I'm in a a tiny village by the sea. I was going to spend a few days here swimming and sunbathing. It's raining cats and dogs. There's no internet connection at my hostel.

So what to do?

I read
I sleep
I solve crossword puzzles
I practice my Spanish
I make travelplans for Brazil
I master my backgammon skills
I drink some mate
I study Portuguese
I rearrange everything in my backpack
I sleep some more
I buff my nails
I read the newspapaers
I drink some more mate

After a while I tell myself that it's enough to know the greetings and the numbers in Portuguese. For now at least. I can always use the gesture method and just point to what I need.

I don't write postcards and letters like I should do.

Actually I wouldn't mind another rainy day.

I had a very vivid dream early this morning. Not a strange dream but it seemed very real.

Everything was like 15 years ago. My mum picked me and my brother up from school and my baby brother up from kindergarten in the Lada Sport my parents had at the time. And although everything was like 15 years ago we were the people we are know, e.g. my little brother looked like he was 3 years old but acted like the almost grown man he is now. It was Friday and my other brother, who still drinks about as much milk as a herd of calfs, complained that mum hadn't bought enough milk to last the weekend, because there's only one shop where my parents live and it's closed during weekends. The weather was pretty bad, a strong blizzard was brewing and mum had trouble with keeping the car on the road. After driving for a while we were on a winding mountain road not far from home and it seemed steeper than it is in reality. The wind grew stronger and stronger and I thought to myself that we would never get home in time for my favourite TV show.

And then I woke up. Completely disoriented. Slowly it dawned upon me that I wasn't stuck in a blizzard, I was at a beach resort in Uruguay.

I got up, brushed my teeth, put on my bikini and went to the beach.

Hurrah! I've got a confirmation about my accommodation in Rio de Janiero for Carnival! I was beginning to think I'd have to sleep on the streets, but now I don't have to worry anymore. Two weeks ago I met girls from Australia who ended up booking a room at the Sheraton because everything was fully booked - lucky me that somebody cancelled at one of the places where I was on a waiting list.

Now I just have to make sure I won't get mugged, raped or murdered. I've heard so many horror stories about Rio during Carnival, but it can't be that bad. I'll just have to be shrewd and street savvy.

And I posted a few more photos at the photosite, have exhausted my monthly uploading limit so more will be posted at the beginning of February.

It's good to be back in Buenos Aires, where I can go to my café and my grocery store, where I know the subway system and I don't need a map because I don't get lost. There is only one thing bothering me... I don't want to leave. Sure I want to go to Uruguay, but... travelling isn't all beer and skittles, sometimes you just have to move on.

Here are a few photos from the skydiving on Saturday. And it might look frightening, but it's not. The scariest part was the plane, which was old, rusty and rickety and seemed about as fit for flying as my father's wheelbarrow. But I'm not very timid and I'm still alive.

I did it! I did it! I did it! I tried skydiving this morning - supercrazyfantastic! Woke up at 5 am to check the weather, then went to the airport in the company of three Israeli guys who also went skydiving (I think there are even more Isreali travellers here in Argentina than in India. I wonder... how many Israelis are there in Israel at any given moment? The nation is approx. 6 millions but I think I've met the half of them here).

And what can I say - it was great. After the adrenalin surging through my veins I'm oh so hungry. And tired. All I want now is a hearty vein-clotting, cholesterol-laden breakfast with eggs and bacon and sausages and baked beans and toast and tea and... And I've got muesli in my bag, very good for the conscience.

And since on the topic of food... llama stew tastes excellent! The baby llamas and soft and cute and cuddly, but the meat... even better than puffins with blueberry gravy. And yes, I am aware that this entry makes me look like a horrid barbarian. I don't care. 'Cause I just came back from skydiving!!

Now; food. Later; nap. Tonight; BBQ party. At midnight; bus to Buenos Aires. Wednesday; boat to Montevideo in Uruguay.

Ég ætlaði mér að fara í fallhlífarstökk í dag en það er of vindasamt, svo ég bíð í ofvæni við símann eftir kallinu og fer hvað úr hverju að taka upp á þeim fjanda að naga neglurnar af taugatitringi. Ekki vegna þess að það að stökkva út úr flugvél í háloftunum sé svo ógnvænleg tilhugsun, heldur vegna þess að ég VIL VIL VIL prófa fallhlífarstökk og það þarf að gerast í dag eða á morgun því bráðlega held ég áfram ferð minni og ég vil allrahelst skipta við áreiðanlegt kompaní sem er staðsett hér í bæ.

