Voodoo Dating: Dirty Sheep
I have been traveling around Iceland for two weeks and I have seen some stuffings. The Mountains, icebergs, about a zillion sheep, Viking remains, and liqueurs-which-are-coloured-like-liqueurs-but-don’t-taste-like-liqueurs-but-are-liqueurs. All very lovely.
Iceland is about the size of the State of Kentucky, with 60% of it’s population housed in the capital City of Reykjavik. This leaves the remaining per cent (give or take several hundred sheep) skewed around the Country, amongst fields and glaciers. I didn’t visit Reykjavik for two reasons; The City is nearly impossible to finagle one’s way into & I became a little too curious about Iceland’s Country inhabitants. One of my Country experiences occurred in Budardalur (that would be West Iceland), when I was invited to take in the town’s annual Sheep Festival.
Despite Budardalur’s neighboring glacier, the festival’s meat judging/wool trading/lamb dining/and dancing afterwards, sort of resembled an event which might take place in a small town within the States. I say this because I was reminded of a quasi-dating experience, out in the Country, which didn’t involve sheep, but probably should have.
Like many Summering teens, I was working as a waitress…
One evening, my Pal, Todd, invited me to a sketchy sounding ‘party in the woods’. (But what party in the woods doesn’t sound sketchy, really?) Growing up in Northern Michigan, one becomes used to festivities in ‘the woods’ and the clever names used to identify various places in said woods. While I just can’t seem to recall if this party took place at The Spot, The Dunes, The Place, or The Avalanche (I warned you they were clever), they were all kinda the same.
This evening’s particular place/spot showcased some of the finest dunes and sandy pastures for fires and off-roading within the area. Todd, being Mr. Personality, quickly introduced himself among our…er…woodland peers and we each procured respective Millers (because when partying in the woods, you do it up right). Like Iceland, this festivity included entertainment and the night’s activities were off-roading in really big Ford trucks with really big tires.
As most of us have been privy to, the more beer consumed, the better the driver, and, consequently, the better the off-roading show. Instead of regular mud-bogging and the like, one of the Ford drivers decided to practice his mating skills/call upon his lady passenger. This extreme off-roading experience brought about precarious starting and stopping techniques upon sand, gravel, strewn beer cans, etc. While we viewers weren’t terrifically impressed, I’m inclined to believe the driver certainly was.
Clearly, beer makes everything better and my Pal, Todd, began to egg on the Mr. Ford. (You know, because Boys need that extra attention to get over their shyness when preforming clever stunts which seem characteristically dopey to the rest of us.) Fueled by Todd’s encouragement, Mr. Ford created a new game of chicken for himself. This version of Chicken involved driving in a direct path towards the residents of our bonfire, at speeds equating to ignorance.
Growing up in Michigan, I felt I knew enough about cars to calculate the lengths/time/and probability of stopping a truck before it actually ran over a bonfire. I also knew that this probability might be hindered if the truck’s only breaking surface was sand. It seemed everyone else came to the same conclusion pretty quickly as well and took off right quick. I decided the same, but clumsily got caught in the sand, fell, couldn’t right myself, and then began revisiting clips of my life via the ThunderCats. Eventually, the Ford gritted to it’s overshot stopping position, with it’s gigantor tire touching/slightly burying my right leg.
After watching this episode, my gallant Pal came to my rescue and pulled me up. Like the bravest of heroes, Todd admitted that he really didn’t think I was going to be in that much trouble…and he didn’t want to risk his beer playing a savior. Regardless, Todd remains one of my most humourous Pals and his remark only adds to our adventures.
Recalling my time in Iceland, and it’s mysteriously-sometimes-quirky cultures, I kinda think off-roading and bonfires would be more well-rounded with less Fords and more sheep.