Iceland 2

You really should take the city tour of Reykjavik the next time you're in Iceland. The young guides are compensated by tips alone, so only the amusing survive. You'll learn that Iceland is a high-trust society where you can leave your baby in a stroller on the sidewalk while you shop. There's only one jail for the whole country; it holds 150. The streets are antiseptically clean. Health care is free. School is free, including grad school. The fishing is fantastic. The many rushing rivers and geothermal sites provide all the cheap, green power the country needs. And oh, yeah -- from a population the size of Hartford, Connecticut, Iceland has produced three Miss World winners. They're Vikings - tall, fit, blond and beautiful, with great chest protectors.

What's not to like? Well, the country sits right on the continuously spreading Atlantic Rift and is just a few degrees south of the Arctic Circle, so it varies from flaming to freezing. Only root vegetables grow there, and you can keep only as many sheep as you can stuff in your barn for the winter. There's a certain amount of cold, drinking, and darkness. But these difficulties just make the society seem even more remarkable. To an outsider, it's more like a club than a country.

Iceland is also very young geologically, which makes it visually spectacular. The huge waterfalls; the volcanoes, ash fields and glaciers; the cliffs, ragged coastline, black beaches, icebergs, sea stacks, and miles and miles of purple lupine make it one of the premier locations for sci-fi movies and landscape photography.

I went there, alone. That was okay with me; self-sufficiency has always been my thing. I'd rather not be burdened with other people's problems, so I don't involve them in mine. It's just a life choice. Fortunately, I enjoy my work, and there's plenty of it. At age thirty, though, I got concerned I might be overdoing it. Maybe that was because my last girlfriend, the one I kind of liked, told me so on her way out.

I decided to take up a hobby. On the positive side, having no dependents and plenty of time and resources meant I would be starting with a blank slate. All I needed was inspiration. Since I think visually, I settled on photography. At least the technology looked interesting. I signed up for a photo workshop in Iceland and then spent a month boning up on the internet, which I soon realized would raise me to the level of ridiculous newbie. But technology comes easily to me, and I hoped to catch on to the artistic side as we went. It would be a challenge.

****

Waiting for the workshop pick-up outside my typically nice, non-opulent Icelandic hotel, I suddenly realized I was freezing. It was already windy and my watch said it was 51 degrees F. even though it was late June. No wonder all the shops were selling parkas in summer.

Fortunately, the workshop leader, Daniel, arrived exactly on schedule. His jacked-up van had huge tires, a snorkel, and nine passenger seats, three being in an empty row across the back. There was one other unoccupied seat, but it was already covered with photo gear, including a $40,000 medium-format German camera left casually out on display, so I passed through a gauntlet of black parkas saying Hi, Hi, Hi, and sat in back. No one did more than nod. Nerds. We rolled on.

At our next stop a young woman boarded. She was wearing a Nordic-patterned sweater and had a fat, ash-blond braid down her back. She spoke to our guide in Icelandic before walking down the aisle, all eyes on her. She was clearly another Miss World contender -- tall, slender, fit, blond, beautiful, fantastic boobs. Her skin practically glowed. To my disappointment the photo gear had magically disappeared from the empty seat, so she glanced around and sat. She looked to be about 22, too young for me but incandescently attractive in an athletic, youthful way. Again, we rolled on.

Further from the city center we picked up our last participant, a woman in a white parka and grey tights. Of necessity, she joined me in back, dropping her backpack on the seat between us and sitting by the opposite window. She was a tall, attractive brunette with long hair and a wedding ring who might have been a couple of years younger than me. She seemed serious and professional, as though she knew exactly what to expect from a photo workshop. That made one of us. I introduced myself and she said her name was Elke.

We rolled on, north though a long tunnel and then out onto the coastal plain. The agenda was to circumnavigate the whole island. The first day would mostly be travel through flat, uninspiring terrain.

****

Elke, it turned out, was an advanced photo hobbyist. She had a home studio, a website, and a nice, older camera she said she was used to. She had held exhibitions and actually sold some photographs. I confessed my newbie status and rather than immediately offering help or advice, she just applauded my initiative, which I liked because it wasn't patronizing. Pretty good touch, I thought.

After a few miles of silence, Elke leaned over her backpack and asked how I had decided to take up photography.

