Iceland - The Golden (and soaking) Circle

June 21

Hello everyone!

Iceland is so much more than its capital of Reykjavik, which I will write about later in the trip. I had already signed up to spend a week circling the island and taking in many of its breathtaking sights.

Gullfoss

Reynisfjara

I hadn’t really looked into what was going on, which was to prove a bad mistake on the first day. Well, that and the weather. I hadn’t really planned what I was wearing and most of my gear was in my little case, which was unceremoniously shoved into a trailer and locked away when I was picked up 45 minutes late in the Reykjavik drizzle.

An ominous forecast

The Golden Circle covers many places of
interest in the southwest of Iceland

The first section of the day was to be spent exploring an area dubbed ‘The Golden Circle’, which has three popular and historically important sights. The first of these was þingvellir, pronounced thing-vellir (that P is a thorn, off of Viking runes).

It's been protected as a national park since 1930

The foundation of the current republic occurred here in 1944

It was here that, in the year 930, locals were a bit fed up of being told what to do by the Norwegian monarchy. They decided to establish the Alþingi, the world’s first democratic parliament. It was held annually and would often be the country’s largest drinking session until it was superseded more than 300 years later.

A visualisation of what the Alþingi looked like in its pomp

It was later used as a law court, sentencing cheating women to be
drowned in a nearby pond amongst other things

It was situated along a spectacular ‘wall’ where two of the Earth’s tectonic plates meet. The North American and Eurasian plates are slowly pulling apart (and I mean really slowly, up to 2cm a year). Walking along the imperious rift adds to the aura of the place.

Pingvellir is one of the most visible
examples of tectonic plates in action

The catchment area of the lake is about 1,300 sq km

The furthest point of significant interest in the Golden Circle is a truly mesmeric waterfall called Gullfoss. It’s supposed to be an even more spectacular experience in either sunshine (rainbows) or winter (icicles), but it was still a pretty panorama.

Foss translates as waterfall

I feel that I didn’t appreciate Gullfoss as much as I should have when looking at it in the flesh. This is possibly because I was busy shivering to my core and was desperately trying to find a dry place for my phone and camera.

There's a great story about the government giving permission to dam the
river in the 1920s, with the landowner's daughter then walking
barefoot to Reykjavik (over 100km) to protest

A combination of the heavens opening, a wind whipping the rain in a horizontal direction and the mist being swept up from the waterfall left me...wet. Very wet. This was where having my proper clothes, such as overtrousers, would have been immensely useful. Instead, they were sitting snugly in my suitcase. Silly boy. I had to resort to putting my phone in my glove and watching my unprotected hand turn white...and wet. At least I had my coat on - I probably wouldn’t have done if it hadn’t been drizzling in Reykjavik.

The woman's protest itself failed but the investors failed to finance
the project, leaving Gullfoss in its natural state

Apparently you get to see double rainbows on a sunny day

It also made the next stop, Geysir, a little less pleasurable than it ought to have been. This place is from where we derived ‘geyser’, so you can imagine what’s here. The particular spout that gave us the name doesn’t erupt anymore but it’s nearby neighbour, Strokkur, is happy to hog the limelight for now.

Rather warm water

It erupts every five to ten minutes, with water being sent soaring dozens of metres into the sky every fifteen to twenty minutes or so. We saw the ‘big one’ early, I missed it with my camera, and didn’t want to get any more soaked whilst waiting for the next surge.

Strokkur can fire up to 30m in the air

Of course, Icelanders are used to this ‘changeable’ weather. How do they keep warm? With soup. Lots of soup. Two large bowls of meat and fish soup warmed me up (and more importantly took long enough to eat that I started to dry out) that I was ready for our drive down south.

I was too busy eating the soup to take a picture
of it, so here's another one of Strokkur

Thor wouldn't have complained about getting wet

This took in two beautiful waterfalls, both made famous by...Justin Bieber. Yes. This first one is called Seljalandsfoss and apparently wasn’t frequently visited until the pop star came and stood under it in his underpants. With the water supposedly as brisk 2’C, it’s no wonder he can still hit some high notes.

