The Brigadoon is a 1967 37-foot Blackwatch sloop. (Predecessor of the Tartan model, for those of you following along at home.) She came with the name, and we saw no reason to change it.
Below are some pictures of her before we started making any changes. Enjoy!
Pretty roomy, right? No table yet, that’s why, haha.
The Brigadoon technically sleeps 7, and you can see 6 of those spots from this vantage point. The lower two bunks pull out, so you don’t have to be Slender Man to sleep in them. (I hate horror movies, why do I say things like that and creep myself out? haha)
Yes, we’re making new cushions.
Here’s the view from the non-existent table, facing outside.
The most important room in the house:
Yes, the sink is also the shower. The whole head is also the shower.From left: icebox (soon to be fridge) and trash drawer, three-burner stove and oven, sink.
The 7th bunk is also the radio/navigation area, and it’s also pretty hard to access, so I’m guessing it didn’t see a lot of use as a bunk. We’re going to use it for storage.
And a few shots of the outside, because she’s so pretty.
At first blush, I assumed I was going to be too old for the
vibe. In fact, if you know me, you know I’ve always been too old for a vibe like this.
This is the hallway. Laser tag, anyone?
But, it turned out to be much more than just crazy décor.
The multilingual front desk hosts were so friendly both the guests and each
other, and their family-like attitude made for a very welcoming atmosphere.
Plus, the building itself was designed for mingling, with an open-plan
lobby/dining area (with a beer wall), and a very inviting outdoor patio.
I especially loved the little messages from the brand’s
mascots “Jo” and “Joe,” which were found everywhere and in the least likely
places (the mirror in the individual toilet stalls, the door to your room…)
…the shampoo bottles…
Of course, they made it very convenient to spend money with
them by letting you load cash onto your room key card. Classic move à la Disneyland,
which I would have appreciated more had there been in-house laundry facilities.
Did I mention the beer wall?
Dorm life was pretty cool – all the girls seemed to be pretty respectful of one another to the extent one could reasonably expect. (I’m not counting flipping the room lights on at 1 am, I might’ve done the same thing myself if I hadn’t realized THERE ARE PEOPLE IN THE TOP BUNK RIGHT NEXT TO THE LIGHT TRYING TO GET SOME SLEEP SWEET JEEZUS *ahem* sorry.)
The first night, I had just put on pajamas and debating about whether I was too tired to shower before bed, when a girl tripped into the room from the patio (like, actually fell into the room) and asked where the washroom was. My blank stare (trying to process whether she meant “restroom” or “laundry room”) resulted in her asking if I spoke English. Too tired to respond with a Monty Python-inspired “I got better!” I answered yes, and she immediately asked if I wanted to come with her see the Eiffel Tower light up with a light show at midnight. She was in town on a 24-hour layover, and this was her only chance.
Okay, true confessions: I’m in my thirties. On the one hand, I’m SO lame and want to go straight to bed after arriving in my third country that day. On the other hand… no, I still want to go straight to bed. Who wants to get dressed again, even for an opportunity like this?
Moment of truth: what choice will I make?
The stupid one, and love every minute of it!
It also turns out that UberPOOL is a great way to practice
your French with tired, annoyed French people who just want to get home and
wish the driver hadn’t picked you up too. Some are nicer than others. Others
also don’t seem to know that my comprehension of French far exceeds my limited
ability to speak it conversationally, and that I know when they are asking the driver
why he went so far off course in order to pick us up. I then got treated to the
driver defending himself and his method of making a living. They had no idea I
could even hear them, let alone understand; my new Canadian friend seemed
rather oblivious to the whole thing. So far so good.
Throughout my five nights at JO&JOE, I met quite a few
wonderful people of all ages. There was the Australian filmmaker, who’d made a
whole lot of money at once making commercials and was now on walkabout to
figure out what he wanted to do with his life next. There was the architect
from North Carolina who had been on a tour of Europe with her husband and was
doing the second half of her trip solo; she had a job waiting for her when she
got back, but was unsure whether she wanted to accept it or not. Then of
course, there was my Canadian friend from the Eiffel Tower, who was also trying
to figure out what to study when she got home… does anyone who travels
long-term have any idea what they want to do with their lives?
JO&JOE has no age limit, and retirees hung out watching
little kids toddle about. It was really precious, and I very much enjoyed
having my faith in humanity restored while having a drink in my hand.
Lovely outdoor space pic
Although there were only two other girls in my dorm the last night I was there, one of them went to sleep REALLY early (like, jet lag-early.) I felt like I couldn’t subject her to three hours straight of the enthusiastic squealing that makes up my teaching, so I opted for the balcony. Yes, the one overlooking south Paris.