"I needed a hobby and I've always liked good visuals. I don't think I'm really creative, but I know what I don't like. If I take a few thousand pictures, I usually get a couple of keepers."

"I think most photographers feel that way," she said with a smile, "especially at first. That happened to me, anyway. Thank god for digital, right? When I eventually got more selective about what to shoot, though, it felt creative. Why Iceland?"

I shrugged. "It seemed exotic. Dramatic."

"So you like landscapes, I guess."

"I'm better with things than with people," I admitted. Ouch, that got personal fast. She was easy to talk to, and I was out of practice. "What subjects do you like?"

"Besides landscapes? I like sidewalk photography and I do some portraits. Faces are interesting because people are so attuned to them."

"That's true, I guess. Most people seem to be."

She seemed to pick up on my lack of enthusiasm. "Landscapes are great, don't get me wrong. Sometimes they're striking. But people make good visuals too. Sometimes you think you understand what the subject is feeling, and there's a connection."

"Well, I guess that's true." I really wasn't too interested.

"Okay, okay . . ." she relented. "Seen any good scenery yet?"

Inadvertently, I glanced ahead at Miss World. She was chatting in German with the expensive camera guy. Her face in profile was can't-tear-your-eyes-away gorgeous -- perfectly straight nose; big, beautiful eyes; soft, youthful lips.

"There's a good visual right there," said Elke, following my gaze.

Guiltily, I snapped my attention back to her. She was smiling sympathetically. "Sorry. I guess I . . . " I stopped myself. Where could that possibly go?

"I get it. I agree," she said. She settled back with a nearly imperceptible sigh.

****

Chastened, I spent the next half hour looking out the window. It was a dark gray day, overcast and gusty. There's a lot of wind in Iceland. Dark days make it hard for noobs to take good pictures. Slanting sun and ragged clouds are our friends.

We stopped at a local farm for lunch. There was a brief show of tricks with Icelandic horses -- small, hairy beasts with long manes and a cute look. I lost track of Elke but got to know a few other group members at the lunch table. Most were Americans. Most were heavy, which distinguished them from the locals. Most seemed quiet. By comparison, Miss World was a hot shaft of sunlight, but she spent most of her time talking with the German.

Elke was the last one back on the bus, and leaning over the empty seat between us she showed me pictures of the Icelandic horses in their corral. They were standing in perfect parallel with their backs to the wind, staring forlornly into the camera with big brown eyes, manes whipping in the cold breeze. Photographically, I had a long way to go. To begin with, I should eat lunch faster and stop mooning over Miss World.

****

The scenery finally became hilly. The slopes were steep and bare. The whole country is above the tree line, so the views are long. The hilltops were white with snow.

Taking pictures out of a moving vehicle being considered idiocy by enthusiasts, I just talked with Elke. She was smart. We chatted away for a long, long time, and I thought that maybe I was connecting better already. She never mentioned her history or business or home life, though, and I respected her boundaries, not wanting to be trite or intrusive.

Eventually we descended through a low pass, drove through the modernized coastal town of Akureyri, and arrived at our hotel in time for our first group dinner. Again, the hotel had a nice but spare, unadorned Scandinavian vibe. The rooms were very plain. I obviously wasn't going to see a single piece of crown molding the whole trip.

****

We dined at one long table. Miss World was seated next to Daniel and they were talking in, I presumed, Icelandic. I sat across from Daniel, offset by one from Miss World and trying not to act spellbound. The German guy claimed the seat directly across from her. He was loud. Elke sat on Daniel's other side. With her parka off, I could tell that she was elegantly slender, but her bulky sweater didn't reveal much else. She spent some time going over the menu with Daniel. It was a short menu.

Daniel asked us to introduce ourselves and describe our photo chops, starting with Elke. She said only that she had been doing photography for the last three years and liked candids and landscapes. My own story took no time at all: Dave, newbie. The German guy, Klaus, went on forever. The rest of us started glancing around for rescuers as he described all his previous photo trips and his top-end equipment. He offered us help if we needed it. Daniel looked mildly amused.

Going last, Miss World introduced herself as Eva from Reykjavik, a biology grad student studying in Sweden. She spoke fairly idiomatic American with a very slight accent and was totally charming. During dinner she kept up lively conversations in three languages.

