just one kilometer from Kazbegi. The following day was overcast but we shrugged it off as a bit of low cloud. We very soon realised that we were in for a good all-day downpour. We had walked for no more than a kilometer or two before the rain started. I quickly got soaked as I didn't have a proper raincoat with me. A car offered us a ride at one point, but only two of the Georgians accepted. The rest of us were already too wet to care. I was even enjoying myself. We walked until we got to the little tumbledown hut the others had been dropped at. We waited inside for the rain to lull and the pelted up the path and put the tents up. While the rain beat on the outside of the tent I lay in my sleeping bag, right until dinner. 

The next morning we took a mashutka (a minibus that usually has a specific destination but will in reality take you almost anywhere) back to Tbilisi. 

Does this necktie make me look Russian?

A minor but completely unexpected challenge we faced as scouts in Georgia was that people kept asking us if we were Russian. It didn't take us too long to work out that this was due to our Bordeaux neckties.

It must be noted that the Georgians are not all that happy with the Russians, particularly because they invaded and killed a number of Georgians in 2008. I met two people who had witnessed these horrors and they should not be underestimated.

Being compared to Russians was therefore not optimal. Two of our number even decided to remove their neckties completely in the end to eliminate all doubt of their nationality. Though we never experienced any aggressive behaviour, I think this may have been a good move. The rest of us stayed true to our uniform and kept the necktie on for the duration of the trip.

It wasn't until the very last day that we realised exactly why we were believed to be Russians: talking to my friend and her father I was told that when he had gone to school they had been made to wear similar neckties by the Russians.

From one airport of chaos to the next

Waking up late on my morning of departure from Stavanger, left me running for the gate at the airport. Unfortunately reaching the plane before it left was a short-lived relief: with less than 24 hours between returning home and leaving for Georgia, I was in a constant hurry. With the help of Mum all my clothes were cleaned and dried in time for the next round of packing.

By midday I was back on the road. After five hours of train travel I was back in Copenhagen Airport again. Because of the surprising number of scouts at the airport it was hard to work out who my fellow travellers were going to be. Many scouts were coming home from the camp I had just left and others were leaving for exotic destinations like myself.

The six of us were an unlikely bunch: a young ex-soldier and a university student were to guide myself, a supermarket employee and an odd couple of friends (consisting of an, at times, cynical 35 year old and an aging man in his late 50’s early 60’s).

Brief introductions aside we began our trip to Georgia. Once seated on the plane we waited 30 minutes before it took off, making us late for our connection in Warsaw. This however turned out not to be a problem as the Poles were also running late.

We arrived in the Georgian capital Tbilisi at 4 in the morning, dead-tired and ready to drop. Watching the baggage carrousel spiral into eternity without the appearance of my rucksack was therefore not what I was hoping for.

Admitting defeat I headed for the helpdesk where a large, grumpy woman with very little English jotted down my details. This was to be the beginning of a long and painful ordeal to get my luggage before we moved on. Once rested we met up with some Georgian scouts who helped me call the airport to find out more about my luggage. There was no news. The next morning the Georgian scouts rang the airport again giving them the address of a friend I have who lives in Tbilisi. I was told that my rucksack, at this time still in Copenhagen, would arrive that evening, by which time we would have moved on. The leader of the trip therefore took me clothes shopping.

Just as we got hold of the last item on our list we got a phone call saying that my rucksack had arrived at the hostel. So all’s well, that ends well. 

Camp activities (or inactivities)

The differences between this camp and the ones in Denmark were bigger and more visible than I had ever imagined. A complete disregard for rules that are taken for granted in Denmark, set the scene for an interesting camp. But it didn't stop there, the activities and the way they were planned was also quite a surprise.

When at a large camp such as Stavanger each troop of scouts gets a small camp of their own. This area is theirs to do with (almost) as they please. It is customary to build a type of entrance and a kitchen/eating area, which usually consists of one or more tables. All this is built out of long poles with their bark still on and rope.
In Denmark there are lots of rules and regs concerning these constructions: they must not be taller than x metres and if they are taller than a certain height, hardhats must be worn during the build. The poles we use have a maximum diameter and we usually take good care of them.
In Norway this is not the case at all: lots of troops built huge, elaborate structures, that reached for the sky and the whole time there was not a hardhat in sight. Regarding the poles, there seemed to be no limit to their diameter and weight. And the Norwegians took little or no care when handling them: more than once I saw scouts hacking away with axes at perfectly good poles; some were even used as firewood!
I assume the reason for this is that Norway has so much wood that it makes no difference if a pole is lost, but to me it was a sign of disrespect towards the poles themselves, but also the materials given to us by the camp; and ultimately, nature.

