Of Water Worms and Icy Ice

“We call them “water worms” back home.”

“Oh….?” The pool attendant was setting out fresh coffee.

The truth of the matter is I don’t actually know what they're called.

“Here we say “pool noodles.”

This was perfect pool weather: Light snow, winds not too harsh, just a brisk breeze.

“Ja, water-worms. That’s how we call them.”

“Is for the children swimming. To teach,” she said.

In the next pool over the kids were having a battle royale. Whatever else the pool noodles were used for, they made excellent if harmless weapons. The objective of the game was simple: To beat the others senseless with a water-worm. But it was terribly difficult to inflict any real harm because the things bent and swayed with puffed-up airiness when the kids tried to inflict blows on each other. And this: They could also be used as a defensive weapon. So, all the kids being armed equally, it was very hard to get through the defending water-worms to hit the heads just bobbing over the water’s surface. Except for one young girl. At the age of seven or eight, she was something on an amazon woman. She hit her targets with precision—once even splashing down and landing a direct blow on her friend’s head simultaneously. Even without my glasses, and viewing all this through a blur, I could tell she was a force to be reckoned with.

Typical youngster enjoying pool noodles

I stayed until seven, the pool’s closing time. The kids and remaining adults were long gone by then. I had the hot pots, hot coffee, and falling snow to myself. Yes, the coffee is included in the pool fee. At a typical pool you’ll find “hot pots” of varying temperatures. The big pools near Reyjkavik will have a hot pool and then a hotter one. In addition to the regular swimming pool, which has regular heated water. I seem to remember a third pot—with a water temperature less than the other two small hot pots. I could be mistaken, though. The “hot pots” are what we generically refer to as “jacuzzis” back in the States.

At the pool in Sudeyreiri, I chose the pot with the hottest water, and would occasionally sit on the edge to get the benefit of snow and light breeze on my bare skin. It was nighttime, but this one is best experienced in daylight, getting there around opening time as I once did with a friend in the area. It’s she who actually introduced me to the beautiful pool. It’s then that you get the full effect of the snowy ridges that rise just behind this place. The town itself appears to get more of the “winter effect” than close-by Isafjordur, where I was staying. It’s generally socked-in with snow and ice, just as it was this evening when I visited for a last date with the hot-pots.

Hot coffee and milk, hot pots, a wintry mix blowing in from the snowy ridges—it is ideal bathing conditions.

And—speaking of wintry things: 

Walking can be treacherous. The sidewalks and streets accumulate snow, which melts and turns to ice, then re-melts a bit and re-freezes. At times you will have a thin layer or puddle of water on top of the ice, which makes walking super-slick. Yes, I’ve fallen on my ass. For some reason it is one of my worst phobias—this possibility of falling. For one thing, it hurts. For another, I guess there are lots of other reasons, but I REALLY don’t like falling down or even feeling there’s the possibility of it. With regular footwear, I take short, shuffling steps.  At times I try running across the ice, but this is not really practical as there is so much of it. I’d be running everywhere, and eventually I’d slip and fall anyway.  On a walk around town today, almost every paved surface had a very thick and slippery coating of ice.

Icy sidewalk in Isafjordur

Aerial view of ice

So far this isn’t very helpful. But there is a solution, and it actually works. It doesn’t involve carrying a bag of salt or ice melt with you, or hiring a large person to carry you over the icy spots. It’s a strapped-on gizmo that many people here attach to their shoes or boots. You can get them in general stores or even the hardware store here in Isafjordur. I’ve used two different kinds, and they both work well. One has spikes or little cleats sticking out the bottom—like golf shoes. The other kind uses lengths of coiled steel that criss-cross the soles, somewhat akin to tire chains. The chains and the cleats provide just enough “bite” to keep you from slipping.

Now that I've tried them both, my preference is the style with coiled steel. I think it provides a better grip, and is a little more stylish as well. The main thing to remember is to take off your boots or strap-ons when you enter a building like the public library or any place that maintains a nice floor. Certainly remove your shoes when you go to someone's home. I like to leave these attached once they're on the boots, as taking them on and off gets to be a bit of a chore.

Thanks to Mána Ljós for introducing me to the west fjords hot pots. She has been a long time in this area and you can follow her blog at: icelandlogbook.blogspot.is