The German guy, Klaus, was dominating the discussion. When he started criticizing other people's equipment, though, Eva looked annoyed and eventually switched her attention to me. "Dave," she said, "I've heard a lot about Klaus and nothing from you. Would you tell me about yourself? How are you finding our little country? Did you bring enough warm clothing?"

And suddenly we were talking. As the entrées arrived we got into a lengthy cross-table conversation about growing up in Iceland and her plans for her career. She laughed at all my bad jokes. Then, without warning, she somehow effortlessly downloaded my entire life story and business particulars over the course of about twenty minutes. I must have been in some kind of trance, because when I regained consciousness I suddenly realized everyone was waiting for us to wrap up. Daniel was ready to give us the next day's schedule.

Despite her youth, Eva seemed impossibly poised, and, I don't know, just caring and wholesome. She rarely said anything negative. It would have been easy to resent her effortless, oppressive sexiness, but she didn't flaunt it. If anything, you had to admire her modesty. Still, as we were talking, I found myself wondering whether I would be able to stretch a hand all the way over one of the big bowl-shaped boobs that were straining against her sweater. Maybe, if I spread my fingers really wide. But probably not.

I'd been ignoring Elke. As we got up from the table I headed over to suggest a nightcap. Eva intercepted me first. "Dave," she said quietly, placing a hand lightly on my forearm, "I was so glad you were sitting with us. You were nice to spend so much time listening to me talk about my studies. You're great company. I hope this doesn't seem too forward, but are you free for the rest of the evening?" She rested her light blue eyes on mine.

Did she want to get a drink? There was a pause where I was meant to say something.

"I was hoping you would like to join Klaus and me tonight? In my room?" Somehow she still seemed innocent and wholesome.

It dawned on me that wholesomeness standards might vary. In a semi-panic, I shook my head and declined as soon as my voice kicked back in. "I think I'd better pass. Thanks, though. You're nice to think of me." That's what I say when I don't want to go to a cocktail party.

She gave me a lovely, warm smile. "Next time, perhaps, when we are both free." She squeezed my arm lightly and rose on her tiptoes to give me a nice peck on the cheek, which in her case required boob contact. Then she was off. Elke had already gone.

I had trouble getting to sleep.

****

In the morning, after an early breakfast buffet featuring fish, coffee and lots of stunned silence, everyone reclaimed their previous seats on the bus. Eva's braid was gone and she looked slightly disheveled, which bothered me. She and the German were not talking, though. Elke seemed quiet. Daniel said we'd be able to take photos of a good waterfall at lunch. It began to rain.

By the time we got to the waterfall, which was small for Iceland despite being about 200 yards wide, the rain was hard and cold. My glasses fogged up, my fingers got numb, and water ran down my neck when I bent over my tripod. I took a few shots and then just walked around hoping some slanting sun would show up.

Naturally Elke did better. She had fitted her camera with a dark filter that let her use a slow shutter speed, and her waterfall pictures showed gauzy curtains of water falling in intricate patterns. She had also taken pictures of other tourists in the rain. One couple, hatless and soaked, was kissing. They were obviously in love. One young woman inexplicably had her parka open. Her wet turtleneck was plastered to her braless chest. She looked miserable and hot all at once. I couldn't come up with a backstory for her.

"See any good visuals?" asked Elke, as my gaze rested on the girl. I looked away quickly but then was drawn back. "I see what you mean," I admitted, "about portraits. I could look at her all day."

Elke grinned and patted my arm. "Even though she's a real live human being? Well, it's a start."

****

Elke and I, now the "Back Seat Club," had late afternoon tea together at the hotel. I was getting to like her and her light-touch attempts to get me out of my shell, and for some reason she seemed to find me amusing. She still didn't offer any background information, and I didn't pry. I was beginning to think she radiated a subliminal air of regret or loss, and I didn't want to strike a wrong chord by asking too many questions. To encourage discussion I briefly described my work and my technology venture funds, but she didn't reciprocate.

For dinner I managed to score a choice seat next to Elke and far from Klaus. Eva picked a seat next to Klaus, but I eventually noticed that she was glancing at me from up the table, or at me and Elke, occasionally. I noticed because I was glancing at her or, more precisely, at the tops of the big breasts bulging out of her low-necked shirt, occasionally.

