February 1st

Day Nine: Iceland ll (Golden Circle, Blue Lagoon, and Northern Lights Tours)

Day two in Reykjavik was an early rise. Luckily, we had worked it out so our bus would pick us up from our hostel, but missing it meant that no tour would happen. So. Being the nervous nelly’s that we were, and jittery with excitement, we gave ourselves a cushiony 3o minute buffer. 

Another top five food to try in Iceland was the Skyr (a dairy product that’s technically cheese, but the consistency, taste, and flavoring of your typical yogurt cup), so naturally, I recommend we get some from the vending machine. It was good. I hate to say, nothing too special, but I seriously doubt an Icelandian is likely to read any of this so. No repercussions.

Bundled up in layers, my new Icelandic wool hat, and grey wool scarf (gifted to me by my lovely oldest sister who is better at anticipating my needs than myself apparently), I hopped on the bus and rode off into the countryside where once again, lay snow and emptiness as far as the eye could see. 

It was hypnotic to watch the sunrise. Snail its way to over the snow and dirt and slight plateaus across the valleys. But eventually it rose higher and just in time for our first stop at Gullfoss Waterfall.

A partially frozen waterfall out in the middle of nowhere seemed exactly like the type of thing one would find in Iceland. Just obscure enough to pass as a must see. And it was. The wind that bit at every inch of my body was hard to ignore, but standing before the rushing water and gulls of fresh air, was well worth it. The color was finally rejuvenated into the sky and the almost silent rush of water was an experience unlike many others.

I did my best to capture a sliver of the spectacle before making my way back on the bus to our second stop. The Geysir Hot Spring.

Iceland is home to numerous geysers and volcanoes, but Geysir, the fastest erupting geyser in the world and the most active in Iceland, goes off every five to six minutes. On calm days where the wind isn’t egregious, Geysir projects nearly 50 meters (160 ft) in the air. Lucky for us, it performed accordingly.

Being near the hot spring was also warmer than the cliff of Gullfoss, so it was nice to have some sensation back where I had lost it. We proceeded to make a quick stop inside the visitor’s center for some fish and chips (which I ought to say, was much better prepared than the plate I had had back at O’Shea’s in Dublin) and left for our final destination in the first series of tours.

I can say with confidence that our last stop was my absolute favorite. I didn’t know what to expect from the Thingvellir National Park, but what I saw was so much more than I could have imagined. I was convinced I was looking at a photograph. The most picturesque thing you can think of. The brilliant sun perched at its highest point in the sky, granting color and reflection and shimmer and life into everything sitting below it. The lake that reached to the corners of the earth gave canvas to the subtle yellows and pinks watercolored with the clouds. I breathed. It was beautiful. I had no words. Just disbelief and awe and pure, unrefined happiness. 

Too soon we left to fulfill the rest of the days’ events. But little did I know what the Blue Lagoon had in store. 

On our way towards the entrance of the complex that sheltered the hot spring, parallel walls of volcanic rock, dusted with a touch of frost, navigated a path towards the rising steam. We checked in, took a rinse in the showers as policy enforced, then headed to the back where we could enter the water by ramp. 

It was the first time I had felt my toes all day and it was heavenly. I think my three friends shared similar sentiments, considering the chorus of sighs we shared as we walked deeper and deeper into the lagoon. 

We emerged through a cave into a space where a mixture between steam and fog hung in the air like curtains. You couldn’t see two arms lengths in front of you. Despite the busyness, it felt as though we were there alone. It was wicked. 

With the passes that we had purchased, we were allotted one beverage from the bar and one face mask. I helped myself to a sparkling pomegranate wine, or something of the sorts. All I remember was its sweetness and bubbles and then the emptiness of my glass. But the face mask tied me over until I indulged in a second beverage, the Icelandic Gull Beer, and waded in the water with my head tilted back to watch the fog open crevices of the night sky I could peak through.

It was without question the surrealist thing I have ever done in my entire life.

Reinvigorated and ready to rock and roll, we set out to complete our time in Iceland with a hunt for northern lights. The bus arrived around 1o:3o and by 11 we were far enough outside Reykjavik to begin our search. Our tour guide was absolutely captivating. From the moment we set foot on the bus, he was interacting with us, telling us stories of the aurora borealis during the age of the Vikings, and making light of the cold that once more threatened to pick away at me.

He had fun things to share, like the belief that if a child was conceived under the lights, they would be bestowed a blessed life. But by the same coin, if a woman who was already with child looked onto the lights, her baby would be born cross eyed. 

Charming little Norse tales.

We were thirty minutes outside the city before I knew it, and the hunt was officially on. All we could see was the dim glow of snow in the ground and darkness. Hardly did the stars even show in the sky. Things were looking grim.

Our guide, who had anticipated the following, was in the middle of telling us the likelihood from here on out of finding any lights. On a scale of six, our conditions were a solid two. But in the middle of his telling us the factors that went into this ranking, gasps from the left side (my side) of the bus burst out. Cutting him short. A wisp of air, the faintest tint of green had stretched across the sky before us and over our heads. 

“Pull over!”, our guide boomed.

Within moments, we flooded outside the bus into the excruciatingly chilly air. All we could do was look up, standing silently, in awe. Gazing at the streak of deep green as it whittled down in the distance. We waited. Watched. Every breath an ache. Until there was an eruption from where the light had disappeared. 

Where there had been next to nothing, now appeared three separate beams of light. The dullness of color suddenly evolved into an electric green, joined by a washed out yellow and hint of red. The stars in the sky, as bright and beautiful as they had grown paled in comparison. As our eyes continued to adjust to the dark surrounding us, the hues only intensified. They danced, twirled in and around itself. Shifted ever so slightly then leapt bounds ahead. 

Evidently the Vikings didn’t find the aurora borealis all that interesting because there is almost no kept record of it. But either they were spoiled rotten or short a few screws. Perhaps even a mix of both. 

But I was elated. Euphoric. Enraptured. Utterly and overwhelmingly grateful. I don’t think I will experience anything like it ever again. Being in a place unlike any I ever have before, with people I had known a handful of days. Living and breathing in the heavenly phenomenon as it unraveled before me. 

The perfect close to the past 36 hours came with the delivery of pizza. Exhausted and rolling in hunger, Dominoes was our saving grace. We filled up, passed out in our beds, then left the following morning with tired bodies but lifted spirits. It was the trip of a lifetime.