Anybody thinking about going to Iceland definitely should. It is the weirdest country ever.

Kylebug and I booked to go to Iceland for our 4th anniversary (of unmarried love, in case anyone thought they missed anything). We hummed and hawed about it, because a) the package was pretty expensive and b) Iceland is known to be pretty expensive. We eventually decided to just bite the bullet and do it, based on the fact that we are closer to Iceland than we ever will be again- unless we move to…say…Iceland, and also it is unlikely that we shall have a greater disposable pound income in the near future. So off to Iceland we went.

First- the amazing coincidence. We ended up heading off to the most expensive country in the world (verification not possible) the day after the entire economy crashed. Not good for Iceland. Reasonably good for us. There was a sense of low-level panic about the economy the whole time we were there. Sitting in a pizza shop I saw a newspaper- entirely red, with a suggestion of a hammer and sickle in the background- with the headline ‘Welcome to Iceland-istan.’

So, the Icelanders were not having a good time, but with the plummeting ISK bringing a pint down to £2.50 and the Northern Lights (allegedly) overhead, Kyle and I were up for a good weekend. Iceland is a country with incredible geography. There is a lot of history and culture, but if you are used to the magnificent buildings and gracious proportions of the rest of Europe you are likely to be disappointed. You can comfort yourself by swimming in a pool full of turquoise thermally heated water, drive past volcanoes and spy glaciers out of the bus window, so it really depends what you are wanting out of a holiday. I loved Iceland, because it is just completely unlike anywhere I am ever likely to go again. The rock is black. You have fields of black magma covered in moss. That is the main feature in and around Reykjavik. You have looming mountains and a wind that comes off the sea at minus 1 million degrees. You have the best salads in the Northern Hemisphere. You have a geyser called Geysir that gave all the others in the world their name. You have a waterfall called Gullfoss, whose glacial runoff plummets towards the sea harder and faster than I have ever seen from a waterfall. You have the Northern Lights sharpening to a gradual lime green in the night sky above. And crowning it all off, you have the wind. The freezing cold, icy, glacial (how many more descriptive words can I put in?) wind.

Iceland is a country that will never fail to provide you with memorable experiences. On day one we walked around Reykjavik for a bit, absorbing the vibe of this capital city that feels ¾ like an overgrown fishing town. A lot of the buildings are not more than a few stories high (probably because of the earth quakes) and everything has a bit of a gauche feel. The land feels very young. We ate pizza and salad in a hip bar on a street with too many umlauts in the title.

On day two we caught buses frantically around town, trying to decide if we wanted to rent a car for the remained of our trip, or if we should take the preset tour busses that seemed to be on offer. One fight outside Budget travel later, we decided to take the tour buses. We returned to the hotel just in time to catch our lift to the Blue Lagoon, a thermal pool about an hour outside of Reykjavik. It was amazing- powder blue milky water against black rock, with slimy white sand underfoot and the chill breeze against any exposed skin. We froze all bits of our body off standing outside the warm water trying to capture the magic of it on video. We swam closer to gigantic clouds of sulphur than you would think would be desirable, just to get the warmth of the hot water as it is released into the pool. I slathered the ‘silica mask’ (mud) all over my face, straight from the buckets at the side of the pool. Kyle refused to touch it, in spite of the alleged healing, rejuvenating, anti-aging properties. Truth be told, once it was dry on my face it did just feel like mud. We returned to Reykjavik totally relaxed and warm.

On day two we headed out on a coach tour to see Pingvellir (pronounced ‘Thing-vellir’), the ancient seat of the Viking parliament and the place where the Eurasian and American continental plates meet; Gullfoss, a massive glacial waterfall; and the geysers at Haukadalur. I cannot recommend this Golden Circle tour (as it is known) highly enough. Each element of the experience was totally unique- from standing at a roaring waterfall with the largest glacier in Europe nearby, to skirting the carefully roped off area around the geysers because ‘the earth’s crust is very thin, and you can easily put a leg through the rock if you are not careful.' Everything about Iceland is incredibly primeval, and really brings home the fact that humans are not masters of the elements. The whole country feels very old and very new at the same time, with the black rocks stretching out across the plains. Standing at Pingvellir, where the Vikings once held parliament, made decisions and drowned witches (as they were apt to do, apparently), with the American continental plate looming behind me as the weak Northern sun set over the mountains and rivers of the no-man’s-land between the continental plates would definitely have to be a highlight of my trip. It just felt so otherworldly.