I love teaching, and am so happy to continue to be able to do it as I travel. My last night in Paris, I had a pretty great view from my office.
Disclaimer: I was busy teaching and forgot to take a picture. Fortunately for me, someone took a picture of the skyline of South Paris and decided to upload it to Wikimedia Commons. Thanks, man.
Also, be sure to check out this write-up – they took much better pictures than I did, haha.
Iceland smells different. I grew up by the coast so I’m familiar with the scents of land meeting the sea, but this is a little bit exotic; the air seems heavier, with a richer mineral content.
Iceland’s tourist industry appears to be alive and well. It makes sense to capitalize on their prime location between Europe and North America, and they are really going for it. All the signs in the airport are bilingual, and the bus from the airport will not only take you straight to your hotel (after the 40-minute drive into town), but will happily drop you straight off at any of a number of tourist destinations instead.
The geology and plant life are fascinating, even out the window at 60 kilometers an hour on the bus. The environment contains elements I’ve experienced before, but never in a combination like this. Dense lichen and moss cover an alien landscape of igneous rock mounds that punctuate a prairie of short, soft grasses and dainty purple flowers, with cinder cone volcanoes dominating the skyline. We passed several stands of miniature conifers, which in North America would clearly be a Christmas tree farm. All this within view of the ocean. It’s at once magnificent and confusing, and I love it.
Botany at 40 km/hour
As we get closer to downtown, however, I am less impressed; I didn’t travel all the way here to see Taco Bell, KFC and Domino’s marring the view. Although I know I shouldn’t worry, as this part of the world has iffy food of their own, I have to cringe again when I think of all the other awful U.S. cultural exports that aren’t viewable from the road. (See reality TV or any current political programming for more details.)
After failing to get a pedicure at the Minneapolis airport despite a 6-hour layover, I thought I’d look into getting one done in Iceland. A preliminary search showed several options within walking distance, including three that were open even though I managed to arrive on Icelandic Labor Day. Now, I’m not very experienced in exchanging foreign currency, but I get the idea (not to mention Google can tell you any current exchange rate in real time). The prices listed were so outrageous that I had to ask Sigrun to verify, thinking I’d done it wrong somehow. No such luck, and I wasn’t about to spend $90 on a pedicure. According to Sigrun, “everything in Iceland is expensive.” Borrowed nail clippers for me, please.
Fortunately, I was able to take the same bus all the way from the airport to “Tales of Iceland,” which is now my Number One Recommended Stop for first-time visitors to the country. The small storefront opens up (abruptly – watch your step) to a rather large room filled with TVs and mismatched couches. Pass the obligatory gift shop on the left to the counter, where you can gain access to a locker (a big plus if you’re coming directly from the airport), as well as catch a glimpse of their local sense of humor.
They are the center of the map, after all.
An interactive love letter to the country, the exhibit consists of sixteen four-minute videos about Iceland, synchronized so that you have 20 seconds to move between videos. On the bottom floor, watch mini-documentaries about the arts, culture and sports of Iceland (did you know that one in 10 Icelanders has published a book? Or that the country has no mosquitoes?), as well as a few little video travelogues in which foreigners document their experience in the country from their unique perspectives. The top floor is full of “Iceland in the News,” each one covering the basics of the country with video footage from the era; topics include volcanic activity, naming conventions, the Cod Wars (s&*k it, Britain), and pop culture (“More than Bjork, Parts 1 and 2”).
Good to know, thanks Coat Room!
In addition to the videos, there are several interactive media opportunities. One is an augmented reality look at Iceland’s thirteen Santa Clauses (none as awful as the Krampus, but still not the jolly fellow of my childhood photo ops). Another is a virtual video experience where you can fly over the country’s breathtaking scenery with a 360 degree view. Finally, there’s a choose-your-own-adventure-background photo booth, where you can pose with a variety of “Viking” props, including a life-sized stuffed sheep on wheels.
Math says it takes just over an hour to complete all the videos, but you can stay as long as you like. Many I found I wanted to watch again, as they were so densely packed with information that I wanted another crack at absorbing it. Thanks to the fascinating content, free WiFi and included snacks and beverages you can take around both floors with you, I happily whiled away close to three hours waiting for Sigrun to return from tour.
It was around the eighth or ninth sheep selfie that Sigrun messaged me to let me know she was home.
Protip: watch your step on the way out, too. Thanks to jet lag (admittedly debatable but I’ll play the card), I tripped in the doorway in both directions.
My boyfriend refers to sleeping as my “superpower,” and once Sigrun and I got settled in and adequately caught up at around 4 pm (sorry, 16:00), I made good use of the rest of the day, and night, and much of the next morning by exercising it.
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