FO: Riddari, with an acceptable amount of buldge

I have spent way too much time on this beast.  

The actual knitting took me no time- maybe two weeks start to finish?- and it looked just dandy until I took the scissors to it.

The idea of it was an Icelandic-style jumper done in 100% British Wools:  it was fascinating to combine these wools, to get a feel for each one.  The Black Welsh was the roughest to work with- it's rustic and full of lanolin, but it will look like new forever.  The grey Suffolk was a bit softer, but I obsessively picked wires of guard hairs out of it.  The moorit Shetland, lovely and lofty, the BFL silky and soft.  Each is their natural color, making a nice sample of the natural variety of colorful sheep.  I dubbed this "the Cod Wars" sweater- the UK had a series of bullying encounters with Iceland over fishing rights in the rich waters around Iceland, and from the 1950's to the late 70's, the UK would send trawlers there under the protection of warships to fish around Iceland.

 Like I said, the problems started when I took the scissors to the front.  See, the pattern was written for a much lighter weight yarn, but I loved the yoke pattern so much that I did the math and followed the instructions for a child's extra small size knit in a rather tight gauge.  The fabric is dense and impenetrable to wind and water, but perhaps a bit to warm for anyplace but Iceland.  A bit of air conditioning was in order and I decided to run a crochet steek up the front, snipped it into a cardigan and installed a vintage brass zipper.  That's when I started having big problems.

The zipper would not lay flat, creating big lumps and bumps up the front.  Huge ones.  After twice hand-picking and trying to ease the lumps out, frantic calls to tailors and friends were made.  I debated trying to sew it back up and save it as a cardigan, but the colorwork would have looked all wrong.  I decided to outsource, and took it to Susan at Sharpworks down in Herne Hill.  Susan wouldn't do it for me, but advised me to take out the crochet steeks, which was adding a tight line of stitches and extra fabric that was distorting things.  She also advised me to stretch the fabric taught along the zipper to minimize the zipper tape bunching.

I went home, took out the crochet steeks, and eased the zipper in one more time, trying to stretch out the lumps without turning it into a dress.

Ta dum!  An acceptable amount of bulges!  Since I had to stretch the fabric, it's a bit longer then I intended- I could have stretched it more and ended up with a dress.  It's not perfectly flat, but it doesn't look like a tumor is growing under there either.  Oh!  and it's warm enough to be outerwear.  And you know, now that I've been struggling with this for more than a month now, I've noticed that a fair amount of commercially made zip-up sweaters have zippers that don't like perfectly flat as well, so instead of drowning in a river of tears of frustration, I said this is good enough and walked away.

The kicker?  No way no how are Icelandic Lopapeysa traditional to Iceland.  They were developed in the 1950's to make use of the abundance of Icelandic wool, and they are based on styles of traditional knitwear from far-off places suck as Turkey, Sweden, South America, and Greenland.  They quickly became a favorite of tourist and locals alike.

 I do need to clean up my edges a little bit more- I don't have a perfectly clean line running up the front.  What's a few more hours with needle and thread?  I promise you I won't un-pick the zipper again.  Part of the raggedness around the edges are due to the fact that I've tinkered with this way too much and edges began to fray at the same rate as my temper.      

 It's not going to get cold enough here in the South of England to ever need something this fantastically wooly.  A trip to Iceland is in order, or perhaps, one day, a Maine winter will be endured.

The pattern is Riddari.  The yarn is Rowan British Sheep Breeds Chunky, a yarn much bulkier than what was called for in the pattern, but I've been determined to knit down my stash instead of reaching for my bank card every time the urge to knit a sweater hits.

FO: Ripley Hat

I made this quite a while ago, while I was still in New York. I wanted to get rid of a few single skeins of yarn I had, as it seemed wasteful to pack them away in storage and bring them with me, as it wouldn't take very long to turn them into a real garment.