On the evening of day two it was finally clear enough for us to head out on (yet another) bus to see the Northern Lights. The Northern Lights themselves were amazing to see- muted clouds that gradually stained the sky lime green as they moved overhead, only to be gone a few moments later. Not bright dazzles as we were led to expect, but good to see nevertheless. A thoroughly enjoyable sight. The experience of going to see the Northern Lights was less enjoyable:
1. Put on thermals, jeans, full ski gear, beanie, scarf and gloves.
2. Go to bus.
3. Sit in between a loud drunk American guy who yelled: “Do you mind- some of us are really hungover here,” when the bus lights were turned on, and a woman from Manchester who was so disinterested in the Northern Lights that she didn’t even bother to get out of the bus.
4. Get out of the bus to get away from the above people.
5. Feel freezing, stare at the sky.
6. Get back in bus.
7. Someone has a phantom sighting of Northern Lights. Get out of bus.
8. Repeat steps 5-7.
9. Eventually, Northern Lights actually manifest. Stand, stare in wonder at them for a while.
10. Get back on bus and go home.

In summary: Iceland. Home of Puffins, Vikings and the world’s most northern capital city. Home of more geological phenomena than you can shake a stick at. Home of Bjork. Who could want more? Not I. Not you. Book now.

(Edit: see photos here.)

(Edit again- looking through the photos I realised I forgot to mention the world's hugest and most scary swan. That thing was both huge and scary. It tried to eat a small child. Beware of the swans.)

Time passes both quickly and slowly. This is hardly a controversial fact- akin to ‘the sky is blue(ish)’ and ‘chocolate is indeed a food group’. Today, for example, has been dragging on with work things that have been incredibly hard to resolve- phone calls not returned, emails awaiting reply for a series of big work issues.

But that is not why you read this blog. You read it to see where Kylebug and Jenbug have been recently, and possibly to read a few amusing anecdotes. Anecdotes I cannot promise you, but I can give (long overdue) details of our trips.

August 9-16, Croatia. We went on a boat. It was a big boat, but was small compared to the other boats, and also when compared to the sea (the big waves coming into Split on the final day let us see exactly how big the sea was, and how small we were). We joined Isje and Jack, who had been travelling around for 2 months already, and a bunch of their other Aussie mates on a 25 person cruise. It was a riot. On day one we travelled from Split to Markarska. During the day we stopped and swam in the middle of the sea (the first time I have done so, being afraid of all the nasty big sharks back home) and then had cocktails as the sun set over the boat. In the evening we danced the night away in a Ministry of Sound club hewn out of the ocean rock. Day two saw us sleep in a little late, which was just as well because as the day went on we would have much excitement. We had dinner on the boat (and our brilliant captain, Edo, dressed up in full pirate gear before providing us with a fresh fish feast) and in the middle of it all, Jack got down on one knee and proposed to Isje in front of everyone. She said yes, and some surprise bottles of Moet soon surfaced as the night kicked into high gear. On day 3 we headed into the amazing city of Dubrovnik. It is as beautiful as the pictures, and the walk around the wall (with Mark and Amy, and new boat friends Georgia and Paulie) was one of the highlights. If you see photos of us up high holding a ‘Croatia’ book, that is the city wall of Dubrovnik. You are hundreds of feet up in the air, looking over the glittering sea, people swimming and yachts on one side, and the gracious proportions of the old city on the other. One of the ways in which we kept harmony among the group was to have two people choose the restaurant each evening, so that there was no squabbling among the troops. In Dubrovnik, the guy in charge of choosing the dinner venue chose Dubrovnik’s most expensive restaurant, which saw us forking out £36 per person for the (admittedly very good) meal. This figure is sure to shock South Africans, and make Londoners go ‘meh’. On day four we landed in Korcula, a beautiful city overlooking a quiet bay. We had cocktails at the top of an old castle rampart before feasting on pizza and wine out of plastic cups while listening to the worst band ever playing in the town square. We soon moved back to the boat where we danced like crazy to cheesy music like Westlife and American boy until the sun came up.

