Continuing Journey Into BRCA2 Gene Diagnosis

Featured / authoramandafarmer / 2 Comments

In November of 2021, my first breast MRI on my new plan to monitor aggressively for any sign of breast cancer yields an all clear result. Yeah, I am free to enjoy life. Another six months goes by and my regular mammogram is scheduled for May of 2022. I have no more than gotten home for a few hours and I make the call back to see if more imaging is needed. “Yes,” says the voice, “you need to call to set up a time for more imaging.” You have got to be kidding me. I return the next day to the clinic for diagnostic imaging of my right breast where they can’t quite make out what they are seeing. Afterall, I have dense breasts which makes for challenging imaging anyway. I am not all in the mood for this. My breasts tend to be sore on a good day without someone putting them in a vise. Now for the diagnostic imaging, a 6×6” plate or even smaller is used to depress that area of breast tissue even further. I grit my teeth and make it through the first round the best that I can. Then I am asked to wait until someone checks the images in case they need some more. Pretty soon, the tech is back again for more. I grit my teeth again and sob my way through the next round of torture. I am about to totally lose any emotional control that I might have had. Whoever said that mammograms are only “pressure” and not pain do not know what they are talking about. All I want to do is get as far away from this place as possible. I mentally make the decision that if the tech comes back the third time, I am going to get up and walk out.

“You can go,” Finally is sent my way.

The images are read as normal, and I am able to push this trauma out of my mind for another six months. I diligently set up for the yearly breast MRI in December. I ask my primary doctor for the pre-medication orders of methylprednisolone and Zyrtec to try to prevent the allergic reaction I have previously experienced. She insists that the protocol is for methylprednisolone and Benadryl, the standard antihistamine. I try to explain to her that this is not what I used the prior time or what worked. Finally, I give in and agree to try the meds stipulated by the protocol.

The day of the MRI, I do my pre-meds as ordered and proceed through the procedure with no immediate reaction. Well that is done! I breathe a sigh of relief. I am done for another six months or so I think. But as I undress for bed a couple of hours later, I show my husband the red raised rash and hives developing on my arms and legs. They are just beginning to itch. This will go on for several days. So much for the pre-medication working to prevent this.

And then one day later, I read the MRI report. “Interval development of a curvilinear nodular non-mass enhancement in the subareolar right breast, slightly lateral, slightly inferior anterior depth. Differential considerations include an intraductal process such as papillomas or possibly inflamed periductal fibrosis; however, atypia or malignancy cannot be entirely excluded.” Why would I think that I would be home free? It has been nothing but agony since I agreed to this path of aggressive monitoring for cancer. And of course, the recommendation is for a right diagnostic mammogram and a second look ultrasound examination of the right breast finding. If there are no correlating mammographic or ultrasound findings, MRI guided biopsy is recommended. I am in a panic. I can’t tolerate another breast smashing mammogram. Is there no way to escape this lunacy? I ask, if it is going to end in another MRI anyway, if I can just do the MRI in spite of the allergy and get it over with in one fell swoop? “Oh no,” is the response, “we can’t do that without doing the other tests first.” Totally frustrated at the lack of flexibility of all involved, I finally give in to all the pressure to follow the protocol and schedule the diagnostic mammogram and ultrasound. The mammogram shows nothing, but the ultrasound is able to see the area identified by the MRI. “It looks like inflamed periductal fibrosis,” says the radiologist who checks the results. “I don’t think it is cancer. You can have a biopsy now or wait another six months and see if anything develops further. But I don’t think you need to worry too much.” I am relieved. But in the radiologist recommendations, he writes, “recommend an MRI guided biopsy.” Really? So we are right back to doing the test I am allergic to with no real reason to do so at this moment. Didn’t I offer to do this before we wasted money on the mammogram and the US? But no, that just was not possible.

And my breast clinic doctor, whom I have asked to see for her opinion, now gloms onto the recommendation and can’t let it go. If I have to do another reaction producing MRI, I wonder if I can wait the six months until June, have the MRI and do the biopsy at that time if necessary to limit my exposure to the dye. But again, the answer is “No, we can’t do that?” I feel unsupported, unheard, and am left swimming with no acceptable options. I remind her that our original plan was to move forward with the bilateral mastectomies if anything was ever found. “Can I see a surgeon?” I finally implore, “Mastectomies would solve the need for all these tests.”

With resolve that this is the right path, I show up at the surgeon’s office a few weeks later for a consultation. He sits down and addresses my hubby and I, “The statistics show that for a woman your age, intensive monitoring and other interventions we have these days will result in your life expectancy being just as great as if you have the mastectomies. Mastectomies will result in your being numb, can result in infections, and you might not like the cosmetic result. There is no statistical benefit to having mastectomies. If it is the MRI allergy that is your primary concern, there is molecular breast imaging and contrast enhanced mammograms for screening.” Nothing like dumping a bucket of cold water on one’s head. I just stare at him over the top of my suffocating mask.

“You look skeptical?” he questions. I don’t know what to say. I think there is something missing in this research, something this young surgeon is not acknowledging. What I am hearing is that the end point of the research was length of life. The studies have totally missed quality of life. When I get cancer, THEN I can have surgery, then chemo and radiation, and finally I can take the toxic verzenio and aromatase inhibitors for the rest of my life. That sucks! And why would I want a life like that? Is it because I am old? At 65, I am being written off?

But I cannot escape the bias being thrown at me and I begin to think that maybe these other tests (the MBI and Contrast enhanced Mammogram) might be acceptable options, allowing me to avoid surgery. By the time we leave, I have agreed to hold off on surgery and consult with my breast doctor again about these other options. Maybe there is an answer besides surgery that is tolerable. After leaving the surgeon’s office, I go home and do some research. Both of the recommended alternative tests involve mammograms with injectable substances. One involves IV contrast and the other involves radioactive dye. I suspect that I might also react to these substances as I have started to react with these types of rashes and intense itching to strange and unknown conditions over the last several years – too many mosquito bites in a short time span, sunshine alone, and who knows what. Sometimes, the insanity rousing itching will last for up to 6 to 8 weeks during which nothing provides relief. I am not sure I want to attempt any of these.

Back in the breast physician’s office a few weeks later, I am met with the same attitude as the prior visit. Behind the scenes, there has been much discussion about my situation between the surgeon, genetics, and her with little agreement between parties about the best approach. Dr. Breast is reluctant to allow me to try the MBI. She mostly is stuck on having me do an MRI guided breast biopsy.

“They didn’t find anything on the ultrasound,” she declares, “so an MRI breast biopsy is necessary.” I am totally frustrated. What part of ‘I am allergic to the dye’ do you not understand?”

“That is not true,” I repeat to her several times, “They did see the area on the ultrasound, and it was not thought to be cancer.” Certainly, I am not the only one with this issue. There must be other methods of doing a biopsy. But the doctor offers no other choices and I feel backed into a corner. I finally agree to schedule the MRI guided biopsy. But I feel like I have totally lost control of my life and am getting closer to refusing any interventions, of just going home and living my life until I die from whatever it is that is my fate. By the time I get home, I realize that I have just gone in a big circle. I am back where I started. I want relief from this craziness. I call to reschedule the mastectomies.

To top off the madness and add stress to the process, I discover that Medicare has denied payment for the visit to the surgeon because “the visit didn’t indicate why it was medically necessary.” I have only been on Medicare for six months and already this. I chose Original Medicare plus a top-of-the-line supplement because one supposedly doesn’t need pre-authorization to see a specialist, and everything was supposed to be covered except a $226 deductible. Now I find out that they can willy nilly deny coverage for just about anything if they can deem it “medically not necessary.” Where does it end? At the grave, I guess. I have begun to question all choices, but I am determined to follow the only path that seems to offer some freedom from constant contact with the medical system and their inflexible protocols. I think I am developing a panic disorder that is activated every time I see the inside of a clinic. I am hoping there is sunshine and happiness on the other side of this surgery.

