The sleepy town of Isajafour (which I now realize I always spell a bit differently; naming an Icelandic town when translated to English is a bit like spelling out Hanukah) receives several massive, multi-thousand filled cruise ships a week. There is simply nowhere for all these tourists to go so they mostly wander the streets in a kind of daze. We made like the locals and drove a few minutes and one tunnel (this one had two lanes) away to the next town where we hit up the local pool.

Local pool customs are pretty rigid. Shoes off by the reception area. Then a naked and more public than you wish shower in the locker room before heading outside where there will likely be more pools than lounge chairs. Among those pools will be one filled with ice water. Seated there may be an older Icelandic man who will appear content despite his choice of bathing in the worst pool possible. Sometimes he may motion to his friends who will ignore him.

Another rule is no photos. Which makes sense considering all the naked Icelandic children running around. Children here look after younger siblings who look after toddler siblings in a kind of nesting guardianship. It has a real 1950s feel with children allowed to roam and do things like squirt water in my eyes while I’m trying to soak up the sun. Sometimes the pools also have random niceties. Yesterday there was free coffee which people sipped at while soaking in steaming water.

After the pool we headed into town to grab a couple beers at the only brewery in the Westfjords. There we saw our guide from yesterday (a Brit) who was talking to a Canadian and a woman from Honduras. Those three plus the incredibly nice Canadian working at the campground hint at a large international community of folks studying and working year round in Isajafoir. They likely come for the lifestyle, high wages and cheap graduate tuition (about $2000 a year). Many will stay in Iceland for as long as they can. For us though it is time to ship off. Three nights in this beautiful campground with amazing weather (super sunny, low wind and reasonable temps although very cold overnight) have done us good. If we don’t leave today we may end up looking for jobs here tomorrow.

Today is our well earned Spa Day. Spa Day for us is best defined for what it ain’t. We ain’t walking up any hills today. Not taking down the tent (before yesterdays hike we planned on shipping off today). I sure as heck ain’t waking up Corey right now (it’s about 8:30 and I just crawled out of the tent a few minutes ago). Spa Day for us is sitting still and spending time at the local pool. A worker at the campground, an incredibly nice Canadian earning her Master’s at the satellite school right here in Isajafoir, recommended we actually drive about fifteen minutes to a much nicer pool. Will most likely follow that advice.

Our guide for the hike yesterday (and that hike is the reason for our needed Spa Day) is also a student here at Isafjorour. A very cool Britt, his plan is to never leave this island nation. And maybe also the Westfjords. In-between him sometimes literally pulling us over the trail (if you never crossed a snow line on a vertical angle then you are not allowed to judge) he talked of a workers utopia where every Icelander is in a union that ensures high wages and a high quality of life. Which is true. A superficial internet search finds Iceland and Norway vying for being the happiest country in the world.

There is one not so perfect thing here in Isafjorour. Parts of the six kilometer tunnel heading into the town from the south are one lane. Those coming into the town have the right of way. There are no signs indicating such a fact. So after a rather long and treacherous drive from Brjeidafjorour Bay that involved a lot of blind turns, gravel and limited guard rails you drive a tunnel that suddenly narrows to one lane with headlights coming right at you (there are turn offs for cars leaving the tunnel). And no signs explaining what to do.

The people of Isafjorour barely notice this inconvenience. One credible source though blames the elves. I guess that when this tunnel was built in the late 90s there were several terrible accidents. So the elves were exorcized or something by public officials. They held a big ceremony to do so. And also for some reason they decided to not widen the tunnel anymore. If only the elves had a union then maybe they could have stalled the whole project.

Day three in Iceland and we spend it looking at Penises. The world famous Iceland Phallological Museum may not be for everyone. But if you have any interest at all in how the male appendage varies across the animal kingdom then I highly recommend you take the first flight to Reykjavik.

It began as a gift. Someone gave the founder of this museum a bull’s dried up penis (which is often used in the countryside as a type of whip). Instead of being embarrassed he used it as a pointer in class (the man was a teacher). Well this of course led to more penis-themed gifts and, well a few decades later, a pretty cool museum in Rejkavik.

