Video of Iceland's Ring Road

Dear friends,

If you enjoyed the post about my adventures on Iceland's Ring Road (Courting Iceland: Ring Road or Engagement Ring?), you may enjoy this video of our trip.  Iceland's Ring Road  Alison filmed it with her GoPro Camera.

Cheers,
The Super Spinster

Galactic Librarians, Dragon Safaris, & Civil War Zombie Apocalypse---Great Spinster Summer Reads

Dear friends,

Does your beach read list need a supplement of super spinster?  Are you tired of books where a woman's only purpose is romance, taking care of other people, or recovering from lost love?  Our goals as females are not just to love and nurture.  The way our books would have it, we "eat", "pray", and "love" across the world only when love has betrayed us, not just because we want to, or we seek new "adventure" because the last "adventure" (loser ex-partner) dumped us.  What happened to stories of women who take care of business and don't need to be in love to be complete?  When I pick up an adventure novel or a mystery, I expect the woman to handle the problem.  Nancy Drew and Miss Marple always did.  But, more and more, I find my toes curling in anger around the beach sand when, at the climax of a novel, the woman turns fearfully to the man and says, "Oh, no!  Now what do we do?" 

How many people do you know who, in crisis, look for the nearest man to fix it?  Not many, I'll bet.  You look for the lady with the purse full of the tools that could solve the problem--phone, food, bandaids, pepper spray, etc.  What do we teach children to do when something goes wrong?  Go find another mom.  In my experience, women look at the problem and just handle it, and you'd better get out of the way while they're at it.  (Reese Witherspoon's video on this concept summarizes this societal, mostly Hollywood issue.  Check it out here: "What do we do now?" Reese Witherspoon's Fiery Speech)

In the spirit of powerful literary spinsterhood, I asked my friend, the Ace Bookworm, to review three adventure stories with heroines who enjoy a bit of romance but do not allow it to distract from their greater goals--protecting an intergalactic library, researching dragons, and killing zombies in post-Civil War America.  Now that's more like it.

The Invisible Library by Genevieve Cogman

In The Invisible Library, we meet librarian Irene just as she's finishing up a job for The Library, an organization that exists outside of worlds and collects literary works (mostly fiction) from any and every world in the multiverse. 

After completing a dangerous mission and ready for some well-earned time off, Irene reports the success of her mission to her superior, but unfortunately, her boss has another job for her right away. This one is very important though Irene isn't told why. She is also assigned an apprentice, Kai, who isn't all he seems.

Their search for the book throws them into the center of the politics of the world they're visiting, including secret societies, vampire murder, and fae/human conflict. And when Irene receives a message that the mysterious rogue librarian Alberich may be after the same book she is, she wonders just what she's gotten herself into.

Irene is dedicated wholeheartedly to her job and is not one to slack off. Spinsters may find themselves commiserating with her annoyance at being propositioned by several men during the first two books in the series right in middle of very important missions. Irene is very matter of fact about her stance that while she isn't opposed to a dalliance with an attractive man (and in fact finds herself attracted and considering it), her work comes first, especially when lives may be at stake.

The Memoirs of Lady Trent by Marie Brennan

The Memoirs of Lady Trent is a five-book fictional autobiography series following the life and research of Lady Isabella Trent though (spoiler alert) she doesn't take the title of Lady Trent until near the end of the series.

Isabella, born in Scirland (a fictional approximation of Victorian England), tells the story of her life through five volumes, each dedicated to a particular research mission turned adventure. From her childhood catching small, insect-like dragons in jars to her grand adventures to the mountains, desserts, and seas of the world, Isabella brings readers along for her greatest scientific discoveries.

While Isabella marries not once but twice, through the series, she is a “spinster” (independent-minded woman) through and through. She is not the type to play second fiddle to anyone, especially not a partner. Romance is welcome but not necessary in her life. Her true driving passion is the study of dragons. Even her first marriage, which is partially facilitated by her father (who understands Isabella's character best of all her family), is a marriage of peers as much as is possible in the Victorian time she lives in.

In her research career, Isabella is met with several challenges due to her gender, which she faces down fearlessly. One constant is the challenge of traveling and joining expeditions as a woman. Isabella musters support from several men in her life who use their privilege to enable her to continue her work. This, combined with her stubbornness and dedication to her field of study, enables her to go places that she may not otherwise have had access to.