Surgery is scheduled for Friday, March 31, 2023. My scheduled time to show up is 8:15 a.m. This tells me that I am not a first case, and it will be close to noon before surgery begins. Being a six-hour surgery, this concerns me that I have little time to recover afterward before the outpatient unit closes at 9 p.m. But there is not much I can do about it. I can only hope that everything will go smoothly.

My hubby and I arrive at the hospital around 7:30 a.m. The admission proceeds in an orderly and efficient manner. Then the wait begins. Around 9:45 a. m., I am wheeled to the pre-operative area. I send my hubby home to our daughter instead of sitting there anxiously waiting at the hospital. They will be sent texts periodically as the surgery progresses.

I am surprised when I am offered Celebrex, a nonsteroidal anti-inflammatory agent (NSAID) to be taken before surgery. I have been instructed not to take any NSAIDS for 48 hours after surgery because they can increase bleeding, so I find this perplexing. But I guess I am not to question such discrepancies. I do present my list of requests for the anesthesia side of things to the anesthesiologist. My one request is for Emend, a newer medication to prevent nausea.

“Sure,” he says as he walks out the door. “Can you take a verbal order for that?” He directs his comment over his shoulder to the nurse.

“Yes,” she responds but then discovers that she can’t give this particular drug without a written order due to cost. This necessitates a call to the anesthesiologist again to request that he put the order in the electronic medical record. An hour later when it is time for me to go to the operating room, he still has not entered the order. My assigned nurse anesthetist, in order to keep things moving, pulls the drug from PYXIS and comes to the pre-op area to administer it to me. I love nurse anesthetists. Afterall, this is what I have done for a living for 16 years now. They are that line of defense that is always at the bedside in the OR and providing for those small details that are so important to a great outcome for the patient. I drift off to sleep knowing that I am in good hands and will be well taken care of.

The first that I remember nine hours later is my daughter pushing Doane shortbread cookies towards my hand to eat. My brain is confused. I can’t find the words to finish a sentence, so I sound like a rambling idiot. I am told later that I had an adamant conversation with the surgeon about the pain medication I wanted but I remember none of it and his response was, “You are not competent to make this decision right now.” No kidding! Apparently, the nurses have also done all their required teaching on restrictions, drain care, and who to call if necessary but none of that is stored anywhere in my memory. I am thankful for my veterinarian daughter who has taken charge at this point. I have to ask her to repeat all of this information again at home. Within 15 minutes of finally recovering my faculties, I am walking around the unit and headed home. I think they are eager to send this patient home. I also later wonder what in the world I all said to those around me for those two hours that are totally blanked out even though, I am told, I was awake and conversing.

Recovery at home continues smoothly. I am relieved to know that no cancer was found by the pathologist in the surgical specimens. The only task is heal and get back to life. I take only two tramadol pain pills in the first two days. All I want to do is sleep after ingesting even a half of one, so I soon abandon that for alternating Tylenol and Duclofenac, another NSAID. This seems to control my pain well. By surgery day two, my daughter and I decide to take a peak at the result of the surgery. The Goldilocks reconstruction uses the skin of the breasts to make a small mound on each side. I am pleased with the outcome – not too big, not too small, but just right without any extraneous materials or needing to take from other areas of the body. That is why they call it a Goldilocks. Goldilocks tried the big bed, the small bed, and finally, the medium size bed which was just right. I think I made the right choice. Well, maybe the right choice would have been to never have joined the Tapestry Study. Maybe not knowing one’s genetic predisposition is the right choice for some. And for me, I think not knowing might have been the better choice from a mental health state, even if the intervention might potentially extend my life cancer free. I keep saying to others, “Think carefully about what you really want to know before joining a medical genetics study.”

Traveling to Upper Peninsula Michigan, Day 8

Featured / authoramandafarmer / 1 Comment

Saturday, our final day of exploring, we wake up before the alarm goes off and before the sky has completely brightened. We soon have our gear packed and loaded in the car. It is another chilly morning, but we have had no rain during the three days we have been here meaning we have been able to keep our car at the cabin without fear of getting stuck in mud. Otherwise, we would have had to walk the distance carrying heavy items twice a day.

We are soon on the way north on M31 and I75 towards Sault Ste. Marie just across from the Canadian border. Our goal this morning is to stop at Castle Rock, a rock outcropping high above the landscape just a short distance north of the Mackinaw Bridge. Like everything else it seems these days, it is commercialized, and the sign says $1 per person to climb. We are early as the entry doesn’t open until 9 a.m. so we have about forty minutes to wait. Finally, after collecting our two dollars, the proprietor directs us towards a set of concrete steps at the far end of the fenced in enclosure. We climb and stumble and climb the multitude of ill proportioned steps that we never count. I am guessing there are about 200 steps followed by a narrow ramp and concrete walkway that leads to the edge of the rock. We are 183 feet above I75. Visible in the distance is Lake Huron, downtown St. Ignace, and acres of trees. After a few pictures, Dave and I clomp our way carefully back down to the bottom.

Our next destination is to be the Soo Locks at Sault Ste Marie. We plug the address into the GPS and are able to locate the locks with no trouble. Our end goal is the observation deck that overlooks the locks. Amazingly, we are hardly situated along the observation deck rail before a huge Canadian freighter, the Captain Henry Jack, approaches the lock. She slowly inches into the lock until the gates can be closed and then the water, and the ship, rises slowly from the level of the St Mary’s River to meet the level of Lake Superior. Within an hour, she is slowly sliding out of the lock and is continuing on her way. We managed to hit it just right today.

We were told by the entry gate attendant that a mile down the road is the Tower of History. This structure is about 186 feet tall and provides a view of the city, the locks, and the Canadian shoreline. There does not seem to be massive crowds of people today and we find a parking spot there easily. This time, we take the elevator most of the way up. There are just a few steps to the top two tiers of the structure which sports an outdoor observation area. It does offer a spectacular view of the surrounding area and the trans-international bridge to Canada. We even spy a picnic table just a block away below us. We know exactly where we will have our picnic lunch on this warm sunny day.

All too soon, it is time to head for Escanaba, Michigan where we plan to spend our last night at a hotel. There we spend an enjoyable evening visiting the Sandy Point Lighthouse and splurging on Kentucky Fried Chicken in the park by Lake Michigan. All good things much come to an end and our Sunday is occupied with driving home to Minnesota.

My Journey Into Genetic Testing

Featured / authoramandafarmer / 1 Comment

“We invite you to participate in the Tapestry study, whose goal is to understand how patient care may be impacted when results from DNA sequencing are in the medical record,” states the message that appears with my downloading e-mail. “The Tapestry study is a screening test. It looks at 11 genes associated with BRCA-related hereditary breast and ovarian cancer, Lynch syndrome and familial hypercholesterolemia. It is not a diagnostic test, nor does it look at all of the genes associated with hereditary ovarian cancer,” continues the dialogue.

Hmmmm…. My attention has been captured. Should I consider a genetic study or is this a really bad idea? I did have ovarian cancer when I was 38 years old. But that was 25 years ago, and nothing has happened since. I am pretty sure I don’t have any genetic mutations for cancer. I have no family history of breast or ovarian cancer. But still . . . I do have a daughter who has become concerned here lately as to her risk of ovarian cancer. If all this testing were to come back negative, it would provide her with peace of mind.

Three days later on October 23, 2020, I respond to the e-mail and join Mayo Clinic’s Health Tapestry Genomic Sequencing in Clinical Practice study. I am sent a kit into which I am to collect a specific amount of sputum. I spit into the collection container and mail it off to the lab in the pre-addressed box. Then I wait. The information given me was that the test results would take up to twelve weeks to be reported. That was simple.

