An Icelandic Saga (Summer 2023)

Millennia ago or maybe a month, time is tricky and these tales are timeless, two forces came together at the divide between the North American and Eurasian continents on a tiny island in the North Atlantic.  From the east came a fire-breathing dragon, hatched in the land of smiles, a siren, known not for her entrancing voice that would lead sailors to their doom but for her shrill, repetitious sounds of alarm and trouble that would scare off most sailors.  We’ll call her Sai, short for Sai-ren?  He, from the west, looking more native with his pale skin and fairer hair, lake-like eyes, though lacking in all other traits of Viking vitality, was not there to slay the dragon, just to antagonize her at every turn.  We’ll call him Ben, short for Benevolent. Our cool hero and the hot-tempered dragon performed an ill-paced dance of ice and fire, making George R.R. Martin roll over in his grave when he’s not even dead yet. 

They were accompanied by two hatchlings, a six-year-old bear of a boy named Teddy, and his feline sister Catherine, half that age, or three for thee too lazy to run the numbers. Yes, bears and cats are live-birthed mammals, not hatched, but play along with the amateur prose.

Azure lagoons, craggy cliffs, glacial lakes, towering cascades, volcanic rim jobs, and days of driving in endless daylight with only occasional rays of sun, presented every opportunity for ending one of these characters.  And while motivation may have been nearly as high as the Arctic Circle, somehow all four returned to tell their tales. 

Teddy utilized a travel journal throughout the eleven-day adventure.  Having shared his story with both combatant parents (usually for spell-checking purposes), he already outpaced readership for this blog.  If I sound bitter, it must be from the fermented shark. 

A Drama-Free Trip to the Airport

Things started out smoothly enough, with daddy, Teddy and Catherine arriving at the airport more than three hours early for the international flight.  Sai preceded us to that same airport by some twenty-seven hours, just to be safe. 

First, she gave up on the Uber she had called, and decided to walk to the Metro station, despite the rain.  After she walked to a station that does not head to the airport, she learned that this station was closed for repairs anyway.  She hopped a bus, heading the opposite direction, at least to a station that shared its tracks with the right train line.  But this station was also closed.  So she Ubered again, with better luck this time to get to the airport with still enough time to spare (remember, we weren’t flying out for Iceland until the next night). 

But Sai was not satisfied with the simple direct flight.  She needed more drama, such as can only be provided in the streets of Detroit, where you should picture her running around frantically to the Axel F theme from Beverly Hills Cop (I know Eminem is a more modern Michigander, but no one could picture my wife bopping to Slim Shady beats).

Three days before our flight, Sai was informed that the return date of our trip was within 90 days of her passport expiration, and the cold-hearted people of Iceland would not warmly welcome her in this period for fear of somehow getting stuck with her.  After a day of frantic calls to the State Department, she found an 8 a.m. opening for a same-day passport on the day of our departure, but it happened to be several states away.  Thus her little side trip to Detroit.  While I was working, Sai was lighting up my phone with updates on the status of her paperwork.  She was promised a new passport by 3 p.m., which was a little late for her 2 p.m. return flight.  Somehow, her klaxon-like complaints convinced the poor bureaucrats to rush her out earlier, with the promise that she’d not only leave their building and state but would be out of their country by the end of the day.   

Who Needs Sleep?

The overnight flight was timed perfectly to coincide with our children’s normal bedtime.  After Sai’s super-stressed leadup, the flight would be a good night to rest so we could hit the ground running at 6:30 a.m. local time upon arrival. 

Teddy crunched the numbers and complained that a six-hour flight would not net him enough sleep, while Catherine figured why sleep at all when you can play through the night?  Teddy did his best to stir up drama by shouting “I need whiskey!” (Wisky is the name of his whiskery stuffed mouse toy from Wisconsin, stashed safely in our checked baggage, but most passersby did not know this distinction and suspected we were enabling our son’s early hard-drinking habits).  Catherine pestered me with “Are we there yet?” queries every thirty seconds, despite my threats to turn this plane around.  Upon arrival in Iceland, she quickly pivoted to asking if we were going back now.

