Smokey Mountains into the Cherokee Homeland

The largest forest and biomass East of the Mississippi River, the Smokey Mountains get their name comes from the natural fog that hangs over the range. Although there have been forest fires, it isn't really smoke; the fog is actually caused by the trees! Their vapors create constant mists which float between the ravines like plumes of smoke. 



How beautiful to drive through the mountains just as the leaves begin to turn. Travelling South we had the experience multiple times. The Poconos had just had their first frost and lighht snowfall as we departed, the russet leaves had already fallen from the oak trees in our yard. Along the Blue Ridge, it was mostly still green with a few turning leaves in the higher elevations. Climbing into the Smokeys, the leaves again turned from green to gold and red. The mountain passes were breathtaking. Undulating views from the summits down into the valleys. We paused to appreciate each turn of scene.

Our next campground was buried deep in the Cherokee Homeland. We had to drive there twice. The GPS route was actually closed and we had to back track and take another route. It was with great relief that we finally found our way. Down steep hills and long sinous rills, we drove past signs with location names in both Anglo and Cherokee characters. Streets with tribal family names and small farms abounded. I didn't know much about the Cherokee, beyond Sequoia's development of a written language and the trail of tears.

In driving through Oklahoma, we had passed by one reservation after another. The Great white Fathers broke numerous treaties. With catastrophic consequences most of the original inhabitants of the initial colonies and those tribes encountered during America's manifest destiny expansion had been “relocated” under the 1830s Indian removal act to lands in Oklahoma. Drive Route 50 cross country and you will see their revenge, one casino complex after another. This area of the Smokey Mountains is not a reservation; this is part of the original Cherokee Homeland. The tribe, now known as the Eastern Band, still in residence had managed to keep their lands and avoided the tragic forced march to the barren mid-west. It appeared here that the overall quality of life and cultural identity had been retained. How did they accomplish this?

Aside from the pervasive signage in the Cherokee language, one evidence of the cultural strength was the new school complex we passed on our way and from the campground. It was a beautiful campus. Located alongside a flowing stream, it discreetly combined the current trends for enhanced security without sacrificing any educational welcome or the rural settings. The architecture evoked the mountains and repeated themes common in Cherokee graphics and basketry. The curriculum includes an extensive cultural program, with the Cherokee culture integrated into areas, Cherokee language and history, traditional song and dance, a Heritage week and an emphasis on honoring Grandparents and Elders. Not all serious stuff, the culture is in the sports program too. The teams chant a Cherokee war song before games. It must be effective as a large sign proclaimed that the Lady Braves were the State Basketball Champions.

The Cherokee Museum of History traces 13000 years from paleolithic pre-colonial culture, to initial contacts with Europeans and into subsequent American history. All told from a perspective quite different from the conventional history books. Since these were the peoplewho had suceeded in maintaining a continuous history and identity, the depiction seemed quite fair and balanced, and absolutely fascinating. One extensive display was the first Cherokee impressions of London, when they went to England to meet with the King. To our modern eyes, the Cherokee's opinion of the foppish 17^th century dress seem right on target. The Cherokee suede breeches and moccasins are still worn, not so with powdered wigs and codpieces.

The detailed explanation of Sequoia's interest and process in developing their written language was a semanticist's dream. He was brilliant. He was illiterate but recognized thata written language would help ensure the Cherokee cultural identity. He taught himself to read in English and derived a syllabary suitable to the spoken conventions of the Cherokee language. Each character represents a full phoneme, as the spoken language combines consonants with vowels into syllables. In addition, the written symbols are elegant and beautiful in appearance.

The section of more recent history, the sad tradition of broken treaties and duplicity made me want to loudly announce that my forbears were not involved - - being as they were similarly being chased around Europe. There had been three main tribes of Cherokee on the homelands. One group seeing the writing on wall, sold out. While the lands were not actually theirs to sell, they sold out to the White man, pocketing the proceeds and purchasing good arable land in the Midwest. This enabled them to relocate with some degree of dignity and live in comfort. Another group refused to concede and were force marched with a great loss of life. The remaining tribe took the oath of American Citizenship, and as citizens put a portion of their lands in a trust now known as the Qualla Boundary (under a white man) which preserved their rights to their homeland and to great extent their culture. This schism in the Cherokee lasted until the 20^th Century, exacerbated by differing attitudes on slavery during the Civil War. The tribe also has a cultural dinner theater experience. The Museum was sufficient food for thought.