In the second book, we meet Natalie Orscott who is a spinster in her own right. Natalie follows in Isabella's footsteps into the realm of the sciences. Natalie shows up occasionally through the other books, always unmarried, and at one point expresses her disinterest in companionship altogether (members of the LGBTQ community will enjoy this little bit of Aro/Ace representation).

As a whole, The Memoirs of Lady Trent is a great series that any spinster with a secret (or not so secret) love of dragons would enjoy.

Dread Nation by Justina Ireland

Dread Nation takes two great YA trends and combines them into something both fun and thought provoking. Not only is it a historic retelling of post-Civil War America from the perspective of a young woman of color, but it also includes zombies.

The concept is simple. The Civil War was derailed when the dead started to rise from the battlefields. In post-war and post-rising America, only a few cities on the East coast are safe. Guards and patrols are everywhere. These patrols are manned largely by Native and African Americans who are trained at special schools in the art of killing the dead.

Jane McKeene is a student at one of those schools, and she hates it. She just wants to finish school and return home to Kentucky where her mother, a wealthy white woman, is hopefully waiting. But when a friend asks for help investigating families who have gone missing in Baltimore County, Jane gets caught up in a conspiracy that not only derails her education but also puts her life in danger.

Jane is a spinster part by choice and part by necessity. She has very little interest in pursuing romance with anyone in or around Boston. She just wants to get back home. But at the same time, she doesn't have time for romance. Who would when the dead are walking and your city is one of the few on the continent that is still safe?

Matilda from Roald Dahl's book by her name.

For more book reviews by The Ace Bookworm, click here: The Ace Bookworm.  

Cheers,

The Super Spinster 

Courting Iceland: Ring Road or Engagement Ring?

Selfoss with rainbow in Northern Iceland

Dear friends,

If you like it then you should have put a ring on it.  If you don't like it, hit the Ring Road.   Who needs a single-set diamond ring when you can spin around a whole country?  Waving my bare left hand at the Icelandic Highlands on my way along Iceland's Ring Road, I saluted the path ahead and the opportunities to come.

Time is short, and my patience for dating is shorter.  This past year, I could have (1) saved money for a week-long road trip around Iceland or (2) dated online and lurked in bars looking for love.  I could not afford both.  Dating sites cost around $150.00 for six months of limited choices.  Then there are the dates.  I prefer splitting the bill, so I cough up a lot of money for what?  Waiting at the bar while he runs late, hearing about his sexual frustrations with his ex-girlfriend, and watching him check his phone under the table for something better.  “So, when do I get to see your place?” he says.  “Never,” I reply.  “I’m going to Iceland.  I’d rather leap into a glacial lake than into anything with you.”

 

I put one finger into this glacial lake.  It counts as swimming.

This May, I traveled to Iceland with Alison to spin around the Ring Road for a week.  (You may remember Alison from Spinster Spotlight: Living Sola in Detroit.)   

We rented a camper van that looked like Scooby Doo’s The Mystery Machine.  We christened her “Helga”.  Helga was a trusty steed with a bumpy start.  I learned one does not drive Helga with the parking brake on, and Helga protested by flashing her check-engine light.  For one week, she was part transport, part café/bar, and part hotel.  With Helga, we traveled on our time and camped anywhere--beneath waterfalls, beside the sea, and at the bottom of mountains.

 

Helga, our Go Camper

Before embarking to Iceland, know three things.  (1) Americans are everywhere, and the Icelanders are in the countryside. (2) Icelandic food is delicious, but beware pony meat.  (3) The beer is watery, but the Brennivin is just fine.  Jump in!

We met more Americans in Iceland than Icelanders!  They were mostly friendly Midwesterners field tripping out of Reykjavik or cruising the Ring Road with us.  Some drove rental cars and stayed in hotels.  Others camped in vans like ours.  The toughest pitched tents or rode pack-ladened bikes up and down the hills (bad assess).  Everyone sought the perfect picture in Iceland’s stunning landscape.  One adventurous couple even climbed a cliff to take their wedding photos!  From the dry safety of Helga, Alison and I watched the bride don her wedding gown and cleats and climb one-hundred-or-so feet in the rain to stand beneath a waterfall with her groom.  Although the bride’s actions were admirable, being a spinster seemed easier and safer.  On the other side of romance, and a few hundred miles north, we met a friendly divorcee named Becca.  Young and recently divorced, Becca was a scientist from Washington DC and had left her cats behind to tour the Ring Road alone.  She made divorce look good.  Happy, single again, and on an adventure, she was good fun.  We shared stories over langoustine sandwiches in a little marina restaurant on Iceland’s southeastern coast.