At least she didn’t blow up and blow out her diaper in a massive mess that somehow trickled through her pants and made it all the way down to her socks…  She saved that one for the return flight.

First Impressions?

The Iceland Air flight felt like Frontier Airlines in its barebones offerings; no meals, no headsets, no beverages stronger than a soda, and the beverage cart sightings were few and far between.  The basic amenities that I’ve grown to expect on international flights were, like the WiFi, available at a premium, which I was not prepared to pay. 

Upon arrival, Sai’s attempts to obtain snacks were rebuffed by the terminal markets, as they’d only allow you to buy something if you could show an outbound boarding pass.  Then you hop into your rental car and drive away through the barren wastelands, hungry, tired, and uninspired.  The land is seriously ugly around the airport.  There is nothing to see but fields of lava rock, gray-green and mean, looking as welcoming as a dusty moonscape. Why did we choose to come here?

Feeling Blue?

The Blue Lagoon is a tourist trap, fifteen minutes from the airport. In general, it seems most people fall evenly into one of two camps:  half tell you that it is overrated, overcrowded, and overpriced.  There are other options for wading through geothermally warmed waters all over the island.  The other half tell you that you should check out this wonder of the world.  We were tourists, so we felt it appropriate to check the box for one of the main attractions in all the guidebooks.  Plus, I was excited to see Brooke Shields before learning that she favored another blue lagoon, and she’d outgrown that reference over four decades ago.

Given the choice of hitting the hotspot on the way in or at the tail end of our tale, I asked for the former, figuring that we would be less stressed without an imminent flight to catch and could also start our first day in style.  This was my biggest contribution to the trip planning, because Sai had decided months before to forego my input in favor of the recommendations of her friends who’d been to Iceland before (though none of them ever made the trip with small children). 

The Blue Lagoon is a nice resort where you shower and change into your bathing suit before hopping into a massive pool of 100-degree F, mineral-rich water.  The early morning appointment meant much smaller lines than what we saw hours later when we were leaving, but there were still plenty of people around the large lagoon.  The outside air was cold and intermittently rainy, but keeping to your knees meant that only your head would be exposed above the very warm bath.  The kids wore mandatory floaties.  Our tickets entitled us to two drinks from the walkup pool bar, as well as free mud for facials from another station.  I won’t blame the failed results of their anti-aging cream on them; travel with my family would age anyone.  Without the mud, I’d have ended the trip looking even worse for wear, a scarier troll. 

They have steam rooms and saunas you can do if the heat of the pool is not enough.  As you wade around, there are localized hot pockets of water that really hit the spot.  If the average water temperature is 100 degrees, and it’s full of people, does this mean that when you find a warmer spot that it’s because that’s a place where someone didn’t pee?  Even without that disgusting thought, it is not recommended to drink the water, due to its high mineral content.  Catherine ingested more than she should have, despite our warnings, but what’s the worst that can happen?

When we left some four hours later, Catherine was wiped.  She passed out in my arms on the windy walk to the car, trying to catnap her way back after her plane ride of energy. 

We visited Grindavik to grab lunch, but Catherine slept through the meal.  The lobster soup was delicious (even if the Iceland lobsters are actually langoustine), and the fish and chips for the kids were likewise delectable (we may have helped ourselves to some of Catherine’s while she snored away).    

Reykjavik

Upon checking into our apartment in Reykjavik, everyone took an afternoon nap.  Catherine rebounded briefly to nibble at her leftover lunch.  Our place overlooked a pier with multiple whale-watching tour options, and was walkable to the central shopping district, which we explored hours later.  It continued to be cold and rainy during this part of the day, which it seems is just Iceland. 

Reykjavik is a quaint little town, like Portland (ME) or Provincetown (MA).  Little shops, nice restaurants, seaside attractions, etc.  While this is the hub of Iceland, with more than half the population of the entire country, it did not feel crowded at all compared to any other international city I’ve ever been to.  And this was their busy season, mind you.  Though once you leave Reykjavik and realize just how sparsely populated everywhere else is, it does make the capital city look a little more urban.

