Panoramas don’t work well on boats

I tried it because it was fun, my phone pink like our cheeks on the front of the boat. The bow? Starboard? For a girl raised near the ocean, I knew stunningly little about boats. I guess I had alwasy preferred to swim.

It was a wild country, in the fact that no one had bothered to tame it, not that it refused to be tamed--and we felt that same way. We were on a boat, headed to the Arctic Circle and even the boat nodded "yes, yes, yes" as it bobbed up and down beneath our feet.

Trying to take in the emensity of that country went about as well as I thought it would. Panoramas don't work well on boats; the railing of the boat in the picture turned out to be disjointed and hilarious. We laughed at my attempt for serveral seconds, before returning our gaze to the high mountians, the choppy water and the pleasure of firm ground beneath our feet that still bucked and tipped like any good pirate ship could.

Truth be told, it wasn't a pirate ship, but we were headed to the Arctic Circle and Iceland wasn't a country but a feeling. It refused to be tamed--it was itself. Though we were on our way to adventure at the tip of the world, the ferry itself had tv screens that showed the picks for the icelandic national soccer team for the world cup. As my sister and I puked and filled six paper bags, the kind captian of the boat came down from where he sat on the stormy seas to clean up after us, and to give us more of the paper bags.

We used the clean bags, later, to store cheese as we toured the country that refused to be summed up in a picture, that was too emense for memories, but that still picked soccer teams and had a ship captain who sailed into the Arctic Circle enough that he could leave his helm to clean up after two adventurous girls.