Several months go by and I do receive the fun results for the ancestry and genetic traits part of the study. I am 95% of European ancestry with 5% of Middle Eastern and African heritage. Mixed in there is a 0.8% Ashkenazi Jewish. I find out later this is important as 2% of those of Ashkenazi Jewish descent have a BRCA mutation. The results say I am not lactose intolerant (knew that). I have not adapted to be able to avoid malaria (Oh really!). I do not have the adaptation to be able to thrive in lower-oxygen environments at high altitudes (guess I’ll stay on the plains). I do have a genotype associated with the ability to adapt in cold climates (Brr… doesn’t seem like it some days in this cold MN climate). Along with lots of other useless tidbits, I learn I have brown eyes, tend towards curly hair, am taller, and tend to tan rather than sunburn; all things I have somehow managed to figure out after being on earth for 63 years. But what I really want to know, do I have a gene coding for cancer, is suspended in the health results that only say, “pending.” I think this very strange.

Towards the end of January 2021, my husband is also invited to join this same study. He signs up on February 2, 2021, and submits his saliva sample a few days later. Ten weeks later, on April 19, 2021, his results are flashed to us as “ready.” He is negative for all eleven of the genes they are testing for that code for cancer. Hurrah, at least our daughter has a fighting chance!

Puzzled as to why he has received his results and I have not, I send an e-mail to Helix, the company being used by Mayo for this study, “I signed up for the Helix genetic study back in October 2020. The information originally stated that we would receive results by twelve weeks. It has now been 5 months and there are still no medical results. I did get the basic genetic characteristics results, but I am just curious why I still haven’t gotten my medical results…?” Helix does promptly respond, “Our systems indicate that your sequencing has been sent out for interpretation. At this time, I cannot give you a time frame … Your Health results are taking longer to sequence than previously stated. We are unfortunately back logged due to Covid 19.” I find this all very confusing. Yes, maybe Covid is slowing down their results but that doesn’t explain how someone who signed up after me has already received their results and I haven’t. I am convinced that they have lost my sample and/or my results and are finding it convenient to blame it on Covid. It doesn’t occur to me until later that they are simply not telling me the truth; that they do know the results and because they are positive, they are not ready to tell me. If I could read between the lines, it would say, “Your results were positive. Therefore, we sent them to be confirmed by a second company.”

Three more months go by. I send several more e-mails to this company and each time I am told that my results, “are delayed due to supply chain issues” or “covid testing taking priority.” Finally, on July 26, they report that “it looks like your results are in a recent batch that should be released by Helix any day now.” Coincidently, Mayo sends an email three days later that says “you will receive an email from Helix very soon, with instructions on how to access your results on the Helix website. As a participant in this study, a Mayo Clinic genetic counselor would like to review your results with you over the phone.” This should have been my clue that Mayo has already known the results for some time, and they are not good. Afterall, they never requested to talk to my hubby by phone to discuss his results.

It isn’t until July 31, 2021, 9 months after signing up for this study that I get the results. “You were found to have an actionable* variant in the BRCA2 gene that is associated with a genetic condition called Hereditary Breast and Ovarian Cancer (HBOC). Individuals with HBOC have an increased risk for certain types of cancer, including breast, ovarian, prostate, and others.”

A numbness spreads over me. Why did I think joining this study was a good idea? I would have been better off never knowing. What I had hoped would provide peace of mind to my daughter has opened a yawning pit of anguish and anxiety. I am now 63 years old and have lived 25 years without any cancer reoccurrence. I have no desire to make any “might be possible cancer” a focus of my life. I can’t live that way. But the question remains, should I ignore what was better unknown or try to pursue some interventions, some of which are of a huge magnitude in order attempt to prevent what might happen? The medical community seems to be in a huge rush now to push me down this path towards interventions. No one seemed to care much before, and my cancer diagnosis 25 years ago has pretty much been forgotten. When I think about it later, the whole process of the genetic testing makes me angry. Helix and Mayo have known for at least 6 months but kept trying to pretend they didn’t by blaming other issues and now, it is all a big rush for me to respond.

I take a breath and step back. There is no emergency here. I don’t have cancer. The first intervention I request is to be retested by another reputable company to make sure this is an accurate result and can be used to drive any decisions made going forward and will be accepted by health insurance companies. After being led along for 9 months, I do not trust the results I am being given. And it is not the first time such a test result has been wrong. I decide to give a blood sample this time as it has a higher rate of reliability than saliva and proceed to do so in early August. But if I was hoping for a different result, I will be disappointed. This test confirms the original finding of a “pathogenic variant (mutation) in the BRCA2 gene associated with Hereditary Breast and Ovarian Cancer syndrome.”

So what is the big deal with this genetic mutation and what are it’s implications? BRCA1 and BRCA2 genes code for proteins that work to suppress cancer cells, mostly in breast tissue, and help to repair any DNA damage that occurs in the course of normal life. If they are missing or damaged, the cells cannot repair themselves and they go on to grow unchecked and become cancerous. BRCA2 is found on chromosome 13 while BRCA1 is found on chromosome 17 so they have slightly different cancer type expressions when missing. BRCA2 is associated with a 45 -83% lifetime risk, according to Mayo genetics, of developing breast cancer by age 70 (the average risk for the general population is 12%), a 27% risk of developing ovarian cancer by age 80 (the general population has a 1-2% risk). I think I have that one covered already. BRCA2 mutations also are associated with a higher risk of pancreatic cancers and melanoma than the general population.

Well, if that isn’t all depressing. And how is one even supposed to begin to deal with statistics like that? My first reaction is to have a double mastectomy without reconstruction and get it over with. I don’t want to be thinking about breast cancer every moment for the rest of my life. But after doing significant research on double mastectomies, I realize that they are not benign surgeries either. Many women have chronic pain afterward. Others have numbness and upper body muscle weakness. I am a fairly healthy 64-year-old by now. I run a chainsaw. I lift weights. I’m active. I do not want a life where I am cancer free but simply existing because I am debilitated and in pain constantly. And finally, having my breasts removed will remove any chance of having a meaningful intimate relationship with my husband. I am distressed to say the least about the dismal statistics but can’t decide what I want to do.

In October, I meet with a doctor from the breast clinic at Mayo. We go through my options: 1. Do nothing (that is not encouraged at all) 2. Have a double mastectomy (see reservations above) 3. Start taking aromatase inhibitors to help prevent cancer and/or 4. Monitor with alternating mammograms and breast MRIs every 6 months. I groan at each of them. I hate visiting medical facilities and doctors and have no desire to visit there constantly. Taking aromatase inhibitors sounds interesting but it is mostly a “hit and miss, maybe” approach. No one knows if I will actually get the kind of cancer that is prevented by drugs that block estrogen production and uptake. So there is a chance that I’m taking a toxic drug that is providing no benefit to me personally. I lean heavily away from their use after I read the side effects: hot flashes, night sweats, join pain by 50% of those taking it, muscle pain, and bone loss. I am back to the same issues of decreased quality of life to treat what currently doesn’t exist. I don’t know what to do.

Before I leave my breast appointment, I am offered the opportunity to join another study, “GENetic Risk Estimation of Breast Cancer Prior to decisions on preventative therapy uptake, risk reduction surgery, or intensive imaging surveillance: A study to determine if a polygenic risk score influences the decision-making options among high-risk women.” The polygenic risk score will take into account genetic risk factors, known as single nucleotide polymorphisms (SNPs) for breast cancer. While individually, these SNP risk factors are of little clinical value, when combined as a polygenic risk score (PRS), they yield a strong risk factor for breast cancer and can be used to personalize breast cancer risk. In other words, the polygenic risk score is an analyzing of 30 or more genes that influence whether a person develops cancer and coming up with a projection for any one particular person as to what their personal chances are of developing breast cancer. At first, I reject the idea of joining another study. I am already overwhelmed by all the information and decisions being thrown at me but the more I think about it, I wonder if it could provide me with the information to make a definitive choice as to the direction I should go. And so I sign up for one more genetic study. While I wait for the results, I try to go about life as normally as possible.