Ég finn fyrir sömu óró og þegar ég ætla mér að fara yfir Vatnsskarð og það er ófært; þá kíki ég á veður&færð síður textavarpsins á 5 mínútna fresti og hringi í Vegagerðina sem segir segir júþaðverðuropnaðréttbráðum-allavegafyrirhádegi-kannskiseinnipartinn- vélarnareruallaruppteknar-þaðerekkihægtaðopnaallaveginaíeinu-sjáumtilþegarlægir-kannskiámorgun. Þá hriktir í alvarlega í stoðum jafnaðargeðsins og þettareddastbrosið skríður skelfingu lostið í holu sína.

Hef ég ákallað hina fornu guði sem stjórna ástandi í himinhvolfinu en þeir virðast þjást af sértækri suðurhvelsheyrnarröskun, sennilega sniðganga þeir yfirgnæfandi kaþólskar álfur þar sem kallinn með hvíta skeggið ræður ríkjum. Og kommon, vindstyrkurinn má ekki fara yfir 15 km/klst, það bærist varla hár á höfði. Í minni heimasveit kallast þetta vindstig blankalogn.
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Í dag mun vera bóndadagur, megi húsbændur heimalandsins (sem annað búalið og óbúandi, óalandi og óferjandi) njóta hangikjöts og hrútspunga og þjóðlegs viðgjörnings í óheyrilegu magni. Í upphafi þorra skal ekki magann mæla heldur graðga í sig góðgæti og taka afleiðingunum seinnameir. Gleðilega þorrablótsvertíð.

Súrmunda Sunnan

Am still alive, am just busy enjoying, hence little time wasted in front of the computer and few entries posted. I'm now in Salta in northwest Argentina, the landscape is incredible; salt planes in 4000 meters, deserts and tiny villages of adobe houses where goats and mules roam the narrow streets. The hostel here seems to be for-charming-people-only, a Brazilian fellow-sufferer on an unusually uncomfortable bustrip taught me some Portuguese (and took me to dinner, oh, how I appreciate the treat-the-ladies-like-ladies demeanour. Generally Icelandic men could learn a bit in that field, although some of my fellow countrymen are genuine gentlemen) and live's just treating me well these days. Except the cold I came down with, but that was treated with the right doses of caring, painkillers, tea, whisky and coca leaves and doesn't bother me anymore. So what more can I ask for? That it won't rain tommorrow, but that's about it.

The timesettings on the last entry weren't right, have fixed that. Not that it really matters, I usually figure out it's a Sunday when shops are closed bot otherwise I'm not bothered by such trivialities.
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I nipped over to Brazil and Paraguay yesterday, no; not illegally and yes; without a visa. Tourists are permitted to zigzag accross the borders of the three countries (the two aforementioned and Argentina) near the Iguazu falls if on an organized tour. Which I was. Am not a big fan of those though, but it can be very useful to reach some places. And the falls are... no, my vocabulary wouldn't do them justice, not in any language I know.
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Am stuck in a middle-of-nowhere town in northeast Argentina. I'm on my way to Salta and had to take a bus to here last night and next bus to Salta is tonight. I had to choose between that or backtracking to Buenos Aires which takes way to long. The town is called Resistencia, a big name for a small town.

When I'm a wise old spinster and have a cozy cottage in the outskirts of a small nice city, where I live with my 3 cats, my dog, rabbits and goats I'll give it a fancy name like that. Although I can be stubborn as hell it's rather subtle, more of a "silent resistence". I'll have plenty of time in my spinsterhood to come up with a grand-if-corny name for my cottage. Then every once in a while I'll ask my friend Hulda-the-housesitter to watch my cottage and I'll take off and revisit my favourite places in the world. Sounds good.