This was a skein of long-discontinued, super luxurious Gaia Worsted from the Sanguine Gryphon. The color was "Dew on the Dragonfly". It's 55% silk, 45% cashmere and it just melts in your hands, and it's a precious little 150 yards in a skein. I needed a special something I could whip up quick that would show off the lovely color, and take advantage of how soft and lovely the yarn was.

A quick search around and I remembered a pattern I had been wanting to do for a bit: the Ripley Hat by Ysolda. It had a couple variations you could do, and some optional folds to make the hat slouchier. A perfect way to use up limited yardage.

The pattern was straight forward and a quick knit- even with all the extra folds it took me just a couple days. I opted for the slouchy version with a lacy brim. I packed it in my suitcase and it really came in handy in Iceland. Maybe not the most rugged piece to wear there, but it actually wasn't too cold so it suit my purpose just fine.

Added bonus being that the silk is water replant enough to keep my ears dry in heavy mist/light drizzle.

Culinary Iceland

This isn't the place to have a foodie vacation. It's one of those places that once you leave the big city, you are thankful just to get fed at the end of the day. When it comes to food, we had some good, stick-to-your-ribs kind of food. Nothing was terrible (except for the OJ...but I'll get to that). They just don't get the good fresh produce the rest of the world has access to, and they seem to lack a little creativity when it comes to what they do have for food.

Still, all the innkeepers who cooked for us were really good cooks, especially the owners of the Volcano Hotel in Vik.

We did splurge for one really nice meal in Reykjavik at a well-known place whose name I can't pronounce.

It's called the Three Frakkar- The name translates to the "3 Trenchcoats". It's very French-inspired, but with local ingredients. It was fantastic.

Alcohol of any type was very expensive. Like, $10 for a can of watery beer expensive, and wine that wouldn't kill me was waaay out of the question. We tried a few of the local brews, and some of the local distilled potato schnapps called Brennivin that was a bit harsh but drinkable.

For vittles, we had some nice seafood pretty much everyplace we went- they do a lot of fishy oil fish like herring and sardines, and they also make use of both dried and fresh cod quite a bit. The fish was always very fresh and simply prepared, or in the case of the cod, mashed up with onions and garlic to make a sort of salad.

The lamb we had was really wonderful. The sheep are allowed to graze the countryside, and the flavor of the herbs and different plants they eat really shines through. They are raised free-range and happy, like good meat should. The sheep milk cheese and traditional icelandic yogurts were also very good, and they did do a kind of smoked lamb coldcut that was good for a sandwich.

Whale was on the menu in a few places near the city. I was told that this isn't necessarily a traditional dish as whaling, and I did see mostly Japanese tourist eating it. I couldn't do it. Something about that massive and mysterious leviathan made it feel taboo beyond what I cared to try.

There was also the beloved horses on the menu. Isolated existence means you need to get your protein where you can sometimes.

Beef and pork were rarely on the menu, and they were both very expensive.

Most of the vegetables were either green-house grown or imported. Lots of potatoes and rutabagas.

They had a very good brown (or black, on some menus) bread that was steamed instead of baked. It was perfect for sopping up soups and scooping up bits of fish with.

Orange juice was a weird one. Even at the nicer places we stayed, it was always watered down and laced with corn syrup. I didn't want to offend anyone as to ask, but we never found real OJ.

I did try and have a go at liking Puffin.

It tasted oily like fish, but the texture of duck. I really had to work on nibbling away at that.

This "Gratineraður Plokkfiskur með rúgbrauði" was fantastic. Cod and butter and potatoes, covered with a béchamel sauce. Comfort food done right is the best food on earth.

Veayaygrah

Somewhere outside of Hella, we were at a traffic circle when we spied an oncoming something that made us pause. It was so unusual and stunning and disturbing, we were both were a little slow to react. "What WAS that?"

It appeared to be a motorcycle. There's not too many bikers in Iceland, but those that are there are extra-tough characters. I mean, come on. You have a motorcycle and you live very close to the arctic circle. You win biting nails in half competitions all the time. In fact, your favorite breakfast cereal probably involves rusty nails and its laced with some cogs and mini-maces. Nom.