We rode up the lift at the Hallgrimskirkja, Reykjavik’s tallest church at around 25 stories, and gazed panoramically upon the tiny big city.  It doesn’t take much to scrape the sky in Iceland.  Leifr Eiricsson (aka Leif Eriksson) stands guard before the big building, looking much more impressive than that clown Columbus who received all the credit following in his wake five hundred years later to exploit North America.   

Despite the midnight sun, we did not struggle to sleep that night.

Barnaspitali

Our day’s plans for touring the Golden Circle were upset early the next morning when Catherine woke us with some alarming barfing.  The poor girl’s stomach was roiling like the North Atlantic waters, and she continued to chum.  Sai determined that I had failed to bring the proper medications for this situation (a theme that would recur for the duration of our trip – she had packed the bulk of two large suitcases and left me to fill a third with my own stuff as well as everything she had not packed.  I’m pretty sure I loaded most of her list, but it was never enough, the story of her life). 

Catherine couldn’t even hold down water, let alone anything solid.  I worried that she might have been feeling the effects of ingesting too much seawater from the Poo Lagoon, and Google scared me into suggesting we take her to the Children’s Hospital to be safe.  Icelandic healthcare is reputedly top notch, albeit pricy (everything in Iceland is pricy though). 

Sai and I fought when her navigation took us to the wrong place.  She blindly followed the GPS when I wanted to take the few roads shown on the physical map.  Eventually we arrived at a large medical complex, amidst expansion with new buildings going up on campus. 

I parked in the main lot and carried sick Catherine to the closest entrance.  Inside, someone directed us down a labyrinth of turns to the right department, where we were told that we should probably just go to a clinic instead to save money.  The woman helpfully explained that the hospital rates would be approximately five times greater than what we’d pay at the clinic for the same services. 

So Sai and I argued over how best to get back to the car (I was sure there’d be a quicker way outside, rather than backtracking through the entire building, but I was overruled).  We then drove to another facility, where we fought over where to park after circling the building three times, with Catherine still suffering in her car seat. 

I carried my baby into the clinic where we took a number like in a deli and waited with the masses for our ticket to hit.  An hour later, we were allowed through the door to the next waiting area, to repeat the game.  Catherine was either catatonic or violently ill, and I couldn’t decide which was worse.  The doctor looked her over, heard our concern that maybe it was related to the prior day’s activities, and suggested we go back to the Children’s Hospital so they could check her out more thoroughly in case she had water in her lungs that could lead to pneumonia.  So much for saving money.  Now we had to pay both places, plus we’d just wasted an hour and a half from where we started.  On the plus side, the clinician did give our girl some medication to help with the nausea, and it instantly revived her!

Back at the hospital, Sai and I argued again about where to park (our favorite fight), and the doctor determined that Catherine was not rejecting water in her lungs or anything more than a nasty Icelandic bug.  That little virus cost us over $700.  Look, you can’t put a price on the health of my little princess.  But $700!!  Dr. Sai said she’d told me so, with all of her medical expertise.  It’s possible she said as much and I missed it, as she notes that I never listen or something.   

Regardless, Catherine was riding high on the miracle dose of Icelandic magic that converted her from a mess to her usual levels of trouble.  We saw what we could with the rest of our short time in Reykjavik.

We visited the Harpa Concert Hall to appreciate some cool architecture and a neat lightshow in a basement darkroom (Circuleight).  They also had a kids’ play area with some musical games.  It would have been nice to see an actual show at the venue, but our timing did not align with any performances that we’d appreciate (think Looney Tunes).

The Perlan Planetarium was another indoor diversion from the cold rain, and a lot cheaper than the medical buildings.  We watched a volcano video from a few years ago and toured an indoor ice cave.  They have a nice viewing platform on their top floor, conveniently located next to an ice cream shop.  Sai promised we’d get ice cream elsewhere, after dinner, but the kids were neither patient nor trusting. 