This time, I do not have as long to wait. Within 8 weeks, the results are back. “I have good news,” are the first words from the doctor’s mouth when I sit down with her. “You are in the lowest 7^th percentile on the polygenic risk scoring. Because you had a hysterectomy at age 38,” she says, “I assess that you have a 9% risk of developing breast cancer in 5 years, an 18% risk in 10 years, and a lifetime risk of 27%.” That figure is still high compared to the general population, but I now know which direction I am going. At least for the present time, I will alternate the mammogram and breast MRI every six months. If any abnormality ever shows up, I will opt immediately for a double mastectomy without reconstruction. Now that I have made this decision, we have to come up with a plan for safely performing the MRI as I am allergic to the gadolinium dye that they use. This will be my biggest roadblock to following through on this decision.

In November of 2021, after loading up on methylprednisolone and Zyrtec, an anti-histamine, I successfully traverse the breast MRI. All findings are negative. I can breathe a sigh of relief, at least for six months. I begin to move on with life and focus on the future. And then, “your Cologuard test is positive.” Is there no end to this craziness? Is this what old age is all about? Waiting for the cancer shoe to drop? I reject that premise. I choose to live my life in freedom from such fear, God willing – to treasure each day for what it is.

The Great American 2024 Solar Eclipse Adventure

April 14, 2024 / authoramandafarmer / Leave a comment

“What do you think of traveling to see the solar eclipse in April?” questions my husband one evening early in 2024. I have not given the eclipse any thought, so I pause for just a moment.

“That might be kind of fun,” I conclude. And so begins my search on the internet for a place to stay. It seems that Indiana is the closest point for us to see the totality. I think I can just pull up a motel online and book a room but every hotel, motel, or place that normally takes guests seems to be booked for the nights from April 7 though the 8^th. That’s weird. Later, we learn that many of these rooms have been booked for over a year already. We did not realize that this was such a big deal. My next step is to check out all the DNR state campgrounds within the area marked as the path of totality. Early April is a little cool for camping but if we make the back of the car into a bed, it should be workable. My search of campgrounds is just as fruitless as my search for motels. I finally find one at the very edge of the totality path in Marshall, Indiana – Turkey Run State Park.

Weeks of planning are finally followed by our day of departure. The cat scratches on the bedroom door at 3 a.m. I groan. I was so hoping for a good night’s sleep before our travels began. I can only snatch a few more snoozes before the alarm goes off at 5 a.m. By 6 a.m., we are on the road. It is cloudy, cool in the forties but dry. By the time we pass through Eyota and head down the entrance ramp to I90, rain drops begin to splat on the windshield. But the sky to the east displays a beautiful layered rose color as the sun sheds some rays under the clouds.

“There should be a rainbow somewhere behind us,” I comment to Dave. Sure enough, as we angle more towards the southeast by LaCrescent, Minnesota, Dave motions towards the right. The western sky is adorned with a bright beautiful double rainbow against the dark clouds.

Many miles are rain free as we traverse through Wisconsin but once we enter Illinois, the clouds dump torrents of rain in cycles. The Subaru Outback loses its “eyesight” vision for the adaptive cruise control system. It is back to old fashioned driving – squinting through the rain, slamming on the brakes, and praying that no one is stopped in front of me.

Even so, we make good time and arrive at Turkey Run Campground in Marshall, Indiana around 16:40. The sky has stopped crying by the time we back up to our site, but the weather radar shows more showers headed our way. I think if we hurry, we can get the tent set up before the next deluge. I have bought a tent that is designed to come off the back of an SUV and will allow us to have more space for dressing and eating if necessary. We have only set it up one time as a test run so do not really know what we are doing.

“This is a really bad idea,” emphasizes Dave, “If it is windy, everything is going to blow away.”

A loud crash and boom sounds over our heads. Drops of rain start to plunk on us. I frantically fish for the raincoats buried in the car and only come up with one. Dave puts on his new winter coat instead. We hurriedly spread out the tent and flip the car end over the extended tailgate and tie it to the car. Before diving inside we stake a couple of corners. This tent has no bottom, and the ground is saturated with water, so the tent floor becomes a squishy mud bog. Lovely. . . ! But we do have a dry place to sit out of the rain. The rain stops every so often for a brief respite. During one of these times, I throw together a supper of hard-boiled eggs, applesauce, and Kind bars. Soon the sky is grumbling again, and we head back into the tent.

The landscape here in Indiana is bright with budding trees covered with purple and white flowers. The temperature is in the sixties. The campground smells of wood smoke as families who have come to see the great eclipse tomorrow settle in around the campfire – even in the rain. A “full” sign is posted at the entrance.

Coming up with a plan to make our bed in the car and stow all of our other possessions considering the mud and the rain is an interesting proposition. This will be a challenging experiment. I blow up the air mattress and cover it with the sleeping bag and pillows. Even though we have an electric site, to avoid having an open car window for the cord, we have decided to run Dave’s CPAP machine with batteries. I place the CPAP between the two front seats. Sliding both front seats as far ahead as possible allows seven feet of room for our bed length. I survey my finished arrangement and realize this could be tricky to get in and out of for these late sixties people.

Looking around at the sloppy mud at our feet, I brainstorm as to what we can put down on the ground to stand on while dressing and undressing. We do not have a canvas or any such thing. I have visions of mud-covered pants and socks with that mud being dragged into the sleeping bag. How distressing! Balancing on one foot is also something neither one of us is adept at anymore. A plastic garbage bag is finally deployed by our little toilet as a spot to stand on to keep the feet dry. Now to try to balance on that three-foot square. Forget about bedclothes is the conclusion. If we can just get our outer clothes and shoes off without falling in the mud, we will have been successful.

Then comes the process of getting into bed. One soon discovers that there is nothing to grab a hold of in the back of the car. There is only about two feet left between the sleeping bag and the car ceiling – an easy entrance task for the twenty-year-old – not so much for us. I fold back the sleeping bag so that once we crawl into our hole, one doesn’t have to turn around and then try to get the feet down into the bag. The mind says this feat is doable but the body struggles. For someone who is somewhat claustrophobic, this two-foot space almost sets off a panic attack. I think for Dave this must be like squirming under a house trailer or through an attic in the course of his job. Eventually, we are settled and attempt to sleep. I don’t think Dave and I have slept in this close of proximity for a very long time and it forces a little more space invasion than we are accustomed to. I remember dreaming so I must have dosed through the night, which seemed endless. Dave slides out several times into the mud to visit our potty. The temperature also drops into the forties during the night leaving us cold and shivering in spite of being on top of each other. Rain spatters on the side windows a couple of times as the thunderstorms continue.

“Can we move our tent ahead ten feet onto the blacktop?” I petition Dave at the first light of morning. I dread trying to deal with the mud floor one more day. This he agrees to. Pulling up the few stakes we have in and untying the tent from the wheels is all we need to do. Then I drive slowly ahead, dragging the tent with me. A piece of cake! And such an improvement in our situation. How can one simple thing make one so happy? We have a solid footing and no mud upon which to stand and to store our stuff.

The morning is chilly, and the sky looks somewhat cloudy, but the sun is peaking through. The weather forecast calls for “partly cloudy” all day with the temperature climbing into the seventies. We can only hope and pray that the afternoon will be ideal for seeing what we came to see. We eat our breakfast which consists of yogurt for me and a banana and Kind bars for Dave. It is turning into a perfect day for camping with “mostly sunny” defying the official forecast. A scouting trip is in order to look for the best place to watch and photo shoot the eclipse this afternoon. This includes an investigation of a trail that leads to the main camp. It is listed as “rugged”, so we turn back after a short jaunt into the forest. We finally settle on the main parking area at the camp store as our choice for prime viewing before returning to our camp site to relax the morning away by reading.

