Every one complains about the weather. Must be genetic or something.
In Luxembourg, the weather is like a tired old dog, blind on one eye, hard of hearing and mostly grey. It has lost most of its teeth. It's not always comfortable, but certainly reliable in its behaviour. Most days, it will not stir from its warm place by the fire, but if it does, it will most likely send us rain. Occasionally, on its more active days, it might shake its shaggy fur and send us some dandruff, err snow. This will be mildly annoying; it makes us late for work and as the temperatures usually stay very much in the centre of the indifference scale, the snow will turn into brown slush in a matter of minutes. The old dog loves lying in the sun, but in order to do so, it will have to drag the heavy grey cloud blanket away with it's toothless gums; a laborious task as Luxembourg is surrounded by hills and mountains, in which the clouds get all tangled up. So in general, the dog is content, if it catches a glimpse of the yellow ball every now and then, there is no need to come out and play with it, as longs as we know it's still there. Luxembourgish weather is meek and tame. Even at its worst, it is more of a nuisance than an actual problem.
The great beast of Icelandic weather is wild, untamed and full of energy. It is gloriously beautiful, moody and very playful. Unlike the tired old Luxembourgish weather dog, it has several rows of very sharp teeth and it doesn't just use them in self-defence. Given the chance, it will kill. It might lull you into a false sense of security with clear skies and a temperate breeze, only to send a blizzard 20 minutes later. If it caught you off-guard, i.e. without proper attire, it might nibble on your toes and fingers - or devour you altogether, while you desperately search to find your way out of the whiteout. It might also do that with proper attire, by the way. Snow does not fall in Iceland, thanks to the ever-present strong-gale winds, the beast's icy breath, it grows from the ground up in a blurry flurry. On the continent, we measure snow in centimeters, in Iceland, it grows where the wind blows it, hip-deep, knee-deep, ankle-deep, all within a few meters. If the beast is angry, it might blow you over, dismantle your buildings, turn your car upside down and prevent you from leaving the house for days. When in the right mood, it might send down some spectacular northern lights, making you chase it, while it slowly sucks the heat out of your body.
During the summer, the beast is generally in a better mood and does not rear its mighty head quite so often, but you still need to be on your guard. While it's hardly ever really hot, the sun is very strong and hangs around for 19+ hours. It will burn you relentlessly and because of the wind cooling your face, you will not notice until it is much too late.
The weather in Iceland is far from nice. It's wild, exciting, amazing, brutal, terrifying, awe-inspiring, beautiful, scary, feral, gorgeous and potentially lethal. Managing it (and by managing it I mean managing yourself in accordance with it) is an important part of everyday life. Vedur.is with its detailed weather maps and Vegagerdin.is with its real-time information on road conditions and live web cams of tricky passages are invaluable tools for survival. The web cams even count how many people drive into a tricky passage, so that if you don't come out on the other side, the rescue team knows where to go look for you.
It's very important to understand that you are not the boss. The beast is. And it will exploit all your weaknesses without so much as flinching. You cannot plan ahead as you do on the continent. You can make long-term plans, of course, but you can never decide to do this and that on that particular day. Or if you do, be prepared to scrap your plans. You do what you can, while you can. And if the beast is acting up, you try not to get in its way. Many tourists underestimate the power and brutality of Icelandic weather. Respect the beast. Stay safe.
In Luxembourg, the weather is like a tired old dog, blind on one eye, hard of hearing and mostly grey. It has lost most of its teeth. It's not always comfortable, but certainly reliable in its behaviour. Most days, it will not stir from its warm place by the fire, but if it does, it will most likely send us rain. Occasionally, on its more active days, it might shake its shaggy fur and send us some dandruff, err snow. This will be mildly annoying; it makes us late for work and as the temperatures usually stay very much in the centre of the indifference scale, the snow will turn into brown slush in a matter of minutes. The old dog loves lying in the sun, but in order to do so, it will have to drag the heavy grey cloud blanket away with it's toothless gums; a laborious task as Luxembourg is surrounded by hills and mountains, in which the clouds get all tangled up. So in general, the dog is content, if it catches a glimpse of the yellow ball every now and then, there is no need to come out and play with it, as longs as we know it's still there. Luxembourgish weather is meek and tame. Even at its worst, it is more of a nuisance than an actual problem.
The great beast of Icelandic weather is wild, untamed and full of energy. It is gloriously beautiful, moody and very playful. Unlike the tired old Luxembourgish weather dog, it has several rows of very sharp teeth and it doesn't just use them in self-defence. Given the chance, it will kill. It might lull you into a false sense of security with clear skies and a temperate breeze, only to send a blizzard 20 minutes later. If it caught you off-guard, i.e. without proper attire, it might nibble on your toes and fingers - or devour you altogether, while you desperately search to find your way out of the whiteout. It might also do that with proper attire, by the way. Snow does not fall in Iceland, thanks to the ever-present strong-gale winds, the beast's icy breath, it grows from the ground up in a blurry flurry. On the continent, we measure snow in centimeters, in Iceland, it grows where the wind blows it, hip-deep, knee-deep, ankle-deep, all within a few meters. If the beast is angry, it might blow you over, dismantle your buildings, turn your car upside down and prevent you from leaving the house for days. When in the right mood, it might send down some spectacular northern lights, making you chase it, while it slowly sucks the heat out of your body.
During the summer, the beast is generally in a better mood and does not rear its mighty head quite so often, but you still need to be on your guard. While it's hardly ever really hot, the sun is very strong and hangs around for 19+ hours. It will burn you relentlessly and because of the wind cooling your face, you will not notice until it is much too late.
The weather in Iceland is far from nice. It's wild, exciting, amazing, brutal, terrifying, awe-inspiring, beautiful, scary, feral, gorgeous and potentially lethal. Managing it (and by managing it I mean managing yourself in accordance with it) is an important part of everyday life. Vedur.is with its detailed weather maps and Vegagerdin.is with its real-time information on road conditions and live web cams of tricky passages are invaluable tools for survival. The web cams even count how many people drive into a tricky passage, so that if you don't come out on the other side, the rescue team knows where to go look for you.
It's very important to understand that you are not the boss. The beast is. And it will exploit all your weaknesses without so much as flinching. You cannot plan ahead as you do on the continent. You can make long-term plans, of course, but you can never decide to do this and that on that particular day. Or if you do, be prepared to scrap your plans. You do what you can, while you can. And if the beast is acting up, you try not to get in its way. Many tourists underestimate the power and brutality of Icelandic weather. Respect the beast. Stay safe.
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