Their instincts were correct. Back at the apartment, Sai offered individual ice cream cones she’d picked up on the way back.  First, Teddy said he didn’t like his.  Then Catherine likewise complained.  Sai tried her own and agreed with the kids that this was the worst ice cream she’d ever tasted, and she’s from Thailand where they (probably) use insects for toppings.  When three straight people tell you something’s gross, you naturally have to try it yourself.  Did you know that some Icelandic freaks decided it would be a good idea to top vanilla ice cream with black licorice?  The picture on the package looked like a really dark chocolate topping, and no one thought to look up the translation of the label.   It was a disgusting way to end a generally miserable day, but at least Catherine didn’t vomit up the awful ice cream, even if we were all tempted. 

A nice day for a wet wedding

Our underlying purpose in exploring Iceland was not to test their overpriced healthcare facilities or try weird ice cream flavors.  My youngest sister was also doing a destination wedding / photo session.  This meant fancy dress for a day of photographs, with a professional officiant pronouncing that this angle or that would look best.  Iceland was originally paganistic, and our group of heathens wanted to bring it back by avoiding a real priest or ceremony. 

Towards this end, Sai ensured that we were fashionably late for the first stop at the Budir Church in the Snaefellsnes peninsula.  A church wedding?  Absolutely not.  After our two-and-a-half-hour drive from Reykjavik, we reached the isolated little godforsaken building about an hour late, after the official wedding party had already completed their pictures.  Sai would be late to her own funeral.  I expect she’ll be early to mine though, with bells on, unless she’s behind bars for having caused my demise. 

The Budir Church is a locked building, not a place for wedding bells.  It fronts green fields before you find the ocean beyond.  I’m sure Leslie’s pictures are lovely.  Maybe she’ll photoshop in my family.

The official photographer led the group to a second stop in a place near Snaefellsbaer (how romantic), where we watched thousands of gulls nesting in the seaside cliffs while he took pictures of the newlyweds.  We took our own scenic snaps while trying to stay dry on a miserably cold and windy, rainy day.   I was forced to carry Catherine most of the way to keep her out of the puddles.  She was forced to carry my umbrella to keep us both dry.  You’d think in this day and age that a good photographer could just bluescreen us smiling inside a comfortable studio onto a scenic background.    

The third stop was a rocky beach, where our family photo featured the children shouting “ouch, my butt hurts!” after both kids slipped and landed tailside on the last wet rock before the touching pose.  It was a cool backdrop (and real), but the rocky beach in the rain was not easy in dress shoes, and some of the group opted to wait in the car. 

The last stop was the western tip of Snaefellsnes, where the Icelandic gods of weather asserted their will one last time, convincing all but the happy couple to retreat to their cars instead of staying outside in that crap.  The orange lighthouse and dark cliffs might be pretty on the rare days of pleasant weather, but when it feels like you’re going to blow away Mary Poppins style if your umbrella doesn’t snap first, you too might opt to sit this one out. 

After the cameraman had fully convinced us that the roads were rough and the weather worse, he took his leave.

The reception was a group dinner in a nearby town, a dry affair because it was followed by a two-hour drive back to Reykjavik.  Driving in Iceland (in summer at least) is generally pretty easy (aside from the back roads in Snaefellsnes), once you get used to the silly roundabouts and are ever ready to break for sheep to cross.  (Yield to the people inside the circle in front of you, and to the ewe).  The roads are typically two-lane, dashed when it’s appropriate to pass.  Still, neither I nor Josh (the bro-in-law / driver) wanted to try our driving luck with a buzz on, and Teddy had his Wisky with him by this point.  Everyone else was just boring.   

Hella No!