The falls drop over 60 metres

You can also walk behind these falls, which was fun

The next one is called Skogafoss, a 62m-high fall which is rumoured to have a chest of gold hidden behind it. Maybe that’s why Bieber went to this one as well…

These falls are 62 metres high

A steep staircase takes you a little above the drop

The weather had once again worsened by this time, with fog rendering it impossible to see much of Iceland’s ridiculously photogenic landscape. At some point we passed Eyjafjallajökull, the volcano which caused a bit of an issue for European flights in 2010, but couldn’t even see its outline. 

It's over there somewhere...

On other days, there would be some brilliant scenery to stare at

Our last stop on this long and wet day was the black sand beach at Reynisfjara. The sand is black due to the basalt rock being eroded over time. I spent a lot of time looking at it, as it was challenging to look up with a gale slapping you with freezing North Atlantic air.

Waves are commonly strong here - our guide showed us a clip
of tourists being upended when facing away from the sea 

Basalt is the most common type of solidified lava

This is one of the best places to see puffins in Iceland. It was the perfect time of year to see them as well. Needless to say, we didn’t get close. I’d imagine they’d been blown away.

Not a bird in sight...

The beach does have these amazing hexagonal columns

Soaked doesn’t do it justice now. I was saturated. My trousers couldn’t take on any more water. My feet were squelching with each step. What would an Icelander do in this situation? Probably change into new clothes. As mine were locked in a suitcase I still couldn’t access, I opted for sitting on a radiator in a restaurant and toasting the day with the local shot: Brennevin.

I'm pointing to the original colour. The camera has lightened
the thigh part, they were also soaked through.

The shot has a bit of a carraway taste to it, and
wasn't 'disgusting' as suggested by the guide

It was quite the introduction to Iceland outside its cute capital. The weather made it more atmospheric, and was a reminder of what locals experience here for much of the year. Even in the rain, the Golden Circle and the south coast are full of spectacular sights.

Love you all,

Matt

Malawi/Kenya/France/Iceland - Papers at the ready!

June 18-19

Hello everyone!

Getting a second jab on June 4th made me ‘fully vaccinated’ on June 18th. School finished on June 17th. Timing: fantastic.

Whatever you need, I have in my hand! Well, I hope...

What to do with that relative immunity was the next poser. Even though fully vaxxed, I would still have had to quarantine in a hotel for 10 days had I returned straight to the UK, owing to Malawi’s continuing (and frustrating, though case numbers have risen slightly this week) position on the dreaded Red List. 

Many more have been added since this intital list -
Malawi's presence on it bewilders me 

I was definitely coming back to the UK, mainly for my mum’s 60th birthday. So how to get around the ten-day prison sentence?

Government quarantine currently costs £1,750

Travelling to a country not on the Red List for 10 days would give me a bit of a holiday and then a 5-day quarantine at home before paying for an early test-to-release test. This was fraught with risk, however, and I had seen this first-hand. A colleague was leaving early with her family to get back to the UK for an important event and had decided to go to Egypt (Amber List) to wait for red-list-ness to expire before getting into the homeland. The day before they flew, Egypt was dumped on the Red List. Flights from Cairo to London were cancelled. Big. Mess.

Key updates from the green list
in early June 2021

A surer bet would be a country on the Green List. Trouble is, there weren’t that many of these at the start of June. What’s more, most of them don’t let non-residents in. No chance of kicking it in Australia, New Zealand or Singapore. Then there are places which...well, good luck getting to the South Sandwich Islands.

Portugal was removed from this list soon after
its inception, ruling it out as a possibility

This left two options: Iceland and Israel. A bit of research found that anyone from any country in the world can get into Iceland and do minimal quarantine (maximum 24 hours) if they’ve been fully vaccinated. We have a winner!

I got my second shot on June 4th and booked a flight to Reykjavik that night. A couple of caveats here. One: no vaccination certificate at this point, though I had been promised we would get one shortly. Two: even if I got one, would Iceland recognise it? Added to that the growing uncertainty with lists and travel in general, and it was a fairly fraught two weeks.