Day 5 and 6 were spent in Croatia’s playground for the rich and the beautiful- Hvar. This city is a collection of classy beachside bars with puffy couches and elaborate cocktails, with mega yachts nestled in the harbour and a fort looming over the scene. It was brilliant. On night one Kyle and I managed to find restaurant overlooking the harbour for supper. This restaurant had the added bonus of serving shark with rosemary and vegetables (which was delicious), so we feel that we totally won the food challenge without breaking the bank. After that it was one or two drinks, as the next day was the boat’s respective Hen and Stag nights.

In the morning we hired tiny motorboats and spent the morning exploring the Croatian coastline while trying not to be flipped over by the wake of the mega-yachts…although to be fair, a small breeze could also have done these boats some damage. We passed the afternoon swimming, fishing and eating before splitting off into boys and girls groups for our hen night. The woman heading off to a slinky beach bar for cocktails, another beach bar for more cocktails, and then off to a Croatian organic tapas bar for delicious nibbles and lots and lots of organic wine. The men apparently headed off to one beach bar, stayed there, and drank a lot of beer. The two groups converged on Hvar’s castle nightclub just in time to ring in my 25th birthday. The night got pretty messy for some, and certain boat members have compromising photographs of them to show their grandchildren. I was also lucky enough to get a Happy Birthday dance from both Mark and Jacko, neither of whom were at their prime at that stage of the evening.

Our final day on the boat started late, with a head clearing swim before our last of Edo’s legendary lunches. In the evening we had a pirate party, made even more special by a giant cream cake for my birthday, and a beautiful bracelet and necklace from my boatmates. Some low-key karaoke finished off our night in Croatia. Overall the trip was amazing. I achieved things I didn’t ever imagine I would (swimming in the ocean without being eaten by a shark, wearing a bikini in front of people, tethering up a boat to a rock in a natural inlet, and using a dodgy communal bathroom for 7 days and loving it), and the holiday was definitely one of the highlights of my year.

Three flights later and we were back in Edinburgh and back to the grindstone. Luckily we still had our trip to Ireland (Kyle’s birthday present to me) to look forward to, otherwise the transition from glorious turquoise waters and unending cocktails to the office in Livingston could have been too much to handle.

So- Ireland. Land of charming accents and weather similar to Scotland. Land of Blarney castle, the best castle in the world. It even beats Edinburgh castle because it has the added advantage of actually looking like a castle. And it is situated in acres of beautiful ground and it has all these Druid ruins that could actually be ruins, but could also be Ireland trying to up the ante. Certainly I have seen more convincing ruins (although admittedly not Druidic) in my time. We started our trip in Cork, where we experienced Blarney castle, the world’s reddest curry and pizza in a Rastafarian restaurant. We then drove up the coastline to Lahinch, a beautiful rugged part of the country where the Cliffs of Moher fall in straight black lines to the Atlantic, and the ocean kisses the horizon all the way to America. Kyle and I snacked on crisp ciders and salad overlooking the ocean before finishing the day off at a 400 year old farmhouse for the night. It was brilliant. The following morning we drove through deepest, darkest rural Ireland to get to Shannon airport, which is not the rocking party central you might expect. It was a brilliant

Other things that have happened to us: Kyle pedalled for Scotland, completing an 84 km race for leukaemia. We have a busy week ahead- as we speak my dad gets ready to arrive in the UK via Quatar, and then we are off to Prague and then Iceland. We may or may not turn on the central heating soon. Other than that, time just continues to move quickly and slowly. Here’s to a more timely update next time!

Ahoy there! Long time no post. Two new albums of photos have been uploaded - the first, Pedal for Scotland - the cycle race the Kyle participated in, around 82km long from Glasgow to Edinburgh - Scotlands biggest cycle event. The photos of our most recent trip to Ireland are also up. We flew down to Cork, hired a car and drove up the coastline over 2 days. Was pretty spectacular, Cliffs of Moher, Blarney Castle (kissed the stone) and a host of other things. You can check the photos our of the Ireland trip here, and a few photos from the cycle event here. Planning on posting an update on our lives any day now, keep reading and cowabunga!

This last week saw the start of the Edinburgh Festival 2008. It's hard to explain the incredible size and excitement of it. The festival completely takes over the entire city for all of August, whilst the population of the city grows to literally 3 times it's size. The buses are busier, the pubs are busier, the streets are busier, and you right off the fact that a trip through central will ever be a quick experience during this time. It's extremely festive. People flock from all over the world which means that every time you walk along the streets you hear another language being spoken. In fact, just yesterday I was walking along George Street (the most prestigious street in Edinburgh - all business like and commercial) and I heard a group of woman speaking Zulu. It was pretty wicked. So here are the photos from the opening parade that runs all through the main streets of the city, as well as an embedded video of the starting lines of the parade - bag pipes, of course. It's a great time to be living in Edinburgh. Photos here.