We started early the next morning, packing up our stuff to head south for our next destination.  At this point our group merged with the wedding party (Leslie, Josh, Blake, Austin and Grandpop).  Leslie and I compared notes of what to see on our way to the next Air BnB in Kirkjubaejarklaustur, hereinafter to be referred to as K-jub because I hurt my wrist typing that full, awful name just the one time.  Sai’s friends had recommended the same sights that Leslie found, except sis suggested a cave tour in Hella that we’d pass before reaching the next preapproved stop.  With our watches coordinated and our GPS’ programmed, both vehicles headed to the Hella Caves. 

Around twenty minutes out, Sai realized that we were doing something not on her list and lost her mind. 

Where do I think I’m going?  Why didn’t I tell her?  What other secrets am I keeping?  Who the Hella do I think I am?  How dare I?  When will I ever learn? 

You’d think by now she’d know me better.  You know by now that I never learn.

Admittedly, it was not a fully coordinated plan, because Leslie didn’t know that tours were only every two hours, and we arrived at 12:20, having just missed the noon mission.  We had to fill an extra 100 minutes with gas, lunch, snacks, a nearby pathetic excuse for a waterfall, with 99 minutes of misery for me, as I failed to adequately answer the above questions.  Throwing myself into the raging rapids didn’t solve the problem because the rapids were not raging enough to match Sai’s fury.  I changed out of my wet clothes and went spelunking. 

At 2 p.m. sharp, we followed our guide into a subterranean wonderland, where I kept close the leader so that she could prevent Sai from tossing me into an abyss.  Actually, it didn’t work out that well at all.  First of all, the caves were man-made constructions, built largely for agricultural or small-group gatherings out of the miserable Icelandic elements (a brilliant idea, as it was still raining at this time).  They were not deep or steep enough to lose a husband in (sorry, Sai).  Second, our tour guide was knowledgeable enough and informative, but she also had some kind of horrible cough that did not seem welcoming in the confines of an earthen grotto.  It seemed like the kind of contagious hacking that might infect a roomful of people trapped in a tight space with limited ventilation.  Third, my angelic children decided that they’d show their devilish sides in the company of these strangers, by acting up as everyone else tried to listen for the lessons between Tuberculosis Terry’s bronchial spasms.  I spent much of the time removed from the center of attention, keeping to the distant edges of the space while trying to keep the kiddos quiet. 

From the limited bits I heard, it seems like Iceland was initially inhabited by both Irish monks (who built the caves) and Vikings who fled Norway and Minnesota, because Norway didn’t want them and MN sucks.  The Vikings brought butchery, raping and pillaging, and bad football.  The Irish brought Christianity and alcoholism (when you’re trapped in a smelly cave below a frozen tundra, you might as well get drunk).  Both parties predicted that Iceland would be a prime piece of real estate in a thousand years or so when the rest of the planet becomes too hot to handle.  If I misstated any info here, blame the annoying kids and my inability to listen.  Do not disrespect tour guide TB Terry, may she RIP.

What’s all the Foss About?

Driving south from Rejkjavik towards (and past) Vik, you’re basically running counterclockwise with the ocean to your right and interior elevated land masses on your left.  The steep-sided climbs periodically open up with vertical streams of water from some unseen source atop. 

The first major one of these for us was Seljalandsfoss, which is located a short distance from Gljufrabui.  Glju_ is noteworthy in that it’s the only one of these amazing waterfalls not ending in the “foss” suffix.  Perhaps that’s because it’s set back, semi-hidden behind a rock formation, instead of pouring on the outside.  You need to walk through a slippery passage to get to the base of secret foss, while feeling its spray on the way.  Teddy agreed to explore with me until we got two steps in, at which point he said he’d seen enough.  Glju_ will need to remain a mystery because between the large crowds and the impatient family, I dared not go it alone.    

But Selja_ stands out, proudly displaying its spraying, with rainbows before and a nifty path behind the beautiful falls.  Teddy again opted out of the wet part of the tour.  Catherine was willing, but I didn’t trust her to navigate the slippery rocks, so I left her with grandpop. 