 

Breakfast in Snaftafell Park.  I cooked sandwiches.

Speaking of sandwiches, watch your meat.  Alison, a dedicated vegetarian, was smitten by the Icelandic livestock, especially the spring lambs.  We took many photos of these critters until I could not bear it anymore.  I simply had to eat one of them.  To Alison’s horror, I gobbled a bowl of lamb stew with a side of bread, butter, and cake.  It made me a better person.  There are plenty of lambs to spare!  Horses, too.  Icelandic horses are pure bred descendants of the hardy, small horses the Vikings brought on their ships a millenium before.  There were thousands of them across Iceland, more than tourists could ride, more than farmers could sustain for pleasure alone.  My inner carnivore knew the answer but couldn’t accept it.  The Icelanders could only be…

 

Icelandic horse

…eating the ponies.  I asked two Icelanders to tell me straight—what do ya’ll do with the ponies?  “Uhhhhh….well, we ride them…and raise them…and breed them and…that’s it.”  Lies!  I was enlightened by some fellow travelers in the airport who had dined on pony that week.  Icelanders eat the little guys, and they’re the better for it.  The average lifespan of an Icelander is 82.86 years compared to the U.S.’s 78.74 (Source: World Bank 2015).  Could Americans live an extra four years by eating horse alone?

No, but we can learn much from Icelanders.

 

Safety first!  This sign was for the tourists, not the Icelanders.

(1)  Eat real food.  Not fast food.  Not food that’s low fat or low sugar or low calorie.  Just eat the real butter, milk, fish, sugar, and horse.  The preservatives in fake food are making us huge and unhealthy, and the real stuff tastes better.

(2)  Eat fish.  Go catch it, then eat it.

(3)  Move.  Icelanders walk, bike, and hike into old age.  This keeps them svelt and quick witted.

(4)  Swim.  Icelanders sit in hot tubs and swimming in pools heated by the island’s thermal energy.  They sweat out toxins, top up with Brennivin (a liquorice-tasting liquor), and repeat.

(5)  Know your neighbors.  Icelandic weather can be harsh, so Icelanders long relied on their neighbors to survive.  Now, they have tight-knit communities.  You can be alone in Iceland, but it’s hard to feel lonely.

 

Grjotagja Cave (featured in Game of Thrones).  It's a thermal pool a little too hot for swimming.

The Ring Road was the place to practice Icelandic living.  Alison and I swam in thermal pools, shaking off jet lag and muscle soreness.  We hiked over tawny hills, tussocky fields, black-sand beaches, and around glacial lakes.  We ate fish caught fresh with sweet potato fries and fresh bread.  We spelunked into a thermal cave that had no guard rails or warning signs.  We beheld football-stadium-sized craters caused by magma bubbles that popped.  And we watched reindeer roam freely. 

 

Alison kept us moving along Iceland's alien landscape.

We also drank watery beer.  The alcohol percentage of Icelandic beer hovers around 2.25%, far below the standard 4–5%.  Good for hydrating, bad for getting drunk.  Upon arriving in Keflavik airport, we hit the Duty-Free Store and stocked up on actual alcohol at a discount.  Alcohol is expensive in Iceland, so don’t miss the opportunity upon arriving.

 

I love Icelandic shrubbery.  These are lupines about to bloom in Reykjavik.

After all the nature and hydration the Ring Road provided, we returned to Detroit refreshed, wiser, and ready for more.  Alison flew to New York City for a music festival.  I drove to a conference in northern Michigan and started planning my next trip.  Traveling makes me better.  It helps me fall in love with the world a little more.  Other activities a woman of my age is expected to do, like online dating and lurking in bars, do not.  They make me feel like less, and I'm worth more.

Lambies!  Delicious...

So, put a ring on it or hit Iceland’s Ring Road?  The choice is easy.  It’s time to feel like more--engaged to life and in love with the world.  Whether recently divorced, ready to marry an adventurous sweetheart, or simply, joyfully single, Iceland's roads hold the escape and natural adventure we need.  It's only a plane ticket and a stop by the Duty Free away.  Just remember to take Helga's parking brake off first.

Cheers,

The Super Spinster

Alison and I at Jokulsarlon glacial lake. That is a glacier behind us.