On our way out of the Smokey Mountains National Park we stopped at the Oconaluftee Mountain Farm Museum. There is a visitor center and a collection of historic log buildings which were gathered from throughout the Smoky Mountains. A residential home, a horse barn, an apple house, a spring house and a smokehouse are on display. While not extensive it is unique, indicating how laborious was farming life last century.


The spring house in particular, it was daunting to envision laundry days in the dark confines of the spring house. The log house was of chestnut, a beautiful wood no longer seen as the chestnut blight of decimated the American Chestnut in the 1930s. 

The geometry of the barn's post and beam construction was a wonderful symmetry, reminding me both of the traditional the Cherokee basket motifs and of Frank Lloyd Wright's organic Sumac and Wheat designs.

Gateway to the Smokey's via Enormous Silliness

Some places are so absurd, you just have to shake your head and laugh. The first time I went to Las Vegas, I had that reaction. It is just ridiculous. Pigeon Forge beats Vegas cold. Dollywood and Dolly Parton's Stampede Dinner theater with rodeo shows every night, I expected. Nigfhtly LumberJack and Hatfield and McCoy Feuds, ditto  

It was the giant buildings in weird shapes: an upside-down mansion with upended plaster palm trees; shops that featuring entrances like enormous shark's maws; a crime museum shaped like Alcatraz; A replica of the Titanic crashed into a concrete iceberg! You enter through the iceberg, by the way. Miami mansions, San Francisco prisons and British ships with North Atlantic ice floes, seem a bit out of place in the Tennessee mountains! Why are there live sharks in the mountains? Just observing these establishments was entertainment enough for me.

Our RV park was quite the opposite aesthetic, a lovely secluded campsite along a creek. Just across the creek was the Pigeon Forge High School. The marching band was practicing every afternoon and we had the added benefit of a free concert. The creek itself was quite scenic. With mossy trees and the occasional wading bird. The contrast between our quiet bucolic spot and the hectic traffic surging through town was extreme, yet were only a few blocks from the main drag. Like they say, location, location, location.

One redeeming feature of Pigeon Forge was good food. We chanced upon a local family owned chain to try their well-touted smoke house Bar Be Que. The Johnson family of restaurants covered all the bases from fried chicken to ice cream to pizza. My heart and stomach were set on smoked meat. The restaurant had all the usual pulled pork and brisket, plus an ingenious adaptation of the drumstick concept. They smoked and served the pig trotters as drumstick size portions. Leaner than the usual shoulder or ribs, they were a perfect non-greasy portion. Even Francis found them hard to resist. The ample buffet of side dishes, were predictably heavy on dressings but never the less excellent.

Down the road from Pigeon Forge, Gatlinburg is nestled in the foothills of the Smokies. In contrast to the crazy commerce gone wild, Gatlingburg was subdued and tasteful. Every hotel and cafe was appropriately rustic and the touristic promotion is a drive through the mountain roads to visit small hand craft shops. Most of the draft shops were fairly predictable, heavy rustic pottery and wooden tourist souvenirs, but some were distinctly local and quite representation of the mountain culture. Hand-tooled leather belts and bags would be a perfect and perfectly appropriate carry home. A couple of shops featured hand worked glass decorative objects. At Sparky's Glassblowing, the convivial owner made custom light catchers and Holiday ornaments while you waited.

My interest was particularly piqued by the traditional musical instruments. At Smokey Mountain Dulcimers, not only were the instruments beautiful but also had additional features to facilitate learning to play. Mark Edelman,the owner and artisan, had originated a marked fretboard, with designated finger placements and a music tutorial of common folk songs. He gave us a wonderful concert, demonstrating the varied tonalities of the different dulcimer types. While I yearned to make a purchase, Francis being a woodworker himself, insisted he will create his own. Another nearby shop had banjos and ukes, with the shop owners providing an impromptu concert for any passer-byes.

The next day we continued our drive through the Smokey Mountains to the Cherokee Homeland in North Carolina. We had a reservation at an RV park in the Homeland. Not, as I learned, a reservation on a reservation. This was the original homeland of the Cherokee tribes. The details of their history, I would soon learn about at the Museum.

Finally the Music!