Lunch is turkey salad and cashews around noon and then we gather our cameras, our chairs, and our books and amble to our chosen spot. Our goal is to claim prime real estate for our viewing experience. We plunk our chairs down in a parking space facing southwest around 12:35 and Dave sets up his camera. A few wispy clouds float across the sky but today is a perfect day to view the solar system’s maneuvers. The eclipse is predicted to start at 13:59. Right on schedule, the moon begins to slide across the sun’s face pushing up from the lower right. We view its progress through our special glasses while Dave snaps a series of photos periodically with his special lens. People begin to gather in the parking lot but there is no major influx or congestion as has been predicted by the news, maybe because we are on the outer most edge of the path of totality.

Finally, close to 3 p.m., the sky darkens as if approaching night. The birds grow silent, and a hush falls over the land. A ring of light spreads in a halo around the sun as the moon completely covers it. Ohs and Ahs go up from the crowd. Then just like that, it is over – hardly thirty seconds. The landscape brightens again, and the birds sing loudly. Dave and I are somewhat disappointed. We knew totality would be shorter here on the fringe of the path but did not realize exactly how short it would be. He thinks that he did not get any pictures of the totality. I know I didn’t. But as we look at the pictures later at home, his pictures are outstanding. Maybe, he missed a couple of seconds but not much. While the others around us leave, we sit and record the phase of the moon pulling away from the sun. Hot sunny skies return.

The evening is spent dining on a home-made salad for supper. Then we build a fire and relax while we watch its flickering light and listen to the crackle with contentment. Tonight, we can freshen up and change clothes in relative comfort.

Our last night goes much better than the previous one. We have a dry surface to land upon when literally sliding out of our tunnel bed. And the temperature is warmer. In fact, it is hot when we wiggle in but it soon cools off. Sleep comes easier. The sun breaks over the horizon around 7 a.m. and we prepare for the day which includes our journey home. We have this camping thing down to a routine now. I have discovered that my car mirror pops out away from the car allowing me to see myself while combing my hair if I kneel on the ground. These are the little things that make us happy.

We want to stop over at the main gate area of the campground before leaving and follow a trail to their suspended bridge. There are “only” seventy steps down to the river over which the bridge is suspended. It is a crisp sunny morning, a perfect day for a hike. The trails are listed as “rugged” and “moderately rugged”, so I don’t see us hiking very far. But I insist that we follow trail number three for a while. We amble back through a narrow canyon with overhanging rocks and formations. Alongside the trail, gurgles a small stream. This isn’t so bad of a walk. We meander along and Dave takes pictures for about ½ hour until we arrive where the trail converges with a trickling waterfall. We watch a lady make her way slowly down through the falls over the rocks to our location. That is definitely not for us. It sounds like quite a few of these trails lead through streams and up canyons. We turn back and make our way to the car. It is time to start our journey home. Our weekend has turned out to be a refreshing and spectacular viewing experience of one of God’s phenomenal shows.

Travel homeward goes along quite well except for a few miles of dead-stop for construction. There is no sign of the warned about traffic jams from the eclipse viewers trying to get home. We have no problem buying gas either. Maybe our little corner at the campground was isolated from the main crowds but the crowds we feared did not invade our space. By Tuesday evening, we are home safely. Our fears about driving ten hours only to have cloudy skies did not materialize either. Here at home in Minnesota, it unfortunately was totally cloudy.

Iceland – Headed Home, Day 6

November 7, 2023 / authoramandafarmer / 1 Comment

The alarm goes off at 7 a.m. and we look out on rain splashing in puddles. Ugh, not again. We were hoping to walk around this morning and explore while we wait for our departure time. We make our way down to breakfast and then pull up the weather radar for Reykjavik. It looks like the rain should pass off to the east by 9:15 with maybe a short downpour around 10:40. We rest until 9:15 then gather ourselves up to brave the weather. It is still misting with a light rain, but we walk up to a cemetery that we wanted to check out. We have been told that they grow trees over the gravesites in their cemeteries. It is a fascinating place for the dead. We also find that each grave site has some kind of fence (whether chain link or concrete) built around it for an extended family or single grave. For a land with few trees, the cemetery is a tree covered sanctuary. As is true in other cemeteries, flowers adorn most of the graves as well. To add to the sentiment of the dead, the sky cries on us during our visit.

We finally turn back the way we came and proceed to the harbor with its various marine vessels. The rain has slowed down. The temperature is moderate – around 40 degrees F- and there is very little wind. We continue our walk along the dock to the opera house which is made of numerous glass panels. These panels cover some seven to eight stories. We are not able to go beyond the second floor as it is Sunday and roped off. Therefore, we can’t see the magnificent views we were told are available from higher up.

In the egg for virtual reality show of Iceland

It has started its 10:15 downpour while we are in this building, so I suggest waiting for it to stop before moving on. In the meantime, I spy some egg-shaped chairs and investigate. It is a mini-omnitheater where one sits in their own chair and watches four virtual reality clips about Iceland. I find this fascinating and pay to do this while Dave goes outside to do some photography. By the time my fifteen minutes are up, the rain has lessened, and we begin our walk back to the hotel. Visiting a small grocery store next to the hotel is next on our agenda where we buy a few items for our lunch. We eat them outside before reclaiming our carry-on items from the hotel storage area. By 12:15, we begin our walk to city hall to board the bus for the airport. There are nine of us leaving on this later flight. All the rest left at 6:30 a.m. this morning.

Reykjavik airport is just as frustrating and maybe more so as any airport with people everywhere. We are told that it is just in the last couple of years that tourism has become a major industry in Iceland and that the airport has not been set up to handle this many travelers.

First, I have a receipt to submit at the duty-free desk for the sweater and socks I bought but do you think I can find it to give to the man. In frustration, I finally pull out of the line and find my way back to Dave to search for it. Of course, it is just where I put it so I could find it.

We do make fairly good progress dropping off our bags and getting boarding tickets as we have those expensive business-class tickets. Then it is upstairs to go through security. We do again get to zip to the head of the line but both of us set off the metal detector on our way through. Back we go to take off our shoes and other small things. In the process, our possessions end up scattered and separated. Passport control is next. I am hot and sweating profusely. This convoluted snaking line must be a few miles long and takes a good thirty minutes to get through. There is still no gate listed for our flight, so we find a small spot to sit amongst the crush of people at the intersection of all the D gates. I go downstairs to the bathroom while waiting and am met with a long line. Oh no. Not a line to the bathroom is my reaction. But it is not a bathroom line but a line with people waiting to fill their water bottles. I have never seen that before. We have not been there more than about 15 minutes and I receive a text, “Your gate has been changed to D22.” That’s interesting… We never had a gate number to change from. But gate D22 is just a short distance down this crowded hallway. There is barely anywhere to stand at the gate let alone sit. We soon begin what I think is boarding. But instead, we proceed like cattle up a staircase to another floor and wait some more in line. Due to the business class rating, we are soon called to the head of the line here too. I keep asking myself, was the extra $3500 per person worth these minor perks? They are nice but not really a $7000 value.

We are off the ground on time and have a wonderful “free” meal soon after leveling out in flight. The flight is eventless and six hours later, we are back in good old Minnesota.

