Our journey began with an intense lurch of festivities. We left Saturday morning, November 17th, for SUNY Purchase to spend the evening celebrating Neil - John's little brother's - 22nd birthday. Honestly, it was a whole story in and of itself - a crazy evening of drunken college shenanigans ending with a weary head, a diner breakfast, and an eager-to-be-on-our-way journey to Queens.
After the chaos that was Purchase, we were ecstatic to spend Sunday evening with our friends Sean and Laura at their new apartment in Astoria. We vegged out with their TiVo, and they fed us an awesome meal of mushroom pasta and wine. By Monday, we were completely refreshed for our trek to JFK and flight to Reykjavik.
We spent much of Monday sleeping and resting, including on our Icelandair flight that left New York at 8pm. It wasn't until Monday that we realized one crucial detail: Iceland is five hours ahead of Eastern time. Yes, five. Just like England and Ireland... but we'd be there for barely three days. In other words, we were going to have some serious jet-lag to cope with in a very short amount of time. We needed to be good to our bodies, or else we wouldn't get to do much at all.
Jet-lag is one of those inevitable nuisances that - no matter how often you travel - you never can prevent. And thus was the case for this trip. Despite catching a few hours rest on the flight and arriving excitingly at Keflavik airport, our excitement waned throughout the pitch-black bus ride and check-in at Hilton Nordica. Our room was gorgeous, just like the hotel, but we spent just enough time realizing that before we curled beneath the down comforter in the night-like darkness and drifted off to sleep.
We awoke at 1PM, a little bleary-eyed, but eager to seize any remaining hours of sunlight. The night and day begins to blur in Icelandic November. With the sun rising at 10AM and setting around 5PM, the inbetween hours of daylight are a beautiful, slightly disorienting shade of warm orange. The sun lingers just above the horizon, like an extended sunrise that eventually fades back into a sunset. In film school, the hour before sunset when the sky was most beautiful and the light cast copper rims was called the "Magic Hour." But here, the Magic Hour lasted all day long, giving way to an extended nightfall.
We showered and left somewhat clumsily, so eager to see the city that I went into the frigid air with wet hair, and John realizing - quickly - that he had forgotten to pack his winter coat. But we pressed on, walking through the crisp, eye-stinging breeze into the downtown where the wind slowed and the buildings, cars and people created a bubble of warmth. Surprisingly, Iceland's temperatures - at their coldest - only reach as low as the 20's (Fahrenheit) and it was only in the 30's in Reykjavik. Growing up in Rochester, Iceland's worst weather sounded like a nice day in March.
So we adapted quickly, scurrying around the streets peering in windows, visiting the Pond and other beautiful squares where statues and modern architecture abutted classic, colorful European low-rises. The city had nuances of other places I'd been... a little bit like Amsterdam and Treier, Germany, but otherwise one-of-a-kind. Reykjavik was small and quaint, and we covered much of the downtown on foot in an hour of curious meandering. The city clearly had a bustling nightlife that was obvious even on a Tuesday afternoon, as pubs, clubs, bars, and casino-clubs dotted the streets. There were an abundance of restaurants to choose from, and after dillydallying around town we settled on a cute 2nd floor pub with windows overlooking the street and a special of Curried Vegetable soup served in a giant round of home-cooked bread. A couple hours later and we were warmed to the soul, feeling quite at home from the kind wait staff and curious about the open, trusting nature of people here (while dining, we watched a woman leave her baby in its stroller while she went inside a shop for about 10 minutes.)
We began our walk back, stopping at the local grocery store, BONUS. This is always my favorite way to really get the feel for another country: to see what they eat and how they shop for it. It was busy and crowded, but I managed to snag some local chocolate and junk food - marzipan wrapped in licorice wrapped in chocolate (called Tromp - and really, not that great, but certainly a unique treat). We bustled back, having a unique run-in with a "bum." Or, at least, we think he was a bum. We noticed immediately Reykjavik's lack of a homeless population, and if this man was homeless, he was the nicest homeless man I've ever met. He stopped us to bum a smoke from John:
"Can I bumm a smoke, man?" he asked with a big grin.
"Um..." John and I both look at each other. John's smokes are hand-rolled. John says, "Sure. But I have to roll it. Can you wait?"
"Sure, I don't mind. Thanks."
While John makes him a smoke, we tell the man that we're from New York and it's our first day in town and that we already love his city. He tells us that it's expensive, though (which we've already noticed) and openly admits that he lives on welfare and is disabled. Then he proceeds to tell us this animated story about how, the previous night, a kind English-speaking stranger at a bar bought him drinks and took him to the bank, where he deposited 5,000 krona into his account. We oohed and ahhed about how nice that was, gave him the cigarette, and as we parted shook hands. He tried to give John his lighter as a 'thank you for the smoke,' and he patted John's shoulder and said, "Nice folks" with a smile as we parted ways.
We both agreed that if the man had told us that story, hoping that we'd offer him some money, it was the kindest solicitation for cash we'd ever received. And perhaps it's just our cynical, American attitudes that would even think such a thing. Regardless, we left the city with an odd sense of community and comfort.