Bristol is charming. It has that laid back country vibe with a touch of Southern hospitality. Everyone was saw was smiling, everyone we met was helpful. It did start to rain. First a drizzle, quickly becoming a warm downpour. Must be standard weather conditions as all the buildings on Main Street had awnings or overhangs. A long-haired gray-bearded fellow set aside his bike and took a seat out of the rain at the outdoor tables of a quiet cafe. He politely asked me for a light. As I don't smoke I suggested Francis, who promptly produced one. He was just sitting quietly there, chain smoking and watching the rain. We did briefly chat, bit damp for bike riding? You get used to it. It is sunny and warm in spite of the rain. No one from the cafe bothered him and he didn't bother anyone. Live and let live on the TN side of the street.

Down Main Street from the Cafe was a old soda fountain turned into a pawn shop. The service bar and counter had been retained, with all the equipment. The marble counter and vintage kitchen accessories entranced me. I wished I was more in the mood for a phosphate or ice cream soda, as placards promoted. Francis was more interested in the instruments and old tech equipment on the Pawn side of the place. He hoped to find an abandoned old Martin guitar or a forgotten Morse code key. Unfortunately everything beyond the soda fountain was just used and conventional. The most common items being the cabinets and cabinets of ubiquitous gold chains and gem stone rings.

Alternatively, both literally and figuratively, being on the other side of Main Street, the Virginia side, there was an Antiques and Collectibles Mall. It contained booth after booth of intriguing little things, hand made items and rustic furniture. Odd advertising memorabilia from past decades, crowded with WW1 and 2 historic treasures, examples of American craft pottery and domestic linens and vintage ephemera, including faded tourist post cards of Bristol and any other tourist attraction you can imagine. Large hand made country baking cabinets and wash stands were in rows with tall linen presses and broad low boys.

A few blocks off Main Street is the new Smithsonian Affiliate “Birthplace of Country Music Museum”. With a name like that, I was concerned it would be very commercial - - Grand Ole Opry / Dolly Parton. No so, it clearly has the Smithsonian touch. The history of American culture and roots music, features a variety of aspects, through excellent multi-media displays. There were audiotapes of performances; videotapes of learned discussions on fingering technique; historical timelines indicating pivotal historical events and the role of technology in the development of a unique American music. There were, of course, beautiful displays of vintage instruments and intriguing memorabilia.

The last display was heartwarming 360 degree montage video of a various popular and lesser known musicians performing “Will the Circle be Unbroken”. It was so evocative one could not help but sing along with tears in one's eyes. As the song played with the video feed, clips and information about the Annual Bristol Roots music festival were shown. In Bristol, the circle is certainly unbroken.

Not only in Bristol, but also in nearby Hiltons, Virginia. The site of the Carter family farm, in what was called Poor Valley at the foot of Cinch Mountain, is now the Carter Family Fold, a non-profit memorial music center. The original farm house and the log cabin in which A.P. Carter was born are on the site. More interesting, every Saturday night there is a roots music concert. We were fortunate to hear a fantastic group called Five Mile Mountain Road Five Mile Mountain Road out of Franklin County, Virginia. They played bluegrass and old time classic country. Their lead, Billy Hurt, played fiddle with Seth Boyd and Brennen Ernst trading off on guitar and banjo and Steven Dowdy on bass; in addition, they threw in a little piano on occasion.

It was all foot tapping music for dancing. The crowd at the Fold was ready to dance. Before the band played, I kept hearing syncopated clacking. Was someone practicing the spoons? No, they were getting ready to country clog! As soon as the band started to play the dance floor was full of folks. Some were doing sophisticated country swing couple dances; but many were just clogging and tapping to their own rhythms. In tap shoes, workboots or Birkenstocks, they were following their own terpsichorean muses. One woman, who appeared to have come with the band, faced the stage and was in constant movement completing rapid complicated clog patterns. Another, I must admit looked more like a candidate for Monty Python's Ministry of Silly Walks than a conventional dancer. Many just did a slow soft shoe maneuver round and round the periphery of the stage. There were young belles and bucks in flowy-flowery dresses or low-slung jeans, both worn with cowboy boots. There were older couples and Grannies dancing with their grandkids. In was an all ages family friendly affair. The good vibes and welcoming good humor were pervasive.

Bristol and Hiltons would be reason enough to make a trip to Southeast Virginia. In addition, there is an entire heritage music trail called the “Crooked Road”, through this region of Virginia. It is full of concert venues and historic homes. I hope we can return someday and explore it further but on this trip we were headed farther South. We wanted to see the Smokey Mountains but would the tourist traps of Pigeon Forge and Gatlinburg  be an amusing or a horrifying gateway?