A few kilometers later, we pulled into the lot for Skogafoss, the next major set of tourist falls.  This one also offered a side stair to the view from the top, which presented a nice challenge for my back on the trip back down when Catherine gave up the effort.  The Icelandic metric system meant that her 30+ pounds US were a lot heavier in Krona or kilograms or something.  As an ignorant American, I refused to do the conversions.

Dyrholaey Who?

But enough with falling water.  We could see that in Pennsylvania.  Dyrholaey sounds like part of a weird yodel, but it’s actually a lighthouse located atop some huge cliffs overlooking some distant black beaches below.  They say you can often see puffins in this nature preserve, but these mythical birds worked hard to stay hidden during our visit.  This lighthouse and cliff was so much more impressive than the miserable Snaesfellsnes stuff we saw the day before, which we told Leslie meant that she’d screwed up everything.  Such is the story of marriage.  Speaking of which, I kept my safe distance both from the edge and from the wife so that I didn’t find the fastest route to the bottom. 

The crags offshore have been carved out by the tides in a couple of places to show some neat openings in the backdrop of your selfies.  It’s quite a drop from the top.  The distant hills were draped in low clouds.  For a rare day on this trip, we had clear skies above for a little while. 

There is an endless black beach to the west, and Reynisfjara Black Sand Beach to the east; figuring the first one would take too long to explore, we opted for the latter.  Reynisfjara is a nice black sand beach with plenty of rocks (no shells) for the kids to throw into the water.  There are these really cool cliffs with stepped rock walls that look kind of like Superman’s secret lair in the original movie, though he probably wouldn’t use it during the busy summer months.  It’s like Leo’s secret (The) Beach in Thailand, ruined by tourists. 

In spite of wasting several hours on the extra stop at the coughing caves, the extended daylight meant that we had plenty of time to catch up and check the other boxes on our list.  At 10:30 p.m., the sun was a little lower in the sky, but still plenty bright enough to see everything.  Summer travel in Iceland is extremely flexible with the endless daylight. 

We still had over an hour to go from the beach to K-jub, but I wisely figured out at some point that if I moved Sai into the backseat and let grandpop ride shotgun, it was less likely to lead to her murdering me.  I know it’s only delaying the inevitable. 

The long road to nowhere in the endless twilight and gloomy gloam felt like the eerie drive with the weird kid in the Twilight Zone movie.  Approaching K-jub, the scenery felt even more alien than the area around the airport.  During the long drives on this day, I entertained Teddy and Catherine with games of I-Spy, as well as the uber-competitive contest of whose side is prettier?  Catherine often had the seaside view on the right (passenger), while Teddy’d get the mountains and fosses.  Even if they hadn’t passed out from exhaustion by this late point in the day, no one would win whose side is prettier in K-jub.  Endless ties. How can they come up with such a ridiculously long name for a place with so little to offer?  I started to worry that Sai had arranged a hit and abandonment of my body in these lava barrens.    

Cabin Fever

We followed days of rain with a half nice day at the falls and beach, only to awaken in K-jub to a windy, nasty number.  The planned destinations for this day seemed to be closed due to the extreme weather.  Venturing out to the car, it took considerable effort to keep the door from blowing off its hinges.  Still, we weighed our options of finding somewhere to go, because being cooped up together did not seem safe.  Especially without some serious substances to abuse (Teddy’s Wisky wouldn’t cut it). 

I found a group card game to carry us through for a little while, but Sai wanted no part of my party games, and Teddy lost his marbles when he lost his rocks that we were using as pieces in the Ranter Go Round elimination contest.  Now I had another family member wishing me into Cartoon Land.  Teddy is not a good loser.  I asked grandpop to explain our family legacy as losers, but that didn’t cheer up anyone.   

A few of us made a short trip into “town” to pick up some groceries after we agreed that a longer drive was not a smart play on this day.  Sadly, the only beer for sale had extremely low alcohol content (less than 3%), which would just not do the trick. 

