Rita in Wanderland

Ammonia is not for eating

ritawanderlust — Tue, 19 Jul 2016 09:37:00 GMT

“Oh god, I think I’m going to throw up!” He says while gripping onto my bicep.

Iceland has a weekly flea market at a crowded, old warehouse where vendors sell everything from freeze dried fish to t-shirts. Although, I decided to forego attempting something as questionable as fermented shark, which is the Icelandic delicacy, when presented to me at the market, I could hardly pass up the opportunity to be able to say that I had eaten shark in Iceland. Half an hour later, I regret this as the acrid taste of ammonia is nestled in my cheek and I am chugging down drinks as though I had just come out of a desert. Normally, it is served with a signature liquor called Brennivin, or more commonly referred to as “black death.” Fermented shark and black death is not an entirely appetizing sounding combination in my humble opinion so I was content to just try the piece of shark on its own. The vendor is holding a silver, doily-lined tray with a few very small pieces of off-white, almost gray, shark meat with toothpicks sticking out of them. In her Icelandic accent, she asks if we want to try some shark. My friend and I exchange a quick look and before I know what I’m doing, I am reaching for a piece of this notorious food. Since smell is such a huge factor in the flavor of food, I bypass taking a whiff of the meat and just pop the tiny portion in my mouth. I chew the shark, which is an odd combination of chewy and squishy, as my friend looks on nervously, swallow, and proclaim “that wasn’t as bad as I thought it would be!” This must be the encouragement that my friend is waiting for to take the plunge, but as soon as I saw him smell the shark, I knew this wouldn’t end well.

Unlike the opinion of numerous people, the bit of shark was not the most disgusting food I encountered in Iceland, but it was the one that lingered the longest. My travel companion disagreed as he gripped my arm, clearly taken aback by the overpowering taste. He was not as culinarly adventurous as I was so the fact that he attempted the shark, was shocking. Even though he did spit it out into a nearby trash can while the stall attendant laughed behind the counter. Just another tourist who couldn’t handle his hákarl. In his defense, it is one of the foulest things I’d ever eaten as well. Oddly enough, I manage to keep it down and I am proud to be able to say that I’ve eaten fermented shark and lived to tell the tale, however, I would more than likely never do it again. Unless, of course, it was to try the black death, which I wouldn’t dream of doing without the standard accompaniment of the foul seafood.

Photos: Random

ritawanderlust — Sat, 16 Jul 2016 12:13:00 GMT

Just random photos for now

My Heart's Home

ritawanderlust — Sat, 16 Jul 2016 12:11:00 GMT

The water was rising. The ceilings and walls were getting closer, closer, and closer until we were hunched over, slogging through knee-deep water. I was especially grateful, at this moment, that had I never suffered from claustrophobia. Though, after a while of being 130 feet below ground, I started to wonder how I got here. I was in a stone tunnel that was dug out over 2,000 years ago by hand! Thankfully, my anxiety started to subside as the awe of the situation sunk in. I was in the CIty of David, underneath Jerusalem, walking through Hezekiah’s Tunnel.

I was 23 years old and had never shown much interest in history, yet here I was, maneuvering my five foot eight frame through an unilluminated, wet tunnel five feet high and two feet wide. All at once, I couldn’t imagine anywhere else I wanted to be. As I felt my way forward using the tiny flashlights some of us were provided, and the stone walls, that eventually rose to at least standing height, I felt transported. I imagined the people from 2,000 years ago digging this tunnel, all the work that went into it, and the history of it made me dizzy. Or it might have been that I was packed into a narrow, underground tunnel with at least 75 strangers around me. I later learned that the purpose for this tunnel was to divert water from the nearby Gihon Spring into the Pool of Siloam in case of an attack on the city. It was genius, really. I fell more in love with Jerusalem than I ever thought possible. I wanted to devour every single bit of information. Unfortunately, there was only so much that I was able to absorb in the three days I spent there.

Prior to this trip, I never had the slightest desire to go to Israel, but, being a budding nomad, when the opportunity to go presented itself, I had no choice but to pack my bags. I wasn’t going to miss my chance to travel. What I gained, though, ended up being so much more valuable than a stamp in my passport. Walking the streets of Jerusalem, being in the City of David, going through those tunnels, even sitting on an old brick wall on a Saturday morning with a warm cup of tea looking out at this phenomenal city, I felt connected to it in a way I never felt before. This was where I wanted to be, this place felt more like home than any house I ever had, any city I ever lived in. This was where my heart found its home.