Finally Heading Southbound

We set out from Shohola in early Fall. What could be nicer than a drive through the mountains as the leaves are turning? Heading West, we proceeded South through the Blue Ridge to New Market, VA.

The rural highway winds through the mountains past farms, close cropped after harvest or full of ripening corn awaiting harvest. The old stone barns occasionally contrast with modern structures, or hybrid creations where the farmer has adapted the original stone foundation with a high tech cantilevered metal super-structure. The undulating greenscape, just beginning to turn brown, is punctuated by the odd tree and clusters of dairy cows relaxing alongside small streams or cow-ponds. A few horses made their appearance. Clearly they are not dusty work horses but appear to be well bred and well groomed, waiting for equitation and dressage practice.

Endless Caverns is not only the name of a very nice well-run campground in New Market, VA but is the site of a natural wonder. Discovered in 1879, two boys literally went down the rabbit hole while rabbit hunting and discovered the caverns. The six mile warren of underground narrow tunnels and vaulted caves, is now open to the public through safely guided tours. While the overall limestone formation is much smaller, the individual stalactite and stalagmite formations rival those of Mammoth Cave or Carlsbad Caverns in the National Parks. The private owners of Endless Caverns have sensitively developed the subterranean features as a tourist attraction by erecting a camping resort on the surface. A feature of which we took good advantage.

What a nice place. There are well sited pull-offs suitable from big rigs to little tents, scattered attractively through the woods. With much untouched undergrowth and trees, you don't notice your neighboring campers. Unless, of course, you feel sociable. With the shared interest in travel and a bit of show and tell, you can always develop a good conversation. Our little teardrop, dwarfed by the 40 footers with their half-dozen slide out partitions, always engenders curiosity. If your style is “camping” is a two-bedroom two-bath mobile and you just gott'a have your own washer and dryer, then we must look crazy or at least minimalist. This camaraderie of RVing is the feature which attracts Francis; personally, I'm more interested in the passing scenes rather than the passer-byes.

Endless Caverns, in spite of the interesting looking junk shops in New Market and an educational walking tour through the caves, was just an overnight on this trip. We were in a hurry to get South to Bristol, in time for the Saturday night show at the nearby Carter Family Fold.

We arrived in Bristol, TN towards dusk. It had been a long but pleasant drive through the mountains. We had a reservation at a camp ground called Shadrack, located outside of downtown but on the main road through Bristol. In our usual effort to avoid the major highways, we had approached our destination by way of a number of back roads. This gave us a scenic tour of rural VA and TN but we were getting tired and ready to park ourselves for a few days. Where was this campground? The main road seemed to have several names, Raceway, Volunteer as well as the usual County, State and Federal road numbers. If we could find a landmark, we would get our bearings. We drove along not seeing the campground signage and pulled over across from an enormous structure. This was a landmark, for sure. It was Bristol Speedway. We were definitely in the South, NASCAR!

The very pleasant young woman on the phone at the campground had no idea where they were located. Are you on route 116? Isn't that the route number for Volunteer Parkway? Are you on the same road as the Speedway? Are you North or South? Every query had the response “Not sure”. Finally after consultation with the other office staff, she was able to respond that the campground was closer to downtown Bristol than the Speedway. We needed to go towards town. Whew! Such are the small adventures in RV camping.

The actual camping area was hidden down a steep hill behind the office building. The rows of campsites clustered down a stream fed valley. There were many trailers clearly set up as Speedway accommodations but there was just one other spot occupied by current travelers. It was a dry day and Shadrack was a lovely place to stay. The hillside hid the highway and buffered the highway traffic, all that one can see being the backdrop of the woods behind the campground proper. If it were raining heavily, staying there could be rather less pleasant. The high water marks on the semi-permanent trailers, clearly marked the frequency that the stream flooded. The sole other campers, told us that they stayed at Shadrack every year on their Southbound FL migration. They knew the place well. Yes, those were NASCAR racer's campers and, yes, the stream flooded! I had a vision of large men wearing too tight shorts with mullet haircuts and slurred curses as they waded their way back to their trailers after a day at the races.