I had written a long entry, about mostly nothing, when the electricity went off and now it's impossible to remember what I wrote. Can't have been very important then. And no wonder the electricity goes off during the siesta, it's 39ºC and the fans are on full blast. And what does the only tourist in town do? Goes to a museum and then idles the afternoon away in front of a computer. I thought of going to a swimming pool but abandoned the idea quickly since my skin would be sizzling in half an hour in the blazing sun and scalding heat. It's no joke to have freckled, sensitive skin.
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Ég sá að hún Birna prýðispenni hefur tekið upp þráðinn að nýju; birnagutt.blogspot.com. Er það af hinu góða. Ég sá líka að hún hefur minnst á pósthús í nýlegri færslu hjá sér. Tilviljun? Held ekki, pósthús erlendis eru á stundum eins og forgarður helvítis (á stundum/at times? Er sagt "á stundum"? Og já, ég veit að þetta eru ekki íslenskar gæsalappir. Bleh. Málfarsvitundin er fokin út í veður og vind. Fari það eins og fara vill).

Today I'm heading to Cataratas del Iguazú in the northwest, on the tri-border with Brazil and Paraguay. This is what is to see there:



And I had a great experience at a post office today, yes at a post office, are you as surprised as I am? 'Cause post offices tend to be the most tedious, irksome places. After waiting in the wrong queue for half an hour an older gentleman, a staffmember at Correos Argentina, was so helpful; helped me to fill out all the forms, to find a box of the right size and even winked at me and said that I wouldn't have to take it to the customs officicials, he would just tell them that nothing worth taxing was in the box (which is very true). And after explaining that I was not going to pay "otros países" price for my parcel because Iceland is in Europe, my parcel went to the nice pile of parcels "con barco a Europa". And the staff was very surprised and grateful when I gave them compliments for the great service and said they were not at all used to nice greetings from the customers. I guess I've just been very lucky.

So whilst the hills aren't excactly alive with the sound of music things are looking pretty good.

Uploaded a few more photos, was going to do it yesterday but couldn't find a computer with a CD drive.
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For a few days I've just wanted to sit down with my friends Ben and Jerry and sulk, but I can't do that; I don't do icecream and I try not to sulk. I've now perked up and am willing to share my swinging moods with you. I admitted what's bothering me to a friend and acknowledging the problem is good start. I'm Ásta and I'm... most certainly not an alchoholic. A neurotic cynic with tendencies towards codependency maybe, but that's not a problem, those are characteristics.

Anyways... to lighten my spirit I went to a movie on Monday and I saw Bridget Jones 2. That was... how can I put it nicely... absolute crap. OK, nothing else could be expected, it's just cashing in on accounts of the first one, which wasn't great either. A tad closer to the actual story though. 'Cause I love the books, have read them in Icelandic, English and Norwegian and they get better everytime. The music was made up of horribly clichéd you-go-girl old hits and I could have written a better script. At least it featured Mark Darcy. I know, his real name is Colin Firth, but he'll always be Mark Darcy to me. Admittedly a strange suit-clad mixture of the real Mr. Darcy and Bridget's Darcy. But mmm...
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This old hag got treated to a haircut today, you might know that such beautification is not only done in an aesthetic purpose but also has an undermestimated therapeutic value. And now yours truly has an...interesting...distinctive hairstyle. In an attacked-by-mad-hair-devouring-goats kinda way. My hairdresser at home would have a fit if she saw me now. But I like it, it's at least most certainly not boring, the way my hair sticks out it the opposite of dull. And I made the day for the hairdresser when I gave him free rein with the scissors. He praised my fabulous country Irlanda (which is not really where I come from, but close enough) and the fantastic singer Vyol. Who? Ah yes, Vyol. We actually call her Björk.

For those who don't speak Spanish B and V are pronounced very similarly, and are referred to as B larga and V corta to distinguish them. And of course the Ö is not pronounced as in Icelandic and he skipped the K, very soft on the R, so voilá: Vyol. And the awards go to... Ásta the psychic, for understanding her hairdresser.