Getting stamps in my more official yellow WHO vaccine book proved
to be vital on the journey, though this green card was also useful 

Lots of paperwork, you see. Not just for Iceland. Getting through each section of the flight had potential pitfalls. Leaving Malawi required a negative Covid-19 PCR test (Iceland didn’t). Transiting Kenya, according to the UK Foreign Office website, required different government health clearance and the uploading of the PCR test to an app which wasn’t working. France didn’t have much information, which was a worry in itself. Iceland needed pre-registration 72 hours before arriving.

Covid tests cost about $50 in Malawi

One other person I knew had chosen this convoluted path home, a doctor who has kids at our school. I was told by friends that she had had to argue her way through. And she’s a doctor. With medical knowledge.

The barcode generated from pre-registering a visit to
Iceland - this was asked for three times in my journey

I can’t remember being this nervous before travelling, even though I was armed with enough documentation to fill a section of a library. We arrived at the airport in plenty of time. Hannah was flying back to the US at a similar time on a different plane. 

For those of you who have been to Malawi before, Lilongwe’s airport has been renovated over the last couple of years and now has an improved, more spacious check-in section. It needed all of that space when its systems went down shortly after we arrived. For Kenya Airways, it meant weighing people’s bags at the check-in desk, then taking that info with their passport up to their offices in a different part of the airport to do the computerised check-in. Well, they did until that system went offline as well. I was in line for over an hour and at the front for over 30 minutes, not knowing whether the hold-up was due to any of my paperwork. It wasn’t, and eventually I was through.

My luggage sat here for what seemed an eternity

Next stop: Nairobi. Being allowed on the flight was relatively straightforward once the attendant realised that June 4th to June 18th was 14 days since my second shot. The red light and what seemed like a cacophonous siren when my ticket was scanned didn’t help my heart rate, particularly as the message on the computer shouted, ‘WRONG FLIGHT.’ A new boarding pass, thankfully including my last leg, was issued and I was good to go.

Boarding flight 1 to Nairobi

Possibly part of the Kenya Olympic
team - dressed like them, at least!

To Paris, then. A six hour layover in a sparsely-populated section of Charles de Gaulle. One other passenger, who only spoke Mandarin, for the first four hours of that wait. Plenty of time to ponder. What if they don’t let me on here? What if my card is rejected in Reykjavik? I’ve booked a tour thinking this would all be fine, was that a rash decision? WHERE IS EVERYONE?

Charles de Gaulle airport seemed very quiet, particularly
terminal 2B, which had flights to other European countries

Transpires that a lot of people turned up an hour or so before scheduled departure - a normal time. Gate called, get to the front, show Covid test which is now 3 days old...no problems. On we go.

Flight 543 to Keflavik

Well, eventually on we go. They didn’t really factor in the whole more-documents-to-check element of boarding so still had 20 people to board when we were due to take off. Pleasant enough flight and soon the little landmass in the North Atlantic was visible.

Flying into Keflavik - you get some impressive views

Fingers crossed!

At least I was there now. I couldn’t be stopped on the way. If there was a problem, I would at least be in Iceland to sort it. The main problem seemed to be the gigantic upside-down puffin hanging from the ceiling above the baggage carousel. That carousel itself was surrounded by an enormous snaking line to go through the different immigration protocols. 

The first line took about 40 minutes. Distancing??

Section 1: Pre-registration barcode. Section 2: present barcode again, along with passport and vaccination booklet. All the man did was ask what vaccine it was, then accepted it at face value. Needn’t have worried. In exchange for passing through I was given a vial. This was needed for section 3: the PCR test. Once that was done, it was on the bus, and into Reykjavik.

You get giv na vial after showing your documents -
the testing centre is a tent in the airport car park

I am writing this in my extortionately-priced private hostel room, quarantining until my PCR result comes through. Assuming it’s negative, I’ll be free to explore Iceland. Right now though I need a good sleep, as a rather stressful and paper-laden journey from the southern part of Africa to the most northerly capital city in the world has come to a successful end.

Like the puffin in the airport, I felt l
ike I'd been on a bit of a rollercoaster!

Love you all,

Matt

Malawi - Shots! Shots!

March 23-Jun 4

Hello everyone!