Saturday we began our musical immersion. A tour through the new History of the Roots of Country Music Museum, in Bristol, TN was followed by a visit at to the Mountain Music Museum, which was in the process of relocating to Kingsport, TN. In addition, we enjoyed wandering through the funky little antique and collectibles and pawn shops which line Main Street.

Niagara - - two sides to the Falls

In Niagara we stayed with Yogi Bear. There is an entire chain of campgrounds with a Yogi Bear theme. Our experience had been that these are pleasant well run facilities with the usual amenities, which do provide a variety of additional children's activities. We would forgo the latter but take advantage of a shuttle bus from the campground to the Falls. Yeah, less driving and no parking! Our driver sported horseshoe mustachios to match the Falls.  

Niagara Falls on the US side is quite unappealing, crowded, filled with traffic and cheap tourist attractions. A series of highway strip malls filled with fast food and t-shirt shops degrading a natural wonder. Niagara Falls on the CN side is quite lovely. There are historic forts and naturalist attractions all along the river approaching the Falls. The Falls themselves can be appreciated from the top or the bottom. You can hike through tunnels to observation areas dug into the cliffside to see the water rushing down past you. Absolutely stunning and fascinating. Surrounding the actual Falls area has been controlled development. Walkways, paths and garden beds at the waters edge. Hotels and shops, all coordinated architecturally, spreading outward through the town. In the US it has been pure capitalist development, with it appears minimal oversight; on the CN side a non-profit was founded to develop the area and they have controlled the very extensive and successful development. It all looks very high end in CN, very much the opposite in US. Rather embarrassing for an American crossing the border.

From the Canadian side the Falls surround you in a dramatic horseshoe. It seems as though it is raining but it is just the delicate spray thrown off by the force of the volumes of water permeating the air. It is a 188 feet drop for the 150,000 gallons per second pouring out of the Niagara River. The saturated air moistens every environmental surface; you might as well be in a sub-tropical rain forest. It is no wonder that the plantings look so lush. Having wandered up and down, inside and out of the Falls, you might build up an appetite. There is an excellent restaurant featuring local products overlooking the Falls. We were lucky enough to get a seat at the window with a peferct central view of the Falls and the huge 3D letters spelling out “Canada” on the landing. This spot was where folks would congregate to take their commemorative photos. In addition to the awe inspiring sights and sounds of the Falls themselves. This is an area for excellent people watching!

As an international tourist attraction, there are groups of every nationality, creed and color. You hear a mixture of languages murmuring in the background and see costumes indicating far far distance lands. The stereotypical far Asian tour group taking constant selfies and photos. The East Indian families helping rotund Grandmas (Great Grandmas?) as teenagers with only slightly petulant expressions corral younger siblings. Granny in a somber Widow's sari or Salwar Chemise,the younger Wifes and Mothers in brighter versions and the males and children all in Western dress. Even a few clearly Muslim families with some of the women in full Burqa. To avoid weighing their covering down in the damp, they would lift the hem occasionally displaying a graceful turned ankle or a brightly colored dress. There were similarly apparent Orthodox Jewish families, the men and boy's yarmulke and the tzitziyot on their tallit katan displaying their religious allegiance. Their wives and daughters were discretely modest. Perhaps the most unexpected was a large group of heavily tattooed inner city friends, a rough looking gang. They set themselves around the big Niagara Falls letter statuary, incongruously posing displaying finger pistols and shooting each other. Their broad smiles undercut any actual aggressive implication. Everyone is awed by the force of the Falls and reflects their appreciation with demeanor of child like wonder. It is a place full of good cheer.

Getting Back On The Road Again

You could say it started with a PBS show, American Epic, running during pledge week on WVIA. Just a few minutes of music featuring a circa 1927 recording device and I thought “Francis would be fascinated”. It was days later, we sat down to watch the full show and were enraptured with the story of the first recordings of truly indigenous American music.

To wit: In 1927 music agents went to rural Bristol, Tennessee and put an advertisment in the local papers: $50 for anyone who came to town and recorded themselves. Among the first folks to show up was A.P. Carter, with his wife, Sara, and his sister-in-law, Maybelle; another group was a gospel choir led by Elder J.E. Burch, from Cheraw, S.C. The legacy of the Carter Family is well known but the names of many of those recorded have faded into obscurity. Elder Burch and his church choir were an influence on Dizzy Gillespie!