Edinburgh Festival Parade 2008 from Ducklight Travels on Vimeo.

This morning I overslept, and got into work 1:45 minutes late. I opened my Gmail in time to see a friend’s status saying ‘Happy Birthday Madiba’. Since then I have done little work, instead watching footage of the 46664 concert, birthday wishes for Madiba, the Asimbonanga video in Frankfurt, and trying not to cry at my desk (and failing).

Today, I want to be at home, with other people for whom today has the same meaning that it has for me. For all that I am happy, I wish I was driving along the N1 with the dusty South African winter passing my window.

Instead, as a form of catharsis, I will write about my memories of Mandela- few and small as they are compared to the memories and knowledge of some.

I was 7 when Mandela was freed from jail. I remember sitting on the floor, watching TV with my mom and my sister. Do I remember him thrusting his hand skywards, or do I just think I do because of the images of the day that abound? I remember the texture of the carpet, and the anticipation.

I had been watching a video at school, and I rushed out to the car to greet my mom, that day in 1992. She was a bit late, because she had been voting in the referendum. I remember her using that word. My mom was in educational book publishing and didn’t believe in talking down to children. “What is a referendum mom?” “It’s a yes/ no vote.” “ What about?” “To ask white people if they want the changes in South Africa to keep happening.”

We stayed up late to watch the Olympic opening ceremony. The parade of nations got pretty boring after a while- I think countries beginning with a ‘A’ get the best deal. Grandad was selected for the Olympics, for weight lifting. That was the year we got banned, so Grandad always tells us. Suddenly it gets to the ‘S’s…I am so excited. “South Africa.” The crowd roars…the tempo lifts palpably, noticeable even to a little girl thousands of kilometres away. The world applauds us and welcomes us back.

We went to the voting station with my mom, because she wanted us with her, and because she didn’t want us to stay at home. The line went for about 5 blocks. Two enterprising teenage boys from one of the houses that the queue was slowly snaking past had bought take away pizza and were selling it off at the ridiculous price of R5 per slice to a captive audience. Everyone was in a really good mood, in spite of the heat, in spite of the hours on our feet. Black and white people lined up next to each other to vote. Is it possible to convey how significant that was? Better people than I have tried. Angie and I ran down to the corner shop to buy Coke and chips. We shared them with mom and the lady standing behind us in the line.

We watched the inauguration on tv. The union buildings, where we often went when we went to visit Granny and Grandpa (and would sometimes get bought a quick-melting ice cream!) was packed with people, rows upon rows of people, all cheering, all in the sun, and the heat, waiting to see the new nation begin.

I love our new flag- it is so cool.

I had watched a few rugby games as World Cup Fever gripped SA. Claire-Marie and I watched the final in her lounge. I ate naartjies, convinced they were helping us to win. Claire’s family were sad- her sister was supposed to be one of the dancers in the opening, but she had been too ill. Claire and I were un-affected, with the unselfconsciousness of our 12 year old’s grasp of propriety. Our eyes were glued on Joost, not wanting him to get hurt. Willing James to tackle Jomo and keep him down. Nail biting. Naartjie after naartjie- what if I stopped eating them and we lost? We won! Mandela presented Francois with the trophy. Claire and I went out into her front garden to do cartwheels. The streets were at a standstill with hooting cars- later the same would happen with the African Cup of Nations, but this time vuvuzelas would mingle to create the music of an elated people.

Natasha, Tanja and I are at Natasha’s aunt and uncle’s house. “Did you send an sms for Mandela’s birthday?” Tush asks me. “Yes- but I kept it very simple. Just ‘Happy Birthday Madiba. God bless and have many more. Love Jenny”.
“ Not me,” Natasha says “I got quite emotional, saying ‘Thank you for sending our country on its way to democracy…”

Today- grey skies. I slept past my alarm clock. I got to work late. My eyes are teary. I wish I had baked a cake. I wish I could share with someone how much today means. I listen to Asimbonanga, Impi, Scatterlings of Africa and others on Youtube. I watch the video of Madiba on stage in Frankfurt. I want to cry for our country, and our people, for being so far away but for always having Africa in my heart.