Though there were two major activities planned, the rest of the week was very much up to the individual scout. In the evenings, and sometimes during the day, there were drop-in activities. These weren't always that easy to find, though, and seemed directed mostly at younger children.
This is quite normal, but usually there is a little more than these activities. At the two former camps I have attended there have been so-called "mega-activities" which could entertain thousands of scouts at a time. There was always something to do. At Stavanger there was a much more relaxed air: the importance lay in being there and not what you were doing.

Circling Stavanger

Ever since my first largescale national scout camp in 2010, I have wanted to experience one abroad. And now I have: though quite small in terms of numbers of scouts, the Stavanger camp was still big enough to make my feet hurt.

Arriving in Stavanger on Saturday evening we drove strait to the camp hoping to be able to get our tents up in a hurry and maybe even catch the end of the opening show. We quickly had to abandon that plan and adopts plans B, C and D. The staff at the camp entrance would not let us in during the show and sent us to another entrance to the camp. Once there we were sent back to the first entrance again. This repeated itself three times before we were finally let in.
However, this did not make circumstances easier: arriving at our designated camp area we were struck dumb. For the six of us they had mapped out an area that was no larger than 3,5x3.5 metres. To the untrained eye this may not seem to bad, but to us they could just as well have given us nothing. We would not even have been able to pitch our tent to sleep in let alone the one to cook in. We therefore traipsed back to HQ.
Many hours later we had our sleeping tent pitched on the very outskirts of the camp. However we did not complain as we had been given more than enough room this time and were in a quiet spot without too much noise. The camp could now commence!

Endless travel and Georgian Lira

All the pieces of the Norwegian puzzle are finally falling into place: we are signed up for the camp, the ferry from Hirtshals to Stavanger has been booked and I have even got myself a flight back too.
However, the end of the problems I have encountered with this trip only marks the start of the challenges involved with going to Georgia. 

The reason I am flying back from Norway is that I am supposed to leave for Georgia the same day I would get back if I took the ferry with the rest of my troop. Taking the plane buys me an extra 12 hours or so. I get back from Norway at around noon on the 13th of July and will set off for Copenhagen airport at noon the next day. This will put both me and our washing machine to the test!

Challenge number two consists of getting hold of some Georgian Lira. This is apparently very difficult. My bank offers me free currency exchange and so I they seemed the best way to go. However, my bank does not exchange Georgian Lira and nor do other exchange companies that I will be in close proximity to before leaving. While fruitlessly trying to order Lira I also decided to order some Icelandic Krona. Hopefully there will be no problems here; though I will have to get Mum to pick them up because I will be in Norway. This should be interesting...

My first tick on the list

On Monday the 1st of July I went on my first trip abroad. To Germany!

Everything in Denmark is pretty pricey and so there is a strong Danish tradition of popping over the border to Germany. Once there, the Danes go mad and buy stackloads of booze, chocolate and liquorice, filling their cars and trailers to the absolute limit before venturing back to their expensive homeland.

And so, because the Danish government tries desperately to get foreigners integrated into Danish society, we followed the sorry migration south. Just across the border there are special "Dane shops" that make lots of money selling ordinary supermarket products to beer-craving Danes and their sugar-hungering children. It's a sad place to be and yet I find myself there, behaving just like the rest of the people who have piled over the border for a lower price on food and drink that can only be bad for us. The realisation is rather depressing.

However, somewhere along the horizon the sun does rise: if you venture further into the foreign lands you find Flensburg. Though not the most impressive city, it does have its highlights. A large highstreet offers a wealth of shops, including a shopping center, and walking along the backstreets you will sometimes come across the most charming alleyways. Little courtyards, with little shops, lie within the little alleyways. The surrounding houses beautifully old and in stark contrast to many of Flensburgs other buildings.

It is therefore with very mixed feelings that I return home. No matter how sad our reasons were for going I still enjoyed it.

The end of one era and the beginning of another

For a month now I have sat idly watching the garden grow and the summer progress. Though I have enjoyed having very little to do, the absence of school does leave a hole. School as such I can do without, however I do miss seeing my friends every day and I miss having regular activities to do. I have been used to school and the work it entails for so long that I crave activity and projects. My gap year therefore has a lot to live up to.

The planning of this year has been brewing for quite a few years now. Ever since my friend Therese first mentioned the idea of going to New Zealand when we had finished STX and IB, thoughts have been thought, ideas rejected and plans made about the year in question. The itinerary has changed more times than I can count.

Working in New Zealand for a year. For half a year. Not at all. For a months travel. Going to Canada with the scouts. Not going to Canada. Going to South Africa. For paid work. To work voluntarily. A camp in Norway. Or maybe not. A trip to Israel. No, Georgia instead. Norway is back on.

And preparations are still underway: though Norway is just two weeks away transport has to be booked, my return from Iceland is missing a date and both New Zealand and South Africa are still only ideas. There are no dates, there is no accommodation and there are no real plans. However it will undoubtedly come together in the end.