Even Catherine was on edge.  When Aunt Leslie tried encouraging her to step up and start using the toilet more consistently, noting that she’d read a book about how princesses pee and poop on the potty, Catherine retorted with “Can you show me this book on your phone?”  Her bluff called by a three-year-old, Leslie nonetheless searched for pooping princesses, with disturbing results.  I’ll never think of Snow White the same way. 

Iceland’s Ice!

But the next day, we were back in business!  It was easily the best weather so far for this trip.  We headed further east from K-jub to the outskirts of Vatnajokull, Iceland’s largest glacier.  We stayed on the outskirts because you cannot (legally) traverse the glacier without a guide, and I’ll never, ever, ever be able to convince Sai to trek ice again after I exhausted her years ago in Argentina. 

Sadly, Vatnajokull seems to demonstrate the same shrinking footprint of most of this planet’s glaciers (Perito Moreno in Argentina was somehow still growing when we went there back in 2012, but that was an outlier).  The glacial plane is receding faster than grandpop’s hairline.  I know that’s a cheap shot, but my days are numbered since I share his (hair) loser genes. 

We hit up four different stops to see the icebergs floating before the glacier, as well as the Diamond Beach where the last bits of bergs were broken up into smaller chunks of icy glass on the shores.  Our attempts to harvest the diamonds only made a watery mess of the car.  The occasional seal could be seen popping its head above the arctic waters.  I vainly asked our group’s kids to kindly refrain from some of their favorite rock-tossing in the vicinity of the endangered animals.  They may not have listened, but I also don’t think they managed to hit anything (not for lack of trying).  If throwing rocks is fun and seeing seals is cool, then surely throwing rocks at seals is funny cool?  Fjools.

Glaciers are impressive.  Icebergs are picturesque pieces.  Glacial lakes are typically beautiful except for the brown water instead of crystal blue at one of the stops.  I believe it is what you get when you combine crystal blue waters with lots of seal blood.  It’s a shame that by the time my kids are my age, these things (glaciers, icebergs, seals) will be no more than distant memories.  Hopefully someone will save some of these pictures for posterity!

Gorgeous

In our secluded spot in K-jub, they had a picture of this gorgeous chasm that I had assumed was somewhere outside our range of exploration.  Without 4-wheel drive and some serious extra car insurance, there are many F-roads that are beyond the capability of your average Subaru Forrester.  On the maps, a route prefaced with an F is a subtle way of saying F that!  There are a lot of great sights within easy reach of the Ring Road (Route 1), but you’re just scratching the surface.  To cross through the interior, you need to ford rivers to see the fjords and more extreme places.  I was prepared to take a picture of the gorge and claim we’d visited it, before deciding that I might as well just sneak the framed picture into my luggage to cut out the extra steps, but Leslie told me that it was actually near where we were staying and wouldn’t require monster truck tires. 

Thus we found ourselves at Fjardaragljufur (go ahead, spell check that one!  I can’t even find half the characters they use on my keyboard) after leaving the fringes of Vatna_.  Fjard_ was spectacular.  Probably my favorite scenery from the whole trip.  The trail along the top has plenty of overlooks but was a bitch of a hike when Teddy demanded that I give him a turn to ride my old back.  I was not playing favorites with his sister.  She is just a third lighter and a lot lazier.  Still, it was worth it to reach the last stop, to snap some pics looking back.  At the end of the route was another waterfall.  With all the rain we experienced on our trip, it makes sense that you see waterfalls everywhere. 

We ended our last day in K-Jub with a nice dinner at Kjarr, a very nice restaurant looking out to the twin sister falls of Systrafoss. 

I’m not going to rave about the food from this trip.  The initial lagoustine (lobster) soup was amazing, but it was no doubt partially influenced by the lack of food on the flight over.  We had some good seafood, tender steaks, and lots of lamb.  Some (like grandpop and the kids) had quite a bit of pasta and pizza.  Regardless, nearly every meal, whether fancy or not, was extremely well prepared and super tasty.  Outside Sai’s black licorice ice cream, we did not have a bad meal anywhere.  It’s like the street food in Bangkok, except nothing like it in terms of flavor or price (just reliably good food). 