In Argentina S is very often not pronounced, I still haven't gotten used to it. My name thus is sometimes pronounced Ata, no diacritical mark on the first letter and no S. And if the S is pronounced I get a quizzical look, a raised eyebrow; ¿Asta... hasta cuándo? I will never make fun of foreigners' names again.
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The hottest place in South America is, I think, my room. Not hot as in sought-after, considered-cool, but as in hot as hell. And it's not that hot in Buenos Aires, ranges from 33-38ºC but it's very humid, up to 80-90%. Sometimes I wonder if I'll stop sensing what's me and what's the air around me. Nothing seems dry, my towel hardly dries between showers and my hair is, or was before lots of centimeters were chopped off, wavy and feels damp all the time. But hey, everything's better than eternal darkness, slush, or even worse; being stuck in some far flung place because of a blizzard.
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I've been cutting down on the contents of my backpack. After this I'm only going to places where the temperature is as high as here or higher, so a lot of clothes were given to charity today. Won't be needing socks, longsleeved shirts (exept one, for mosquito infested places), a jacket... the most useful item is a cotton sarong which serves as a towel/scarf/skirt/blanket/pillow/washcloth/beachtowel, whatever needed, so that stays. If I keep on like this I'll end up like an Indian Sadhu, who's only worldly possession is a string around the waist and... yeah, that's it.
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I won't be going to Paraguay as planned. I went to the embassy today to apply for a visa, but after a while, lots of shuffling of papers, pointing at maps and comfused looks I got "sorry, señorita, Paraguay doesn't have any diplomatic relations to your country, so it will take 10-14 days to get the visa". I was planning to come back from Paraguay in 10-14 days time, so I'll just skip it and spend more time in Argentina and Uruguay. I did get to go through a very familiar conversation though:

Embassy personnel: And that’s your last name; Þorsteinsdóttir?
Ásta: Yes, it is.
Embassy personnel: Is that a P(points to the Þ)? Or a D?
Ásta: No, you see, it’s an Icelandic character, it’s like Th is English. See here, that’s like, the international version of the name (points to bottom of page, where the name is written without Icelandic characters).
Embassy personnel: I see... so your name is written in two different ways in your passport?
Ásta: Eh... yes?

I can't blame him. Who trust a scruffy girl with words like “Borgarfjarðarhreppur” and “Ríkislögreglustjórinn” in her passport who claimes to be from Iceland. Next to Neverland, Farawayistan and Shangri-la-di-da.

I've had conversations like this before. When I was picking up my passport in the Ugandan embassy in Nairobi and had been granted a visa, the lovely, helpful lady at the desk looked a bit perplexed and asked me if Iceland was a part the Commonwealth. “Eh no”, I replied and probably looked a bit worried, I don't trust anyone who holds my passport, without it things could get seriously wrong. “A part of the European Union?” “Nope”. “Can you, eeeh, tell me where Iceland is? I just don't know how to charge you for the visa”. “Oh, just like I'm Danish or Norwegian I guess” I blubbered, thankful for getting my passport back.

I had a similar experience in the Rwandan embassy in Kigali, when the staff member looked at me scornfully and said “...Iceland? Iceland would be... where?” Maybe she just sounded arrogant, maybe it comes with the French accent, but I was not amused.

And frankly I was not at ease when stopped at a roadblock in Rwanda, everyone was ushered out of the minibus and had to show their identity cards to a fully-weaponed guard. 10 Rwandans – and me.

If I ever have children I'm gonna make sure their names don't contain any special Icelandic letters. Or their father's name either. Preferably they should be able to travel on double passports. Too bad I'm a sucker for those old, long, magnifiscent Icelandic names. And Icelandic men, in all their glory (add sarcastic tone at will).

Og sjá, ég boða yður mikinn fögnuð... það eru komnar inn nokkrar myndir á myndasíðuna og koma fleiri inn í kvöld.

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I booked my flight from Brazil to Costa Rica today, hurrah! It costed an arm and a leg, but it's still quite a lot cheaper than the fares I had found before. So on the 26th of February I fly from São Paulo to San Jose, through Atlanta. Lalalala...

Oh, and I uploaded a few photos today, will upload a few more tonight (see "myndir" link).



This photo is from Christmas Eve. This is a fine example of what happens when you take a photo and laugh at nasty jokes about the Brazilians at the same time.

Things on NYE all went pearshaped, but that's the way the cookie crumbled. Am back in Buenos Aires and am thoroughly pleased to be again in the same place as my beloved computer, which means music, photoshop, comedy, corny letters from friends... all very useful when you have to pay the piper. Am still searching for cheap airfares from Brazil to Costa Rica, without any luck. I was going to run errands today, go to embassies and alike, but discovered it's Sunday and everything's closed. Yes, I'm whining. I can't be Mary bloody Poppins all the time. I'm sure ice cream will help - but alas, I have given that up. Great.