Back at the hotel, we lounged at the VOX bar over some pints and wine. We were tired, and eager to get a good night's sleep in preparation for our one full day in Iceland. We had a rental car reserved, and a vague plan to follow the "Golden Circle" - a route that would take us out of Reykjavik and down towards the south coast, then back again, with a few major attractions on the way.
We woke at 8am and had a delicious buffet breakfast at the hotel, included with our package. A traditional English-style breakfast with yogurt, pastries, pancakes, juices, coffee, tea... whatever your heart desired. We filled up and ate well, then met our ride to the car rental place where we picked up our Toyota Corolla. Sonya, the girl at Hertz, was super nice, giving us a map and telling us exactly where to go. The staff were also quite accommodating when we ignorantly rented a "semi" automatic, and needed instruction on how to operated the car, which didn't have a clutch, but allowed you to switch into manual and gear up or down.
We were off to a rocky start, accidentally driving into a turning lane and having to hit reverse, nearly causing a head-on collision! The driving there was exactly like the states, but I was nervous, and between the round-abouts and confusing signs, we made three wrong turns before finally getting on the right path... but we were in good spirits and eager to see more of the country.
We headed south on Route 1, seeing the sunrise over the coast and eventually turn the rocky landscape a warm, golden color. We continued until we reached our first stop: Geysir. A small tourist stop with no real "town," Geysir was just what the name implies: a bunch of natural geysers, with one spectacular one that shot several stories high!
We wandered around on the icy pathway, alone except for a group of Asian tourists, before continuing on to the next stop: Gullfoss, a beautiful, misty waterfall in a deep gorge. We were not dressed properly, so after wandering out on the wooden walkway, frozen by the breeze, we went back to the cafe and had some delicious hot asparagus soup and coffee, before bundling up and driving down to the waterfall's landing. There, we slid across the icy ground where a rainbow came through the mist at the waterfall's edge. It was absolutely stunning, everything shimmering in it's icy sheath.
We continued our journey across the countryside, stopping to explore the rocky land and venturing onto a pot-holed main road that was all gravel and ice. We eventually made it to our last top, Þingvellir, which is the location of the original Icelandic Parliament, and supposedly the oldest parliament in the world (according to Sonya). It is also the only location in the world where the joining of two tectonic plates is so visible: we stopped and photographed the jagged rift, known as the Continental Divide, where the two plates supposedly widen slightly every year.
Our journey ended there, as we were soon after returning to Reykjavik. We napped at the hotel, watching bad American TV with Icelandic subtitles and reading the local paper, The Grapevine, where we read a review of a local Vegetarian restaurant called Á næstu grösum and decided to try it out. We drove downtown, easily parked and found the restaurant quickly. It was on the second floor, warm and snug, and the food was served at the counter. The man was very nice, explaining the daily special, which we both tried: handmade tofu burgers topped with a delicious sauce, served with roasted sweet and sour veggies and sweet potatoes, salad, and rice. The food and atmosphere were both fantastic, and we hung out there for a bit before deciding to try out Kaffibarinn, the famous bar owned by Damon Albran, lead singer of Blur and Gorillaz. I'd read about it online before we left, and it sounded like our kind of place.
Kaffibarinn luckily quiet and laid-back, since it was a Wednesday night. The room was cozy and candle-lit, a little rugged and lived-in, like any good London pub. John tried the local Viking beer, and we snuggled on a couch in the corner while the locals chatted, drank coffee, and worked on their laptops. Again, we were stifled by the people's trusting nature: a woman at a table right next to us - and right next to the door - went to the bathroom, leaving all of her belongings, including her purse, alone on the table. Shortly after, another guy, also by the door, went outside for a smoke and left his Apple laptop alone on the table. The two girls at the bar brought out a plate of brie and baguette, and it took me a few minutes to realize that it was free - and for everyone.
Our adventure in Iceland really ended there, because we had such a brilliant, busy day that we went back to the hotel and crashed. We woke early to return the car and eat breakfast, but did little else on our last day but ride back to the airport, sadly watching the rocky coastline the whole way. It seemed unfair to have to leave so soon, our bodies still unadjusted to the time shift and the odd balance of darkness and dusk, but somehow at home in the strange place.
The allure of travel to me is how any preconceived notion of a place - all of the second-hand facts and images ans stories - are always blown out the window when you actually step foot there. Iceland was everything I had heard it to be: beautiful, cultural, relaxed, geographically spectacular, and like no where else on the planet. But being there and seeing it for myself, I felt something that no travel book or documentary or photograph could communicate. Despite the disorienting balance of night and day, the remoteness of its location, and the vastness of its icy, uninhabited landscapes, I felt at home. Just like the magical hours of day, bathing the place in its warm glow, the people and their city were warm and inviting - a stark contrast to the rough terrain. We felt welcome and one with the ebb and flow of life, and eager to see more. We heard stories of the never-ending daylight in summer, the green replacing the ice at Gullfoss waterfall, and the days when you could lay out on the beach and actually get a tan.
While it is always good to come home and belong, I feel a sense of calm excitement from our trip. It's almost as if I've opened a door that I know I'll walk through again, but for now, I must turn back and let the light peeking through it be a reminder of what's on the other side.
Takk fyrir, Ísland.