Spinsters Take the Emerald Isle!

Dear Friends,

The Cliffs of Moher

It is time for new melodies.  We cannot knit comfortably in our armchairs forever.  The world calls!  Comfort is a favorite song, but there are unheard melodies we cannot hear over the thrum of the familiar.  What is tried and true once was new, and although the world seems a cacophony of unknown sounds, we cannot hear other melodies until we leave our armchairs behind.

Craving a new beat, Rachel and I packed our bags to meet four friends in the land of green and Guinness—Ireland.  Also known as Éire, this island boasts lush, sheepy countryside, friendly people, and lively music.  There’s a fair amount of “refreshment”, too.  Friends, I won’t lie to you.  My fellow travelers and I, we “Buccaneers” (19th-century nickname for American women unleashed upon another country), had a few Guinnesses, a few whiskies, a few ciders, and a fair few pints of other sundry liquids.  We had to get in the Celtic spirit!  Not that we needed liquid courage to get to know the locals.  The Irish want to know everything about you—where you’re from, where you’re off to next, “No, don’t drink the Guinness until it’s settled!!”, and what brought you to their fair country.

My visit to Ireland was not just for adventure’s sake.  It was also a “Sister Trip” for me and Rachel.  Each year, Rachel and I put away our knitting for quality sister time.  Every other year is a grand adventure, like Prince Edward Island in 2015 and Ireland this year.  Years in between are smaller journeys, like a few days on Lake Huron or a long weekend with friends.  I got this idea from my friend and mentor Brenda who passed away from cancer last August.  She and her sisters did a trip each year.  Even as they got older, got married, had kids, and sadly, suffered cancer, they didn’t let life stop them from quality sister time.  I liked that and decided to honor Brenda’s memory and genius by starting sister trips of my own.  Besides, Rachel is my best friend.  She reminds me of the important things, like packing pajamas, taking my vitamins, and not bitching when things don’t go my way.  She takes her sisterly duties seriously.

The funny thing about “sisters” is that they are not always the people you expect.  Yes, your parents may give you a sister.  That is non consensual, but we live with it.  Then there are the sisters you choose.  They are your girlfriends, the women you invite into your life because they make it brighter.  They help you listen to the music and will yell over your familiar, skipping records when you are too deaf to listen to newer beats.

Luckily for me, my fellow Buccaneers are the sisters I chose—A, J, M, and L.  They each have their gifts. 

A in Bray

A is unfailingly positive and eager to try new places.  In Dublin, she was on a pilgrimage to the city’s many watering holes, squeezing into the busiest pubs, chatting up the locals, and jamming to their music.  She did rather well at this, and she hustled me into a few more pubs than I would have visited alone. 

High Tea in Howth

J yearns for unique places.  Rather than visit Dublin’s many tourist stops, she opted for high tea in a fishing village and a tour of a quiet, country manor house.  She also makes lovely biscuits, a most useful quality on an adventure. 

M Guided us into Only the Safe Alleys

M was the human compass.  She knew how to get her stumbling, tipsy comrades around Dublin with humor and grace.  When her internal compass failed, she had the technology to get us where our humble wi-fi-only phones could not.  We would have been lost without her. 

L Takes Flight

And L, well, she was our artist, our photographer who took such stunning pictures that we kept searching her for a fancy camera.  She has an eye for beauty.

Thanks to my fellow Buccaneers—Rachel, A, J, M, and L—I experienced Ireland as I never could have alone.  They watched over me, pushed me out of my comfort zone, kept me on the right track, fed me, and revealed the beauty all around.  Had I stayed at home, I would not have known what I was missing.  I would have missed the rhythms of Ireland and the harmony of six women conquering it together.  Now that I have returned, I cannot hear the same song I heard before.  I am different.  My ear is attuned to other melodies, and life sounds better than before.

When we escape the armchair, we risk feeling lonely or lost, not getting along, or forgetting who we are in the tumult of becoming something new.  In Ireland, (when we weren’t with M) we got lost, and we sometimes felt lonely in a foreign land.  We didn’t get along perfectly, but we worked it out.  In being away from work and home, we forgot about the professions and street addresses that used to define us.  It changed us as adventure does.  And even though we have returned to our six separate armchairs, we are still humming that new tune, sisters far apart yet still in perfect harmony.

The Buccaneers, Dublin

Cheers,

The Super Spinster