Research revealed that Bristol was an interesting place in its own right. The VA / TN state line runs right through town, one side of main street is VA and the other side is TN! There were two museums dedicated to American Roots music, one in each state. In addition, on Saturday nights, a roots music concert was held at the Carter Family Fold, the site of the old Carter family farm. We decided that we would make a pilgrimage to Bristol the keystone of our upcoming RV camping trip from PA to FL, determining our schedule around that Saturday night concert.

Driving for days along route 95 is about as boring as travel can be. It is disconcerting too, as enormous tractor-trailers and doubles speed by you in the slow lane creating wind turbulence. Our travel mantra is avoid the major highway full of big-rigs and semis if so ever possible. On our previous trip in our first RV trailer, we went as far East as we could, using bridges and ferries to hop from one barrier island to another along the coast. Through the deep South we followed the secondary highways, pausing along the way to explore the historic cities of Charleston, Savannah and St. Augustine. This time we would head West with a route from the Blue Ridge into the music scene, then down through the Smokeys into the Cherokee homeland, before heading to the flatlands.

About the RV: We had purchased a boxy 20” trailer and made the ubiquitous cross country trip, spending a Winter in residence in FL. Sadly Francis had unpleasant associations between the trailer and my illness and the half the trailer floor rotted away due to water infiltration in just two years. While I would have thought it worthless, this tuned out to not be the case. A Craiglist posting and the next day a couple came by with cash in hand. They were living on a 20” boat with their Granddaughter. A 20 “ trailer provides much more space and privacy than a similar size sailboat! In a week they had replaced the rot and were ready to roll on the road. Enhanced karma for all concerned.

We stayed off the road for a year, until Francis expressed a renewed interest in RV camping. Me, I love travel on ANY kind. 'Just wanna' see new places, on foot, on the road, foreign or domestic. The first RV purchase was determined by Francis' criteria that it be under 20” and have walk around queen size bed. There was only one trailer on the market which met those conditions! This time he agreed to accept the more common cozy bed, a queen bed ran across the trailer width. After much more research than we had made with the first RV, we decided on an R-pod. You can't walk around the bed but it is just 18” long and the roof is a rounded, a seamless teardrop. The contour one-piece roof design results in less potential for leaks and much better aerodynamics, better resistance to that buffeting from big trucks! It has a tiny bathroom, a kitchenette, a queen bed, a dining area that converts into a full bed. It hauls like a dream and is too cute to boot.

We negotiated a good price from a large dealer, Meyer's Superstore, in Rochester, New York. Since I wanted to see Niagara Falls, Rodchester headed us in the right direction. We would proceed North to Niagara Falls for a shake down cruise before driving back to PA. We would make one stop on the way home, to visit a friend and show off the new mobile residence. That aerodynamic curved roof really does make a difference. On our way home, heading further West to visit our friend by Harvey's Lake, PA, we drove through a tornado, through the mountains in a tornado! The rain and winds were so strong we had to slow our pace but the little trailer pulled smoothly. Arriving at out friend's home, we realized we had left the RV windows open and no rain had come inside!

Back home, we prepped the little trailer for the big trip South. This tends to be a separate but equal process; while I make the inside cozy and research tech upgrades, Francis fusses over the power systems and installs upgrades. The sole defects from my perspectives of the tiny RV were a dark interior color scheme, lack of storage and no rear view. Changing out all the interior fabrics and installing a myriad of wall pockets took care of the interior. A wifi camera hooked to our GPS will provide a rear view.

This Rpod, like many RVs, comes ready for solar power. Just in case you ever wondered - - solar only powers the 12 volt battery, DC, which in our case would be the interior lighting and bathroom fan. The fridge and furnace can run on the compressed gas tank but the TV, radio and outlets are AC, regular house power. No music, no laptop & no phone charger! We are still working on a converter to pull the DC charge into more useful AC power.

For luck we added every international symbol we could think of, from the Sicilian Trinacria to the Lenne Lenape turtle medicine wheel to a Feng shui Toad to Saravasta and a travel mezzuzah, we are taking no chances. 

An aesthetic issue for me is labels. Commercial logos and labels I immediately remove. In the case of the RV, the brand name with it's charming frog in a canoe were replaced with custom Asian dragon, phoenix and good luck bats. The dragon and phoenix are related to the ying yang, a balance of male and female principles for a balanced household. Five blue bats symbolically circle around the household eliminating bad luck, just as bats swoop down from the sky removing biting insects. Inside and out, mechanically and aesthetically, we were ready to roll.