Trip to Iceland, Day 5

November 6, 2023 / authoramandafarmer / 1 Comment

Today, October 14, is my 66^th birthday. We pack our suitcases and have them outside the hotel room door by 7 a.m., the first that we have had suitcases to even put out. I think we are a little early for breakfast as there is a long line stretching back the hallway from the dining room door. After breakfast, we gather the rest of our possessions and are waiting to board the bus at 8:30. It is cloudy again and lightly snowing but at least, not windy. The seat assignment has moved again as it does every day and we are just where I thought we would be, in the very front seat of the bus. It does provide an excellent view of the countryside. We even get full shoulder straps with our seat belts. Here in Iceland, wearing seatbelts on the bus is mandatory. I learn today, too, that one can slide a section of the aisle seat out to make more room. I wish someone had told us that sooner as Dave and I have been squished together the whole time.

Today, is a travel day, heading back to Reykjavik. We are on the road for a couple of hours before stopping at a mall where we can buy sandwiches and baked goods. Dave ate only fruit for breakfast and was hoping to buy something here to eat. I only want a donut and chocolate milk. Dave finally does buy two chocolate bars. I savor my donut and then, we visit a grocery store for some beef jerky and a Coke for Dave. There is no Dr. Pepper here it seems. I think I would have bought more if I had known that this was to be the only lunch we would have access to.

We drive another forty-five minutes and arrive at the Blue Lagoon. Dave and I have no intention of showering, putting on swimsuits, and getting into the water. We are told the warm mineral waters will tarnish any jewelry and make one’s hair totally unmanageable. I know I cannot get my rings off and I certainly am not interested in trying to keep my hair from getting out of control. For the two hours that the others are doing this activity, we walk the paths outdoors through the lava field and the blue mineral water of the lagoon. The water is discharged from the power plant nearby where they use the natural hot water in Iceland to generate their electricity. The sky alternates between showing us the sun peeking out and it raining on us. We take shelter in a bus depot station when it starts to pour more aggressively. After a few minutes, it stops enough to allow us to return to the Blue Lagoon building to wait. We are back on the bus by 2:30 p.m. and headed to our hotel in Reykjavik. During the ride, instructions are given for tomorrow. Dave and I decide we need to start paying attention to where we are walking instead of just following the others so we can find our way back to where the bus will pick us up tomorrow at one. We will be in the second and smaller group to be taken to the airport.

Our room, this time, is on the seventh floor in the newer part of the Center Hotel. We settle in, then take a walk around the city with a map trying to make sense of the streets. We find our way to the harbor and back. Supper is at 7 p.m. at the Harbor Rost. It is our farewell meal. I have crab soup, lamb, and chocolate cake with ice cream. My cake and ice cream is brought out by Greg, our tour host, with a flaming sparkler on top. To the refrain of Happy Birthday, I try to figure out what I am to do with this candle. Can I blow it out? A strong puff of my breath puts it out, but it lights right up again. Finally, someone takes it away.

Dave and I end the day by hiking up the street to the famous church at the top of the hill so that he might photograph it in the dark all lit up. It is about a twelve block walk in a light drizzle. The church is decorated with maroon/pink lighting and attracts a multitude of visitors for the same purpose as we have come. We spend about an hour before strolling back down the incline to the hotel by 10:30p.m. The streets are teeming with cars, youth laughing, smoking, and being noisy. Saturday nights, apparently, people stay up until the early morning carousing. Police are few and far between in Iceland. They say there is little crime here.

Trip to Iceland, Day 4

November 3, 2023November 5, 2023 / authoramandafarmer / Leave a comment

This morning, the sun shines brightly but the grass behind our hotel room window bends to the ground in the wind. We can hear its howl outside our room. Breakfast is at 7 a.m. but there is no sign of our group host. We meet in the lobby at 8:30 in preparation to leave but we are soon informed that we will not be going anywhere due to high winds and a high-profile vehicle warning. Collette, the travel agency, will supply a lunch of soup for us at 12:30. Otherwise, we are free to explore on our own or rest. Dave and I spend a couple of hours downloading and viewing all 1250 pictures he has taken so far. Then he takes his camera and heads outdoors. Those who have ventured into the wind find themselves almost wiped off their feet by the powerful gusts. Alternatively, I settle in for a nap but am soon aroused by the ding of a phone text, ‘your luggage has been delivered,” It says. Hurrah! Clothes to wear!! I start down the hall to collect the treasure and am met by the tour host pulling two beautiful blue suitcases.

At 2 p.m., we gather in the lunchroom for a presentation on the Northern Lights. The only day that it is sunny and clear, we have not been able to do any touring, but the hope is for a clear night to go searching for the Auora Borealis tonight, something we have not been able to do on this trip up to this point. After the presentation, we all board the bus for Cape Dyrhdaey as the winds have diminished enough to allow safe traveling. At one time Cape Dyrhdaey was being developed into a seaport and has a lighthouse on top. We are informed that we are not going to visit the lighthouse, which is very disappointing to my lighthouse-loving husband. We do have a fabulous view of the glacier to the north and the Atlantic Ocean to the south from the top of the 200 foot cliffs.

From there, we make the drive again to the Black Sand Beach that we visited yesterday. It is a totally different place in the sunshine. Though the wind is still strong, the waves are considerably calmer. After a short time at the beach, we return to the hotel for supper.

Just shortly before 9 p.m., we board the bus for our Northern Lights adventure. There is already a glow to the north that shows some green on a camera photo. Our tour host hurries us along, so we don’t miss what is occurring. The bus takes us back to Cape Dyrholaey where we visited earlier today. There are several issues with this site. There are very bright lights from the bathroom behind us and several busloads of humans and numerous cars keep coming in and out making for frustrating photographing. Dave is able to focus his camera toward the white haze in the northern sky. Using a tripod and shooting 28 second exposures, he is able to capture an array of colors in his pictures. I think that we have until 11 p.m. but at 10:30 sharp, all the bus engines roar to life. We don’t understand but apparently, it is time to go. We gather up the camera equipment and lug it onto our ride.

“Why?” I ask.

“There is a bus driver rule in Iceland,” our host declares, “They need to be parked and the engine off by 11 p.m.” Now you tell us, is my thought. Would have been nice to know that.

I am a little disappointed with the experience as we had high expectations that the Northern Lights would be better in Iceland. We actually saw some in Minnesota in the previous year that were more spectacular than this. I guess my expectations of the Northern Lights have always been higher than what is realistic. The camera along with long exposures captures the colors when the naked eye does not see.

Enhanced Northern Lights through the camera

Trip to Iceland, Day 3

November 2, 2023November 5, 2023 / authoramandafarmer / 1 Comment

On this third day of our trip, Dave and I show up early for breakfast as apparently, we have forgotten the correct time communicated. The weather turns out looking much better than had been predicted yesterday. It is chilly and sleet/raining lightly but the wind is tamer than expected though still a hair blower. We board the bus at 9 a.m. One single lady oversleeps and needs to be awakened, delaying our departure by twenty minutes. Our driver takes us over the mountain pass to the IceWear Factory outlet at Vik for shopping. This is something we can do in the rain. Some of the group walks to the black sand beach located across the road but Dave and I choose to browse the store as getting our one set of clothes wet seems like a risky proposition. I finally buy a wool sweater and wool socks as our suitcases still have not caught up with us. Dave is longing for a bar of chocolate.

We are back on the bus and ready to depart for the Skogan Folk Museum by 10:30. It has stopped raining and some blue sky is peaking out. Our guide has the bus driver swing into the Skogafoss Waterfall again as the weather has improved tremendously. The 200-foot falls, one of Iceland’s tallest, thunders over the lava cliff to the small shallow river below. The mist sprays high into the air. Sheep graze on the steep hillside beside the falls. There are numerous waterfalls that tumble down the lava cliffs from the melting glacier above.