Mandela is an icon, but the key thing about him is it feels like each one of us carries a piece of him- a quote, a special memory, the image of Madiba shirts hanging in OR Thambo- in our hearts. Not only does he remind the world that we count, that we mean something, but in some small way, his birthday has the power to bring me home.

Happy birthday Madiba. God bless you.

We took a weekend trip to the Czech Republic and spent a few days in Prague. What an incredible city with unparalleled architecture as we as beer prices! The photos just can never do such a beautiful city justice. Next time you're planning a trip make sure that Prague is one of the destinations - a real pearler. Check out the photos here.

Three months worth of digging around for information to prove Jen and my relationship and it all came down to one day. Last week Friday, 20th June 2008, was the set date for the application to be submitted by my lawyer, on my behalf. He gets to explain all the goods and bads about the application to the officer rather than myself and that's definitely a good thing because of all his experience with applications such as these. The paperwork was finalised last week when the last steps were taken to send through our passports to him in Glasgow, Royal Mail, special delivery. £5.05 later and I was given a tracking slip that would ensure my package was on his doorstep by 9am the following morning. Would I have trusted two passports and a 10-thick pile of legal documents in South African post? Most definitely not. Was I still unsure of the safety of it even with the Royal Mail special delivery stamp? For sure. It worked out okay though and just as promised the passports were with him the following day, just 24 hours prior to the application. Nail biting stuff.

Of course it was nail biting. Though the repercussions were never completely life or death, there were many parts to our lives that would be greatly affected by the outcomes of this application. If it was denied we would almost definitely be heading back to SA on a plane in August due to my inability to continue working in the UK on my working holidaymaker visa. It meant the loss of many thousands of pounds of potential earnings and savings. Not to mention our six month lease that we just signed in our new awesome penthouse flat, and my mobile, broadband and many other service contracts needing to be cut short. Knowing Britain, ending those contracts short would have been quite a costly exercise, coupled with the fact that... I'm just not ready to leave yet.

I'm not ready to leave it behind. As many posts before this have said, my views on the life that we have made over here have almost always been positive. We have established ourselves in a completely foreign country and we've built up comfortable lives over here even when faced against many difficult struggles. And it didn't just happen. We worked for it. I'm not the type of person who talks of fate, nor luck, very often. Just as I don't believe in our paths being out of our control, I don't believe that things just "happen for a reason". I damn well fought for this. I worked my butt off to make sure that I reached a stable position over here, I never accepted failure and I certainly didn't accept a half-ass effort. The position in life that I am currently in was worked for and wouldn't have been achieved by just sitting and waiting for it to fall on my lap. Our jobs, our flat, our friends, our trips away, our car, our gadgets, our lives... didn't just happen. We made them happen and just as we can take the credit for them, we can also take the blame.

That is why this application meant so much... it was the ability to continue on this path and keep up what we have worked so hard for. To have it declined and sent packing would've been to lose all that we had worked so hard for and just like all the adversity we've come up against so far, I wasn't going to fail. We called in favours, we had to use snail-mail (many many times), we dug through our personal lives, we got other people to dig through our personal lives, we were thorough and I didn't want to think for one second that I didn't do everything I could have possibly done to ensure it's success.

And just like our previous successes. My residency permit was approved. Within half an hour at the home office Richard called me and told me the good news - "We're about half way through the process now, they've just taken your passport and documentation away. It's all been approved." Can I explain the feeling when he uttered those words? Not a chance. For lack of a better saying, it was oodles of weight off my shoulders. Months of stress all bundled in to one package that fell from my shoulders and down the stairs I was standing next to as he told me that my permit was approved. A huge sigh of relief and the start of yet another chapter in our lives together. Another story to tell people about - another box ticked. After all, we worked for it and we succeeded.

(I was going to post a picture of the actual passport but then I decided that it may be a pretty controversial thing to have publicly available. Not to mention that I suddenly realised I would become one of those people who gave all their privacy data away just for a blog post.)

Muppet and Chicken met up for a man-weekend in the city of Amsterdam. They hired bikes and spoke Dutch. It was an epic time and whilst these were the documented images from my camera, Muppets "manual" cam hopefully captured some equally impressive shots. We must've ridden like 30 miles at least that weekend and drank our weight in beer. Amsterdam ftw.

Check out the pics here.