Reykjavik

Upon arrival, the first stop was retrieving a rental car. The greeter was late which caused a little anxiety. When he finally appeared he piled several arrivals into a van and off we drove toff the airport to the rental agency. Our vehicle of choice was to be a Fiat 500. Given Francis Italian heritage and my inclination to rent the smallest vehicle available, it was the perfect option.

We had to wait for our turn with staff. Next door to the car rental agency was a camper rental. Ingeniously packed into a tiny four-wheel drive vehicle was complete camping setup. Opening the rear hatch, you found a series of drawers containing a stove and all the gear you might need for rural explorations. The seats would fold down to permit rolling out the provided mattress and linens at night. When it was our

turn at the car rental, there was a brief but intense attempt to up-sell us for a larger vehicle and more comprehensive insurance. As we had no plans to venture off-roading or to the hinterlands, where were warned sandstorms would damage the vehicle, we said nope. If that was our plan, we should have gone next door in the first place.

Finally departing the airport vicinity, the first impression, the most notable thing is the color gray: light gray seas, dark gray basaltic stone, bluish but still gray sky. There are white capped gray mountains and gray concrete buildings in the distance. It is a harsh monochrome landscape just occasionally broken by scrub pines and the bright shock of yellow dandelions. The noxious weed of rolling lawns is a visual delight here. The occasional spray of dandelions has the effect of hillsides of Forsythia in early Spring bloom in the mid-atlantic states. Oh yeah, hardy folks colonized this place, you would need to be a Viking!

The second impression is that you will need a Viking interpreter. Reading the street signs, there are enough strange looking symbols that you know you won't say the word intelligibly. How does one pronounce a letter which looks like a stone hammer or a backwards P with extra serifs? Hardy folks with a lilting language. We could read the directions towards Reykjavik. The issue began when we arrived in town. All of the residents we stopped for advice spoke English but none of them had any idea where the indicated address was located. The B & B owner's advice that it was easy to find right down from the Church, turned out to be rather ineffective as there are three churches! The most notable structure being a huge towering gray granite edifice surmounting a hill. 


We made a quick sweep of the other liturgical options and opted for making broader and broader gyres around the large granite monument. Finally we spied the name of the B & B owner on a door! It was clearly their private entrance but the general entrance had to be nearby!

A few feet away was the public entrance, too discreetly marked to be visible from a car driving by. Oh well, better late than never. With great relief we found the key-code and entered an old fashioned boot room. Shelves were provided for one's outdoor shoes and slippers available for interior wear. Other shelves had an interesting assortment of books. Subjects ranged from self-help to the classics, in both English and Icelandic. Adjacent living room had more shelves filled with art and classical literature and a small study alongside was similarly lined. It was no surprise when we discovered the proprietor had been the Headmaster of a well-known British Public School. His Wife was Icelandic, Daughter of a traditional fisherman. The family had come to Iceland during his Sabbetical year and decided to stay, opening the B n B. They had thoughtfully provided us with a large cozy room on the ground floor. Just off the main living room, we had a nice view onto the street.

I immediately wanted to explore the town. It was Sunday and I was warned shops would close early. Off I wandered, getting good and lost on foot this time. Eventually having established my bearings I realized we were just a few blocks from the main streets of Reykjavik. A city of low scale buildings, many with bright gardens and creative wall decor. Managing to find a food store open I purchased some local specialties, breads and yogurt the likes of which I'd never seen and an unusual ready to heat casserole for Francis. 

The Icelandic climate is not suited to growing wheat, but rye, oats and various seeds thrived. Viking breads were similar to Scandinavian rye toasts but often made without any wheat. The crucnchy cracker like bread would be rolled and baked in circles with a hole in the center. The rings would hang suspended from cottage rafters. More unique were steamed rye loaf breads, cooked in the fumeroles and hot springs which abound due to the techtonic plates. The rye slowly caramelizes into a sweet pudding like texture. [At some point I shall try replicating the effect in a crock pot.] Skyr is a kind of yogurt, naturally non-fat, mild and sweet. Recently I have seen it in our US grocery store. On rye and skyr with a side salad, I could happily survive.