By 11:30, we are moving just down the road to the Skogar Folk Museum. Here we listen to a little talk about the history of Iceland and then we proceed to the dining room for lunch. I have lamb stew and Dave sticks with the tried-and-true chips & fish. Somewhere in this time frame, I receive a text stating that our luggage is “scheduled for delivery”. This is followed by an email stating that it will arrive between 10 a.m. and noon tomorrow. By that time, we will have left for the day so I guess it will arrive only in time for use on the last day of our tour.

After lunch, Dave and I explore the turf-built houses of the village built to show how the early settlers lived in this barren land. Their houses were one room stone structures with mud and grass roofs. There was no heat in them as there was no wood to burn. They cooked in a separate one room building using cow/sheep dung for energy. A church and a school house were also important buildings in the community. After an hour or so, our group leader thinks that the weather has improved enough to visit the Solheimajokull glacier.

Cape Dyrholaey with black beach in background

The sun briefly peaks out but by the time we arrive at the glacier, clouds and stinging rain driven by the wind has returned. It is about a ½ mile climb into the wind to the start of the glacier. The wind takes our breath away causing Dave and I to take in the view and some photographs from the viewing area by the parking lot. We are ready to roll again by 2:15 p.m. Even though it is now raining again, the decision is made to stop at the black sand beach of volcanic rock at Reynisfjaia. It is miserable in the wind and rain and Dave and I have no extra clothes to change into if we get soaked. We decide to only use the bathrooms here and let the others visit the beach. But by the time we get through the bathroom line, the rain has diminished to a drizzle. We wander to the beach where the angry waves crash against the shore. We are told this is a dangerous beach as the waves (sneaker waves they are called) can unexpectedly rush up and engulf you. If they carry you out to sea, there is no way to retrieve you. There are warning lights today blinking yellow and warning how many feet to stay away from the water line.

Soon it is time to go and we head back to the hotel to rest before an educational session before supper tasting cured shark and schnapps. Apparently eating shark right after killing it ends up with the human party poisoned. It needs to be handled in a specific way before being safe to eat. After supper, it is time to shower and rest as there will be no Northern Lights hunting tonight either with the clouds.

Trip to Iceland, Day 2

October 30, 2023November 5, 2023 / authoramandafarmer / 1 Comment

We arise at 6:45 a.m., throw our small amount of earthly possessions into our bags and head off to breakfast. We are on the coach bus and headed for the Hotel Dyrholaney in Vik, Iceland by 8:30 a.m. We drive for about an hour before we arrive at Thingellir National Park. The park sits in a rift valley caused by the separation of the two tectonic plates of two continents, with rocky cliffs and fissures. We will walk down a lava covered trail in the rift between the cliffs.

It is cold, partially sunny, and not quite as windy as yesterday. The upper boardwalk platform that begins our walk provides a panoramic view of the valley below. The descending steps are ice covered in spots making them somewhat treacherous. The handrail along the side provides a grip to prevent those feet from flying out from under the body. Soon, the trail levels out to a black lava-based path that continues down into the People’s gorge. This provides a much more stable under footing. The ¾ mile long path provides additional perspectives on the amazing rift valley.

We again board the bus for a short ride to the Geyser geothermal area. A short trail winds through hot springs, mud pots, fumeroles, dormant geysers, and one very active geyser. The Stokkur Geyser spouts off approximately every five minutes. It provides a great photo opportunity, but one almost has to have the camera up and ready when it goes off or the event is missed. I am fascinated by the geothermal opportunities that grace this land. No water heaters are needed to produce hot water for the population. It is simply pumped from the ground. Additionally, hot water is circulated though modern registers to provide heat for the buildings and finally, steam is used from the water to generate electricity.

Lunch follows at a small café attached to a gift shop on site after our outdoor exploration. Dave and I have fish and chips. It seems an easy choice in this confusing world of strange food choices. After lunch, we move on to Gullfoss Waterfalls which is two separate waterfalls in step thundering into a gorge. Dave takes the upper .66-mile boardwalk above the falls while I take the steel staircase leading to the lower parking lot which sports a trail bringing one much closer to the crest of the upper falls. The bottom of the staircase, at least that is my understanding, is supposed to give one an eye level viewpoint of the upper falls. I totally miss the fact that the falls is two-tiered so do not even see the lower falls probably because I turn around mid-level on the steps where I believe I already have a better vantage point. I try to take a few pictures, but the day is cloudy, cold, and wind whipped leaving my fingers frozen in just a few minutes. I make my way back to the top and go in search of my hubby. From his vantage point, I am awed by the second falls which roars just below us.

All of the group believes that we are to be back on the bus at 13:30. The leader thinks he said 1 p.m. so we are late getting to our next stop, the Lava Exhibition Center. We have only enough time to watch a short video on volcanos and then climb the steps to the viewing platform for a panoramic view of the most active, now snow-covered volcano in Iceland. The museum closes at 5 p.m.

Because of the weather report for tomorrow, we make one last stop at Seljaland’s Foss, a beautiful waterfall that one can walk behind. We are told we are guaranteed to get wet and since Dave and I have only one set of clothes, we choose to only observe the falls. I am disappointed as I really wanted to go behind. It is starting to get dark by the time we reach our new hotel. Here, our beds have the sheet sets going the correct way. We meet in the dining room for supper and then retire to our room. I decide to wash our socks and underwear in the sink. There is only one problem. There is no plug for the sink and alternatively, there is no bathtub. Dave suggests taking the garbage bag from the garbage can and using that for my wash tub. It actually works pretty well. But then my idea of drying items of clothing with the hair dryer falls flat as well. The hair dryer does not make enough heat to dry anything and shuts off after a few minutes. The backup procedure is to hang all wet items on the hot water register. The socks are still damp in the morning on the inside. I should have turned them inside out during the night.

Trip to Iceland, Day 1

October 22, 2023November 5, 2023 / authoramandafarmer / 1 Comment

Monday, October 9, 2023 T

Coach ride from Rochester to Minneapolis Airport

Today begins our trip to Iceland. I am nervous from the “get go” as I had told the travel company that we wanted to fly business class, not realizing that we would end up on totally different flights from the rest of the group. Not only had I been informed that we are on different flights, but I also began to realize after reading lots of reviews about Iceland Air that this particular airline doesn’t really have a business/first class, at least not what I am thinking of as business class for international travel. They do have an upgraded kind of economy that they call Saga Premium. Maybe the problem is that I was hoping for a seat that would lay flat and allow us to sleep properly on the six-hour flight. I had the misconception that international first-class flights provided this. I ponder, also, as to why we are being sent to Chicago for a connecting flight when there are direct flights from Minneapolis to Reykavik, Iceland. Is it because of the first class issue? We really don’t need first class for the short two-hour flight to Chicago. If I had known everything that I find out after booking, I would have saved ourselves $7000.

We arrive at the St Paul/ Minneapolis airport by coach bus and are dropped off at Terminal 1 along with everyone else in our travel group. At least, we are at the correct terminal. Because of the First Class Sky Priority ticket, we can take the express lane and are able to quickly check our bags and then move upstairs to security where we also get to bypass a whole bunch of other people. I like this going to the head of the line. Maybe this special high class treatment is worth a small portion of what I paid.

The flight to Chicago goes without a problem as well as the flight to Reykavik. On the planes, as expected, there really are limited perks for first class other than the seat is wider, there is more leg room, and the food is actually pretty good. Lying down in any fashion to sleep is totally out of the question. The seat does go back about five inches but as in all seats on airplanes these days, it puts one in the lap of the passenger behind.

View of Reykjavik from our hotel room window

We arrive in Rykavek at 6:35a.m. Iceland time (2 a.m. my body’s time). We make our way to the luggage area and wait as the bags drop off the conveyor unto the carousal. In a short time, the message sign says, “All bags are on the belt.” Hmmm…. There are no bags that look like ours. Great! Just great! All our clothes are in the checked bags except for what is on our backs. We scan a now mostly empty baggage area looking for where we might report this foible and finally spy what looks like a booth where some other poor traveler looks like he is having difficulty. The kind gentleman there helps us fill out the paperwork.

