I left Reykjavik not knowing whether I'd be able to make it to the airport and to continue on with the rest of my "planned" European journey. "The best laid plans of mice and men" came to mind. Molten rock was/is looking for another way out at a dynamic spot in Earth's crust where the Eurasian and North American tectonic plates meet. The road to the Blue Lagoon had already warped and no one knew for sure if the road to Keflavik, Iceland's airport, would also become impassable. I walked to Reykjavik's bus station at 0200 to make a bus connection at 0300. There were others waiting for the bus; that reassured me that I wasn't the only one. At times it is indeed the little things that matter most. I'd slept little the night before. Adrian Bodwen, an Englishman from Manchester and I, we'd spent a couple of hours talking. We were sharing a room at the Dalur Hostel and up until the last night we'd shared a room there, we'd really never had the time to talk. Turns out he's yet another person I've met who's tired of his job. Adrian works as an accountant's assistant. Sure, the job pays reasonably well, but he's tired of the monotony. He dreams about becoming a lorry (read truck) driver. They make more than an accountant's assistant but aren't given the same respect. In my own way I encouraged him to follow his heart. He's not married. He doesn't have children. Go for it I told him; be free. We both had to pack to prepare for the next day's departure; so we stopped talking, packed and turned out our lights.
I made it to the airport only to find that I couldn't get the QR code on my phone to appear so I could go through the self-service QR verification turnstiles. I asked the young woman, who was monitoring the turnstiles what I should do. She just shook her head. She had no idea. I said, really? I went back downstairs. Icelandair's service desk was still closed; that wasn't an option, but I asked an official looking person, she had a name tag, if she could help. She could. She directed me to the self-service check-in machines. I hadn't considered this as an option since I'd already checked in online. That was an improper assumption. Turns out using the machine allowed me to print out a QR code. When I went back upstairs to go through the turnstile I thought it best to educate the young monitor on what I'd found out so in future she could help others who'd find themselves in the same situation. She tried to tell me when I informed her of what I'd discovered that that's what she had told me. No , I said. That's not what you said. I was only trying to help. Who knows, despite her reaction at trying to save face, maybe she will act on the information I gave her and be able to help someone else?!
A couple of hours later this is what I saw from the jet heading south towards London's Gatwick airport. I was on my way. Everything was working out as planned. What I saw as we approached the airport didn't look like anything I imagined England to look like from the air. The sun was shining. The sky was clear. The air was fresh. At the airport, just before I was to approach the passport control station, an announcement came over the intercom stating the airport would honor the service men and women who died in World War I, II and the 70 other wars since then by ceasing any activity and being silent to honor their sacrifice. The silence gave me reason to wonder how many innocents died in these wars? As I stood there in silence I thought of these people. They didn't sign up for active duty; to fight an enemy they were told to kill. They were "collateral damage" as the military defines them to be, but doesn't this definition make them out to be somehow dispensable, of less value? I thought of them.
When I got to London smooth sailing and sunny skies turned into "mare mosso". As it turns out several of the main underground stations were closed due to routine maintenance and me and the rest of London (on a sunny Saturday) were forced into using fewer, more circuitous routes to our destinations. I don't know if you've travelled on London's underground before, but on some of the lines you go deeper and deeper into the bowels of the earth. The heat increases and the air thickens with each escalator ride. On this day a mass of humanity, tightly packed into steel, screeching tubes; you get the picture. Mind you, I was carrying a backpack and tote bag. I kept waiting for less packed trains, but those trains never came. I was forced to cram myself on trains that would take me to Paddington Station. When I finally made it to Paddington I got my train ticket to Chepstow, Wales at the ticket counter, then found and bellied up to the bar of the nearest pub, where I quenched my thirst and released my tension with a pint of fine, English ale. Whew!
The train ride to Newport, Wales, where I had to disembark for the second train to Chepstow, went without incident. There was a table between the set of four seats. I was seated near the window. I was so tired I lay my head on my arms on the table and slept. Thankfully I didn't miss Newport and my connection to Chepstow. I got into Chepstow at around 1630, checked into my room and headed uptown to find a place to eat. I found an Indian restaurant where the food was spicy and delightfully different. I drank a cider. At the end of the meal they brought me orange segments to finish the meal. That was a refreshing final note.
I left Woodhouse B&B at around 0930 this morning, destination the ruins of Tintern Abbey in the Wye River Valley. The abbey was established by a group of Cistercian monks in the 1100's and prospered until King Henry VIII had his wicked way and dissolved the monasteries in the 1500's. I followed Offa's Dyke, an earth work that when newly constructed measured 8 meters in height and 27 meters in width. It was constructed by King Offa, a Saxon king, in the 800's to form a barrier between his realm of Mercia and lands controlled by Welsh chieftains. I followed this path for part of the way, but because there are several foot paths in the area, I got lost several times. I'd heard about going in circles when lost, but until today I'd never experienced it. When I saw a spot that was signed as being the Old Saw Pit for the second time, I knew I had spent nearly an added hour off course. I was temporarily discouraged but when I came upon the place where I'd taken the wrong way and noted the lane was named Netherhope Lane, well...I laughed out loud and kept on going. From Chepstow to the Devil's Pulpit, a rock outcropping from whence local legend tells the devil peered down on the monks at Tintern Abbey, I'd only met two runners, but from this point onwards I met several groups that were climbing up from Tintern. The first couple I met were Paul and Beth. I met several other groups after I'd met Paul and Beth, but as fate would have it, I met Paul and Beth again. Why? Because once again I'd taken a wrong turn. This time I followed Paul and Beth and finally made it to Tintern Abbey. I do indeed "get by with a little help from my friends". This time we all had a good laugh. It rained the whole hike so unfortunately; I took very few photos. Maybe on the hike to Monmouth tomorrow it won't rain, and I can show just how beautiful this neck of the woods really is. Here's one picture I did manage to take of the ruins at Tintern Abbey before the battery in my camera went dead. I hope to go back early tomorrow morning to take more pictures, perhaps even in better light?
