Fantasy Travel and Other Occupational Hazards of Boredom

So, here we are. Shark Week VIII: The Shark Flops Around Pitifully and Whines a Lot Before Sinking to the Ocean Floor in Boredom (also known as, Shark Week Meh).

This *could* be the last week of the cast; I'll find out later in the week when I return to the podiatrist for a second x-ray. Of course, he still cautions me that even if Shark Week is in remission, I will have a slow transition to full mobility, but frankly I'm just ready for progress at whatever speed it comes.

This sad  bottle of Kahlua,
hiding in shame and shadow
behind the frozen pizza,
moved here with me in April
2016 and has been here,
untouched, ever since.It may
have moved from the old
apartment in 2013. I am pretty
exclusively a social drinker. 

With the end of the cast and Death Scooter potentially looming nearer, I've been spending my copious free time thinking about what I'm going to do when I am past this nonsense. First and foremost, and if you've ever had a cast in Texas in the summer, I know you feel me, is a bath. A long, long bath. I've mail ordered some fancy bath salts and even a matching fancy bath candle. There's wine in the fridge chilling. (Of course, it's a bottle I opened 3+ months ago...I am the world's most indifferent alcohol consumer. But still. It's waiting.) It's going to be a bath. Definitely hours. I'm not ruling out days.

Next up is a party. My original book launch plans involved some lovely readings, potentially in several cities, at some lovely bookstores. Since I can't even get a box of books in the front door, let alone schlep them all over Texas, those plans were shelved. But now... I still want to do that, but I'm in the mood for a party. I think a victory over Shark Week AND publication of my first novel together call for a celebration. I found out yesterday that one of my staff has parents who run a chocolate fountain business. In this, I can almost see the gooey, rich, dripping skewer of destiny. Coming up with a plan (beyond a party with a chocolate fountain, which is not so much a plan as a craving) is going to keep me motivated throughout physical therapy.

So what else have I been doing?

Knitting. Lots of knitting. Some beadwork. Halloween decor projects from Pinterest (I'll post pics when they get completely done, probably tomorrow). And planning my dream vacations. So, where would I go, if money were no object and Shark Week was no more?

I spent a few hours planning a very realistic trip to Idaho. That may actually happen next year. We are not beach people. We are cool, mountain people. There's a place in northern Idaho where you can rent a bicycle and coast it down a mountain trail for 15 miles of fabulous scenery. There's a creepy prison that offers tours of its old gallows. There are B&Bs with their own hot springs. I think this needs to happen, but...


Somehow, perhaps as a side effect of Extreme Stir Craziness, I kept moving north on the map and wound up spending several hours planning a fantasy trip to the Northwest Territories of Canada. I want to drive the Dempster Highway to the Arctic Ocean at Tuktoyatkuk, see the aurora borealis from Yellowknife. There's a five day boat and camping trip to Herschel island; another that goes along the Canadian Arctic coast and ends in Greenland. Tuktut Nogait National Park in the summer is home to zillions of baby caribou and has no hiking trails...you just wander around, presumably with a compass. Most of the parks up there are only accessible by chartered plane. And, most critically, the summer daytime temperatures rarely rise above 77 degrees. Oh yes!

The Hornaday Canyons in Tuktut Nogait National Park,
Northwest Territories, Canada.
It is possible my podiatrist wouldn't approve.

At this point, I felt that perhaps I was giving a little too much love to the northern climes, so I packed my mental bags for New Zealand. I've always wanted to see Australia, but frankly it seemed too big and desert-y for a fantasy vacation. According to The Lord of the Rings, a reliable meteorological source, even in the summers hobbits can wear trousers and long sleeves and there are plenty of lush green forests, spectacular mountains, and elaborate dwarf-mined cave systems, although one has to watch out for balrogs. I didn't spend too long on my fantasy trip to New Zealand, however, after I read the part about driving on the left side of the road. I am way too easily confused for that kind of nonsense.

My first thought was, That sign doesn't help!
Which arrow am I?  The sign just shows a couple
of lonely arrows, moving always in opposite
directions, separated by a permeable barrier
they can never cross, a sort of existential..
oh, yeah. I'm the arrow on the left.
This is why I can't drive in Australia.

Also on my list, because New Zealand is probably too crowded what with all the Numenoreans running around singing lays and drinking mead, are the Orkney Islands. There are 70 of them, most accessible only by boat (which may be a problem with my reverse seasickness, but I'm willing to overlook it). You've got your standing stones, PUFFINS (squee!), and lots of rocky coastlines and remoteness. Oh, and summer highs are in the low 60's.  Also a plus--the islands are fairly small and I am quite confident I could go an entire vacation without getting lost!

Of course, the granddaddy of fantasy vacations is Iceland. (Do you perhaps notice a theme?) I've wanted to visit Iceland since I was in college and read The Vinland Sagas in World Literature. In fact, for many years, I picked up medieval Icelandic sagas in translation any time I saw them in a Half Price Books. This was more often than you might think.

I still have my Nordic legends bookshelf. I expanded beyond Iceland into Welsh, Irish, and other vaguely Viking-ish legends. There are a few interlopers (The Odyssey, for example), but it all started with The Vinland Sagas. 

Someday, that trip will definitely happen. Iceland has volcanoes, hot springs, fjords, a matriarchal culture, and Bjork. I've read a few modern Icelandic novels as well (on Kindle)--The Hitman's Guide to Housecleaning, by Hallgrimur Helgason, which was darkly humorously awesome, and On the Cold Coasts, by Vilborg Davidsdottir (I know, I have in certain company drawn a line in the sand and said I will not read historical fiction, but historical Icelandic fiction is an entirely separate subgenre and definitely allowed), as well as the beautiful The Greenhouse, by Audur Ava Olafsdottir, which is lovely even though it mostly takes place in France.

So, while Shark Week is winding down, I'll be dreaming of cool, remote fjords, icy tundra, and walking freely without a cast, getting lost under the aurora borealis, and seeing all sorts of Arctic wildlife. And then--it's time to plan a party!