“Your bags were never put on the plane in Minneapolis,” he reports after consulting the computer. “It looks like they put them on a plane to JFK in New York. They should be here tomorrow after 9 a.m.”

Why you would send someone’s bags that left for Chicago to New York, I will never know. By 9 a.m. tomorrow, we will have boarded the coach for another hotel so this should be interesting.

As we walk away from the lost baggage desk, we are sure we have missed any bus that was scheduled to pick us up on landing and take us to the hotel. We have no idea what time the other members of the tour group were to arrive. We are alone in a foreign country in a mostly empty terminal. As we round the last bend in the hallway to the exit, there is a familiar face, Tom Overlie. I have never been more happy to see someone familiar. The bus has not left yet. They are waiting for us. Tom directs us to follow the lady in green who is disappearing out the door. As we step outside, a blast of wind and rain assaults us. It is cloudy and sleeting. I struggle to take a breath as the wind slams us in the face. Welcome to Iceland!

An hour bus ride brings us to our hotel where we eat a buffet breakfast, then crash in our room for a few hours. Dave, my electrician husband, can’t figure out how to turn on the lights or understand why the outlets don’t work.

“Go downstairs and ask,” I finally insist. This is ridiculous.

“The room card needs to be inserted in that reader by the door,” is the verdict he brings back. O..k..a..y… He thought that box was maybe to hold the card so that it didn’t get lost. It never occurred to us that one had to actually insert it like a credit card at a terminal in a store in order to get electricity.

We meet in the lobby of the hotel at 14:30 for a walking tour of Reykjavik. Our tour host has been missing all morning until this point but he has sent out an email saying that he has been ill with food poisoning. Tom, a local guide, leads us on our walk. We exit the hotel into the wind and occasional sleet. Tom eloquently gives us much historical insight and knowledge about the culture, and development of Iceland. We visit several statues, city hall, and other buildings of historical importance. We move indoors to a large model of Iceland for part of the presentation to get out of the weather for a few moments and then back outdoors. After the group tour is over, Dave and I walk twelve blocks or so to a huge ornate Catholic church at the top of the hill. At least it is easier going back downhill to the hotel.

This outdoor tour is followed by a group meeting in the breakfast area where we finally meet our tour guide, Greg. Following instructions pertinent to our trip, we take another cold walk to a harbor view restaurant, Hofnin, for a three-course supper. Our water cruise to look for the Northern Lights tonight has been cancelled due to high wind and clouds.

The beds in our hotel room are two single beds pushed together to make a Queen size bed. The covers are in a strange configuration though; there is a cover across our feet which we share and another cover over our chests which we share. I find this rather bizarre. I can’t figure out why you would make a bed that way. Dave comes up with the thought that these are single bed covers laid crossways instead of lengthwise. Now, that makes some sense though I don’t understand why anyone would think that is the proper way to make the bed. It is a very comfortable bed though to snuggle into for our first night in Iceland.

Traveling to Upper Peninsula Michigan, Day 7

September 9, 2022 / authoramandafarmer / 1 Comment

We both slept much better last night but were awake by 5:30 on this Friday morning, July 15, 2022. We decide we might as well get up and start the day. We are hoping to get to Mackinac Island before the crowds hit. The air is crisp and cool. My phone says the temperature is 51 degrees. The wind, though, is calm making for a peaceful enjoyable morning. Since we have an LP burner stove here, Dave makes the last of the pancake mix even though it takes longer than our dehydrated meals to make. We eat our pancakes while the sun is awakening.

We leave the little cabin at 7 a.m. for the drive to Mackinaw City where we hope to catch the 8:30 a.m. boat shuttle to the island. After a pleasant drive, we are there in plenty of time. “All Aboard” is soon sounded and today, we choose the indoor seats for the 16-minute ride across the straits. Round Island lighthouse greets us off to the right just before we enter the dock area. Even though we are fairly early, the crowds are already arriving. People are pressed together with luggage, dogs in backpacks, bicycles, and every manner of items potentially needed for a day trip, or an overnight stay, on the island. On Mackinac Island, no cars are allowed so one has to walk, ride a bike, or take a horse (or horse drawn wagon). We find out later that several motorized vehicles are allowed – an ambulance and firetrucks. The main street is clogged with horses, and bicycles going all different directions. Dave shocks me by saying that he is willing to try riding a bicycle on this island. Therefore, we stop and rent two- two wheelers. They are wide-tired, large seated, multispeed vehicles. Dave has not ridden for at least five to ten years or more and he is worried about balance most of all but also about a butt ache, knee aches, and a neck ache. The trail around the island is 8.2 miles. It turns out to be fairly easy riding, though, with only one area where we need to work at pedaling. I let Dave take the lead and I think I can honestly say, I never am really working. We make frequent rest stops.

Our first stop is at The Arch, a section of limestone rock that has worn away in the middle leaving a huge arch. Two hundred seven steps greet us on our way to the top of the arch which stands 146 feet above the waters of Lake Huron. After slowly puffing our way up and spending a few minutes enjoying the view, it is time to test the knees and legs for the journey back down. We peddle a way further along this shoreside road and stop by the beach. It is then that Dave realizes that, unfortunately, he has forgotten his spare camera battery in the car. He is hugely disappointed because the current one has taken its last snapshot. We can’t just run back to the car so there will be no more picture taking on this venture. I do press my cell phone into service, but its pictures are not nearly of the quality of the camera. As we ride on, we ride past some bicycles parked along the side of the road. The humans must be off exploring somewhere. In the basket of one of the bikes is a squirrel who is busily chewing on the crackers the rider has left there for later. He is taking advantage of the situation. The trail follows the coastline for majority of the way and provides a spectacular view of the lake. Our total ride takes about 2 ½ hours and almost results in a stroke when I learn the cost is $75 for that ride.

Once the bikes are returned, we splurge on a goodie each. I have milk and a large chocolate chip cookie covered in chocolate. Dave has a gluten free sugar cookie and some popcorn. A decision is made to walk to the butterfly house on Surrey Hill. As we start up Front Street, the grade increases acutely and by the time we hit Huron Street, it is difficult to walk it without significant huffing and puffing. I am tempted to jump on the back of one of the horse- drawn wagons toting people around. Eventually, we make it to the top and take a short cut through the horse stable and carriage museum to avoid walking around the circle drive.

The butterfly house is populated with many colored butterflies twitting around from place to place. I love the butterfly house, but it is soon time to begin our trek back down the steep street. I have to laugh at the sign at the top of the hill, “Walk your bikes down the hill.” Really? Hills are made for flying down on a bicycle. I think it will be easier, too, to walk downhill than up but it puts a different angle of pressure on Dave’s bad knee. We end up stepping very slowly. We do arrive back at the docks in time for the 3 p.m. ferry and are shuttled back to the mainland.

On our drive back to Petosky, we stop at the fish hatchery in Oden that we discovered by accident the other day while waiting for our guest to meet us at the restaurant. The evening has grown cloudy, and the air is heavy with moisture. We don’t walk to the actual hatchery because of the distance involved but do make the trek to the big fishpond about .3 miles in. Large trout frolic in the waters and leap into the air when I throw in food I had purchased at the entrance for such purposes. Finally, we return to the car for the final drive back to the cabin. We prepare and eat our supper outdoors, then read by the evening light. We do not light a fire on this last night as we have run out of wood and have no ax or hatchet to cut anymore into burnable lengths. The wind is calm, and in the distance, I hear a rooster crowing, some dogs barking, and a multitude of speeding cars and motorcycles on the nearby hardtop road. It is never really quiet anywhere, it seems.