Aside from the usual tacky tourist souvenirs, Iceland is renowned for its sheep and wool. Beautiful Icelandic woolens lined the shops downtown, competing with hiking and camping gear. My souvenir would be a few balls of yarn. The stark dark grey basalt, topped by pale grey glaciers, was immediate inspiration to knit Francis a cap. Large blocks of knitted stitches giving was to smaller and smaller formations, just as the basalt mountains degrade down into the sea. The cap's apex in pale grey wool, like the angular glaciers sloping the peaks.

We spent most of our days in Reykyjavik exploring the museums, learning about the past and present cultures. The Maritime Museum was high on the hit list. This one featured fishing, with an emphasis on how fishing formed the Icelandic ethos of dedication and cooperation. For thousands of years, most of the population had been subsistence farmers and fishermen. During the Winter the farmers went to the shore to fish, during the Summer the fishermen went to the farms to labor. On both farms and fishing boats small group worked intensely and collaboratively. During the twentieth century a conflict developed between the newly independent country or Iceland a Britain over fishing rights. After a bitter turf war, Iceland prevailed controlling the fleets in its local waters. The conflict further intensified the collective identity of Icelanders as self-sufficient socialists.

Next door to the Maritime Museum was a most interesting tourist trap. Nominally, a museum of Viking History is was more a wax work of Viking atrocities. Walking through a dimly lit labyrinth, there were tableus of dramatic events in Viking history. These events were primarily on the order of: Eric the toothless seizes power from his uncle Eric the noseless by removing the rest of his uncle's head. Think of Madame Tussaud does Grand Guignol. While the waxworks were probably historically accurate, a more well rounded impression of that era was presented at an Icelandic history museum housed by the University. There the highlight, albeit also presented in low light, was an actual Viking roundhouse. The ruins found in an archaeological excavation were laid out in situ along with cutting edge computer recreations of the full facility and explanations of the use and function of recovered objects. Once again the importance of fishing, mutual support and cooperation was evident. A day at the art museum revealed not only beautiful traditional handcrafts but also interesting modern works exploring the concepts of time and land use. Photos and CAD depicted human effects and potential change. By the shoreline in downtown Reykyjavik is the fascinating and dominating Opera house, literally and figuratively it represents the Icelandic landscape. An angular wall of mirrored honeycomb effect rising up from the harbor, reflecting the rock and water,. It is conveniently accessible to all and features performances of every genre. Even in the fine arts, the cooperative influences are present.

A culture coming from a most violent past to a peaceful present. Even during the most tumultuous times the Viking met annually to work out their issues and grievances. Beginning in 930AD they met in a natural amphitheater former by the rift boundaries of two tectonic plates. The new land formed as the American and Eurasian plates move away from each other. A low marshy plain in a ravine, waters fed by warm underground streams. Called Thingviller, it is dramatic and beautiful. This was my prime incentive in going to Iceland, to stand between the plates on the newest exposed land on the earth.

We took a long drive out of Reykjavik to Thingviller, past isolated industry and villages. The road weaved past small farms with herds of shaggy sheep and equally shaggy icelandic ponies. It was not until we reached Thingviller that we realized we had been driving along the cliff edge of the American plate for miles. Looking across the sunken plateau we could see the Euroasian plate in the far distance, with a broad marsh, crossed by streams, dotted by little lakes and featuring the largest lake in Iceland, all with mossy islands surfacing through the water.

The annual meeting was called the Althing and was led by a Lawspeaker. The Lawspeaker was elected for three year terms and was expected to recite the entire cycle of law from memory over the course of his term! He presided from a natural platform called the Law Rock. While the exact spot of the Law Rock was not recorded the general location is identifiable from the terrain. From 930 to 1798, laws were made and disputes settled by consensus. During the Viking era, prior to 1300, if the dispute could not be settled peaceably, the combatants moved off to one of the little islands and duked it out, often a fight to the death. Just another example of the cooperative yet pragmatic Icelandic culture.

We had a wonderful introduction to a unique place and culture but it was soon time to get back to the US. Even our car rental return revealed Icelander's determination. We stopped at what appealed to be an public area along the shore. The day was cold, rain and sleet was falling. Looking out over the grey skies and seas, I figured out the sign on the building. It was a golf club! Looking farther out across the plain adjacent to the shore, we realized there were people out playing golf, dressed in slickers they were hauling their bags of clubs across the wet ground despite the downpour. Now that is hardy dedication! There was more to explore in Iceland. We never got as far as the extinct volcanoes or inside a glacier. A return trip is definitely required.