Besides penises, we also made time for the Icelandic Punk Museum which was housed in a former public toilet stall. I honestly had no idea that Bjork was once punk. It was a pretty nifty but claustrophobic experience with the docent an impatient English punkster with no patience for tourist chit-chat. It was also nice and warm down in the former public toilets which on this windy day was a nice respite.

At the Geothermal Park in Hveragerdi we boiled an egg (free steam/expensive egg) and met a cool family from Sweden. We talked for at least an hour. Their English was maybe a tad better than myself. Likeable beyond belief they sold us on the Penis Museum. So if you are reading this, thank you.

After making new friends we celebrated by climbing uphill to a luke-warm hot springs. They had an open wall changing area which meant you got to choose which tourist group you wish to expose yourself to (so sorry then to that nice couple from Germany). After the hike we celebrated with a delicious slice of carrot cake and a cappuccino apiece (this is Europe after all).

Late last night we left hot and humid Chicago for a surprisingly sunny Iceland. However remarkable the flight was (and really all flights are remarkable in their own way) the airport in Keflavik was so badly overcrowded that it took us three hours before we were able to drive away in our rental car. Corey and I then dropped Henna off at the University of Iceland then power napped at our Airbnb in Hafnarfjordur. No shortage of vowels in Iceland.

Almost as numerous in Iceland are the street cats which Henna spent some of today chasing. I know this from a couple of pictures and a short video that she shared. Both Henna and Corey hoped to stay up until at least eight. Not sure about Henna but it is now a little past 7:30 and Corey is sound asleep.

The week before our trip was mostly spent preparing for yesterday and today. But Friday we were able to catch one of our favorite bands at The Salt Shed. It was a perfect summer night in a season so far choked by smoke. Holding fast to that memory in hopes of staying up just a bit longer tonight.

It was mostly cold and wet for the six nights we camped in the Tetons. Twice overnight temps were in the mid 30s. Then the sun came out and we enjoyed blue skies for a little before heading home.

I worried that this, our fiftieth year circling the sun, would be the year we would finally choose mattress over sleeping pad. And believe me, there were plenty of times Corey and I looked around with a bit of scorn at our empire of dirt. But there were other times, like when facing our fierce furnace of a fire then looking up at a sky speckled with stars that we felt the same thrill as when we were in our twenties discovering this whole world of freedom for the first time. It was still Corey, me and Henna (with a wine glass and a longing look at the RV parked next to us). There was no place I would rather be.

Good thing we like to camp because we are headed with our gear to Iceland later this week. Henna to take classes through a language program offered by the University of Iceland at Reykjavik and Corey and I to explore the West Fjords and also Paris. Afterwards we will circle Iceland together via the Ring Road. But for now it is all about getting a haircut, doing some laundry and more packing.

in celebration of the ten year anniversary of our epic “40 Hikes Because We Are Turning 40” we bring to you yet another history in the making expedition…….”Hennacornoelidays 50 Nifty Naps.”

That was forty.

And this is 50.

So this summer we head off to some of favorite spots (Grand Tetons, Iceland and Paris) in order to highlight the best places to take a snooze. Sure, you can walk your way up to the Basilica in Montmartre. But wouldn’t you rather just kick back for an afternoon nap on the banks of the Seine? OK, this is still very much a work in progress. But one thing is for sure. We are back to bring you yet another installment of Hennacornoelidays – Summer Edition.

The first trip we blogged about began with a wedding. Henna was the flower girl. Smart phones weren’t really a thing yet and everything was written up on a netbook. More than once we asked someone if they had WiFi then had to explain to them what WiFi was. Not only had Henna not yet graduated high school, she had not even started Kindergarten.

In a few weeks Henna will be starting a new adventure in St. Paul, Minneapolis. Cannot begin to say how proud Corey and I are of Henna. We are also very happy with her choice of Macalester College (lots of famous alumni to boast about but none cooler than the samurai of the Walking Dead, Danai Gurira). We are not as excited though about our return drive home from the Twin Cities. Plan on packing a lot of Kleenex.

This past summer Euro fling won’t be our last road trip together. And I certainly plan on continuing to write about our journeys. It might though be under a different handle. Either way, it has been our incredible pleasure letting others into our travel world. To all our friends out there, both virtual and in the flesh, safe travels.