As you’re likely aware, most Covid-19 vaccines require two shots or doses. This blog will also have two doses, though chapters is probably the better term to use…

Chapter 1 (March)

Our story begins in March 2021. A year previously, I had been in The Netherlands on a school trip. Though coronavirus was omnipresent in the news, it wasn’t really in the country. Our trip ran normally, with the main difference being taking temperature checks each day and really making sure that sweaty teenagers were actually washing their hands.

The Green Card

A map from February 26, 2020, showing that
The Netherlands had reported 0 cases at that point

Fast forward a year and quite a bit has changed. Who had honestly heard of AstraZeneca (we’ll call them AZ from this point) twelve months ago? Quite important now, that company. Particularly important to people like me who live in LEDCs which aren’t capable of producing their own vaccine.

AZ is the main vaccine source for COVAX, a global initiative designed to ensure as much global Covid vaccine distribution as possible. The African Union also chipped in with some vials. It was in March 2021 when the first Emirates cargo plane landed with vaccinations which were seen by many as the route back to relative normalcy. 

A picture from the Ministry of Health showing the
arrival of the aircraft

Different countries prioritised different groups of people. The UK initially jabbed the eldest and health workers before working down through the age groups. Teachers, among many others, were ignored. Malawi was slightly different. Government officials got in first (how could we possibly live without them, after all) before the metaphorical gates were opened to the over-60s (not many of them in Malawi) and essential workers. Which included teachers.

The UK vaccination priority list

We were informed about this by a Dutch doctor connected to the school in a Zoom meeting at 2pm on Monday, 23rd March. I don’t know what time that call finished; Hannah and I zoomed off mid-call to our nearest vaccination centre. Which we could see from our garden…

The Bingu National Stadium (BNS) from our garden

The Bingu National Stadium hasn’t been used for its proper purpose for a while (not just due to Covid, it has many safety issues) but has been used for the last 12 months as a pop-up Covid testing and treatment centre. A short drive took us to the car park-

Hold up. Don’t be silly. As if we were allowed to use the car park! Park on the grass outside, then walk in. Obviously.

I didn't get a picture but there is a lot more grass now!

You walk down a ramp, get briefly stunned by how long the grass is on the football pitch which you can see through a gap in the stands, then turn right in the ground level concourse. There are a mass of people in multiple lines. Distancing? Not even 1cm at times.

There are lines to the left which you needed to do first

Rather typically, there wasn’t any idea of where to go or what to do. Luckily the dad of a boy I taught two years ago spotted me and explained that you had to join the sitting-down queue and sign something on paper before joining the standing-up queue that snaked...well, almost through the sitting-down queue. Naturally.

At which point do you think they realised they wouldn't
fit the whole word on in enormous letters?

Once registered and in possession of a green card from the sit-down queue, we patiently waited until getting to the front of the stand-up queue...from which we were guided into one of five sit-down lines further along the concourse. Still with me? At the front of that line, your information was registered on a tablet (well, when the Wi-Fi was working).

The final lines before getting the jab

From there you walked across to the other side of hte concourse, sat down, rolled up your sleeve, felt a prick...done? Yes. Done. Come back in 8 weeks (May 24th).

 I also got jabbed in my left arm - with hindsight, a very silly
choice for someone who is very much left-handed

I may have painted a picture of chaos but the whole process was pretty quick. Hannah and I were back home before 4pm. We’d found out less than 2 hours before that we could get the vaccine that day. Judging from other people who we met in line who we know are not essential workers and definitely aren’t over 60, I think the attitude at the stadium was simply to get as many willing people jabbed as possible. 

One done, with the other scheduled for 8 weeks

Side effects, you ask? Moderate. We left school as early as possible the next day so Hannah could curl up on the sofa. My headache, which at times felt like someone had tried to bisect my head with an axe, lasted until about Friday. But jab 1 was in, and thngs were looking up.

A lot of my side effects reminded me of
having malaria - not a good sign!