Still.

"Was that a horse skull on the front of that bike?", I asked, with a trembling voice. We couldn't agree. It came at us so fast around that traffic circle, and it was so much like something out of mirage or a Mad Max movie. It was terrifying. "That looked like a human skull on the back". I didn't like this one bit. This is horsemen of the apocalypse or something. Fleeing was the safe bet.

Bryan couldn't let it be. He spun the car around so fast, we left tracks.

And then he proceeded to chase the Mad Max biker and his gang of slightly less-threatening but still a little scary by association biker friends through the countryside.

I was really squirming in my seat, but after a couple miles of possibly breaking the speed limit, we started to catch up to the post apocalyptic biker gang.

They turned onto the only road for miles. We were able to glimpse the pack leader once again.

I was trying to get a good enough picture from the car to sate Bryan's curiosity enough so that he would turn around and we could continue on our way.

Not good enough.

Nope. Still not good enough.

Bryan was not happy about things until we followed the biker gang into their hideout, which was a rather nondescript driveway.

At which point, Bryan stopped the car and approached them. For real.

The owner, in a breathy Icelandic accent filled with pride, exclaimed, "His name....is...Veayaygrah".

"You mean...Viagra?"

"Yes. Veayaygrah."

The horse skull, with the mane still attached, with bit and bridle. The saddle being an actual saddle. The weird scalp-things that's a horse tail hanging off the back (and not a human skull, like we first thought).

The overwhelming sense of relief I felt when the bikers didn't kill us and use us to decorate their next arts and crafts project.

This is why I travel.

Ponies! Or, uh, Wee Tiny Horses

Iceland is magic, in a pretty ponies by the waterfall sort of way. See? Like the sheep, there hasn't been any more horses imported to Iceland for almost a millennia. They are true shrunken horses, and not actual genetic ponies. I heard they get angry if you address them as pony. But still. That's a pony as far as I'm concerned. The countryside was thick with them. Everywhere you looked, more ponies. It was all I could do from stopping and hugging them all. My self-restraint was weak and my inner pre-teen won several times. Luckily, the ponies didn't seem to mind much. We found a place near Hella that did riding tours around Hekla volcano. I'm usually pretty careful when I choose my riding outfit. I've seen too many poorly run stables and mistreated horses to just walk blindly into a place. Hekluhestar was great- they specialize in long-haul riding around the national park. All the horses were fat and furry and full of sass. The Icelandic Horses are unique in their comfortable gaits. They walk, trot and canter like a normal horse, but then they have a non-jarring Tolt and a fast flying pace as well. They are sweet as can be, and they are strong enough to carry as much as most regular-sized horses. It's really perfect countryside to ride in. Very few fences or property lines to cross, and so much to see. The horses were agreeable little characters and our guide took us through glacial streams and valleys, Tolting along at a brisk pace and pointing out objects and things that we were ignorant to. Like all those mossy bumps are really the homes of elves, and you would be cursed to go tromping along carelessly on them like we had been doing all week. Whoops. Aside from that mishap with the local mythic fauna, we had a really nice ride through the countryside. I go on and on about how much I miss my former riding life so much, and I get it when and where I can. This wasn't a terrible dose of equine adventure at all.

Vik

After being a bit out there for a few days, coming to a village with a population of 300 was seemed kind of jarring. Vik was a cute little hamlet by the sea, and it's the last place where you could get a proper bite to eat that didn't involve nibbling lichen off rocks. The Volcano Hotel was totally worth the splurge. Like everywhere in Iceland, the host were gracious. The added bonus in this case being they can really cook. A dinner of perfectly cooked Icelandic lamb and potatoes hit the spot. This was a really nice area to explore. The ocean violently carves out the volcanic coastline into a work of art. Lovely black sand beaches abound. A glance behind your shoulder and you could see volcanoes and icecaps and more glaciers. The cliffs were filled with thousands of nesting gulls. The pairs were taking turns incubating eggs while the other would go out for seafood.