Next to me, the observant Elke said, "Going to get lucky?"

"Good grief, give me a break! I hardly know her! Besides, what would she want with me?" Elke had the good graces not to comment.

It was time to order dinner. Elke held up a menu and asked which of the three selections I was going to get, and then she pointed at another item and asked whether I thought it would be good. It was fish, so I said at least it should be fresh. She ended up ordering what I had ordered.

Even though I was starting to like Elke quite a lot, her privacy fence was limiting our conversation and making me think she might be hiding something dire. Of course, she was married, so it didn't matter much. I thought that next time I should sit with Miss Worldly and enjoy her conversational skills in a safely public venue. Just looking at her made me hot, and now it seemed possible she might be available for more than just window shopping, which was purely amazing to contemplate. I couldn't get the idea out of my head.

Daniel gave us a little preview of what we would see the next day -- a group of thousand-foot volcanic cinder cones -- and then we all packed it in. Elke gave me a surprise goodnight kiss on the cheek but left the room in deep discussion with Eva. Klaus was nowhere to be seen.

***

At breakfast Elke hung her parka on her chair and sat down across from me in only a very fetching, extremely tight white top. She was definitely packing heat. She wasn't Miss World, but she was so dramatically slender that parts of her looked outrageously curvaceous by comparison. I was surprised. The display was pretty graphic for someone so subtle and refined, I thought. Was she sending a strong message because someone needed it? I really didn't want to get started with a married woman anyway. I glanced again at her ring finger. The wedding band had turned into a gold signet ring, perhaps just by rotation. How long ago had that happened?

I planned to question her on the bus, but as the Back Seat Club settled into its clubhouse, Eva bounced down the aisle, bypassing her usual seat and plunking her sky blue tights-clad ass down right between us. She had her braid back. "Can I sit with you guys?" Reflexively, I said sure. Elke, responding more slowly, said good morning. Eva said "Great! How are you this morning? How's the new hobby coming, Dave?" and she started animatedly absorbing every bit of photo knowledge I had ever acquired. She questioned me thoughtfully about my equipment, my internet classes, my composition strategies. She was really listening. It was extraordinary, and exhausting, but by the time we arrived she knew me inside out, at least photographically. It was impossible not to be flattered. And aroused.

At the cinder cones I spent a lot of the time thinking about Eva and Elke. I couldn't get enough of Eva, of course. She already knew me better than most of my friends at home. But Elke struck a chord. Was I on her radar? There were no other likely contenders . . . except Eva. After all, they had left dinner together.

When it was time to leave for the next hotel, Eva again took her seat between us. Her parka was off in the midday warmth, and her tights clung to her sweaty, athletic thighs like plastic wrap. The three of us got into a long conversation about photo tours. I didn't have much to say, but the girls were still at it when the minibus pulled into the hotel parking lot. They really seemed into each other, and I was beginning to think that my guess about them was right.

But as we rolled to a stop, Eva put one hand on my thigh and the other on Elke's. She had my full attention. "Guys," she said, "I could talk with you forever. We get along so well, and you're both so attractive. Do you want to share tonight? I think we'd have a great time." She squeezed me and looked at me expectantly. She got my usual stunned silence. She turned to Elke. Elke looked puzzled. I took the opportunity to shake my head 'no', grimace and make the throat-slitting gesture all at once. Then it dawned on me that maybe I had reacted a little too fast.

Elke, though, took my cue, sort of, and said, "No thanks, but I think Dave might like to."

I said "I guess . . . this seems . . . uhhhh . . . ."

Eva didn't seem even slightly miffed. It was like she was putting a tennis game together, and she had already reserved a court. "Look, I don't have any other plans. Let's talk after dinner. May I sit with you?"

We couldn't say no to dinner.

****

Elke and I had been assigned neighboring rooms. As we walked down the hall side by side, pulling our bags, I said, "She's something, huh?" The idea of a night with two seriously hot women was a thrill, but I didn't think it would appeal to Elke, so even I could see this was a fork in the road. Beyond that, I was at a loss, out-subtled on one side and out-obvioused on the other. I hoped Elke would provide some guidance.