Chapter 2 (May and June)

Weeks pass, variants emerge, Malawi trucks on as normal with case numbers per day n single digits. I send multiple emails to the British Foreign and Commonwealth Office seeking an explanation as to why Malawi (average 5 cases per day) is on the UK’s dreaded Red List whereas countries like India and Portugal (average far more than 5 cases per day) are not. Well, one of them got changed at least…

Excellent politicking here - being nice
but not giving any jusitified reason

News emerges in international media that Malawi has binned thousands of vaccines. Not the best look, admittedly. They apparently were out of date. The media also missed the point that half of Malawi’s population is under 18 and therefore weren’t allowed access to it, but there has been hesitancy here. Why get a shot when case numbers are so low, people ask. This news sends many expats into a panic, however. Will Malawi get given more doses so we can get our second shot, if people think they won’t get used?

This article is from April but
it did happen in May

A Malawian government press release in mid-May further darkens skies. Our original certificates said an eight-week gap between shots. This press release officially makes it twelve. May 24th becomes June 23rd. With the school year ending on June 17th, this puts many teachers at my school in an awkward position.

Negotiations started to occur between the school and health officials. In the meantime, we went to a local clinic (the stadium wasn’t doing vaccines anymore) on our original date of May 24th to see if we could sneak our second shot. We couldn’t. A good thing that government protocols were being respected, I guess.

Mini seemed cool about the situation

In early June we get told that an arrangement has been made that teachers can get their second dose on June 9th or 10th at the main hospital called KCH. We sign up and I start to weigh up my options of how to get back to the UK.

The email of hope

On June 4th, we get an email from the Head of Primary at our school, saying that it’s possible to get the vaccine from a different hospital near the airport, and that the school has an official letter from the government saying we can get it earlier than agreed. Hannah and I decide to drive up there once school is out, arriving at 1pm. We find a clean, modern hospital which is definitely where we are going to go for any medical issues in the future.

The entrance to Daeyang Luke hospital

In through the main entrance. Covid vaccine? Not here, the reply. Go outside, round the corner to the tent. Easy enough. We go to the tent. Covid vaccine? Not here, the reply. Go to the chapel. 

I always thought chapels were small...

Yes, that’s a chapel. A Scottish doctor walked down with us to make sure we would get helped. Turns out we would...once everyone had finished their lunch break at 2pm. So much for rushing to get there.

Any excuse for a snooze in the sun for this one

2pm rolls around and we have been joined by the Head of Primary and her husband. The lunch meeting finishes and a cooler box, the sort you would put beers in for camping, comes out with them. Turns out the vaccine is in there.

Got it in the right arm this time - not dealing with trying
to write on a board with a sore arm again...

We show our special letter, sit outside the chapel entrance in balmy sunshine. In, out, done, signed. Fully vaxxed. Well, in theory...

More importantly, what is in my hair??

My question throughout these weeks had been proof of vaccination: a certificate. Many countries need this as proof. The green card we have, which categorically states that it is ‘not proof of vaccination’, isn’t that. I ask the doctors about the certificate. “The green card is OK,” they say. I point to the line about it definitely not being proof. Confusion reigns.

Turns out none of them had any idea about a certificate

Next Wednesday, the day we were going to get jabbed anyway. Lucky we didn’t, the line was huge. We went to the main hospital with that group, however, as we were told we could get our certificate. Well, we got as much as we could get. Turns out Malawi doesn’t make Covid certificates yet. We got the green card officially stamped. More importantly, we also got our yellow WHO health passports filled in and stamped. It’s about as official as it could be from the Warm Heart of Africa. We all just have to cross our fingers that others believe us.

This building in the sprawling main hospital deals with some
elements of Covid, like paying for PCR tests

The time I was getting my second dose is approximately the time I could have gotten my first jab in the UK. I don’t know many other teachers who have had the opportunity we’ve had. Malawi values its teachers. Considering what they, and many other key workers, have done over the past year to keep key aspects of society moving, maybe they should have that privilege extended in other parts of the world. 

And you thought the only perk was holidays...

The question now is whether other countries will recognise what is a 100% legitimate double vaccination. I’m currently sat in Charles de Gaulle Airport in Paris and soon to find out…

This plane is going to Iceland - will I be going, too? 

Love you all,

Matt