Prior to our heavy meals, we talked of hiking up the trail beside the foss, but no one felt as motivated after eating. 

The next day, our paths diverged.  Grandpop was back in the uncool car with the wedding crew, Sai was back beside me, and we went to stop #3 while they drove closer to home. 

Head West(old)man!

A few hours west of Kirkjubaejarklaustur (last chance to use that doozy of a name), we arrived at Landeyjahofn, where we drove our trusty Subaru onto the ferry for a forty-five-minute bumpy boat ride to the Westman Island of Heimaey, supposedly home to millions of puffins.  Sai politely asked that I not force her onto another boat after this short ship trip, because apparently she couldn’t stand the captain’s driving either.  This ruled out the Viking tour, whale watch and dinner cruise.  If only I’d packed Dramamine for the drama queen.  Hint: when you’re on a small island, expect boats to be involved.

Heimaey is a small town on a small island, where you can drive from one end to the other and back in fifteen minutes.  It was livelier than the nothingness of K-jub, but nowhere near the booming metropolis of Reykjavik.  What they do have in abundance are volcanoes!  Sure, they have them around Reykjavik as well as all over the mainland island, but here in Heimaey, they are closer and more accessible.  You could walk from rim to rim to rim to rim if you were so inclined to climb the inclines, but we declined.  We did a short walk towards Eldfell from our hotel, but after forty-five minutes of fighting with each kid over whose turn it was to break daddy’s back, we turned back. 

Despite it being busy season, we were allowed an early table at a booked restaurant (we got Gott), where the manager sold us on their catch of the day.  However, after we ordered this special, we were both surprised to see a couple of steaks arrive at our table.  Apparently the catch of the day was not the special, and we should have paid attention to the separate menu insert, rather than jumping on the first (and only) tasty thing he described.  Luckily for me, it was a delicious steak and a half, since Sai wasn’t hungry enough to handle hers. 

The kids loved the hotel breakfast buffet, with waffles to taste or waste.  Teddy ate his, while Catherine dropped hers.  One of the two had plenty of energy for the rest of the day…

We dropped in at the Saeheimar Aquarium where we learned about Little White and Little Gray, the pair of beluga whales rescued from an evil Chinese Sea World.  They had a viewing portal through which you could see White and Gray swimming and spinning around for show, but the actual section of sea preserved for the whales is across the inlet.  I suspect some trickery was involved (done with mirrors?).  The beloved belugas didn’t do anything special for me, so I will not feel guilty ordering whale lo mein next time I go to China.    

They also had rescued puffins behind plexiglass, which should still count, though these few birds were hardly the million promised unless you use Trump crowd math.  Beyond bogus belugas and imprisoned puffins, there were lots of aquarium animals (sea stars, fish, etc.), such as you’d see in any other aquarium.  Fish are fish except when they serve you beef. 

Huffin’ and Puffin…

Sai was not satisfied with the Saeheimar show and insisted we drive all over the island to find the real thing, wild birds with big, colorful beaks.  These little penguin knock-offs (though they can at least fly) are amazingly camouflaged in the cliffs, and masterfully fly in the shadows of all the boring gulls.  We saw some similarly colored birds with long, thin beaks that lure you in only to laugh at you for thinking you’ve found the exotic puffin daddies.  Little laughs through their little beaks let you know that you’ve been tricked again.  At one point I think I saw a dolphin poke its head above the water, until some bratty kid skipped a rock into its eye and it ducked back under.    

Dejectedly driving back from the far end (Storhofdaviti), we pulled in at Golfklubbur Vestmannaeyja, the golf course set inside a volcano’s crater.  Aside from the steep backdrop, it looked like an ordinary, nice golf course.  No lava traps or other imminent death hazards that I could see.  With never-ending sunlight, are there round-the-clock tee times? 

Instead of finding out, Teddy and I were allowed to hike up the trail to the top, where a thin rim separated the switchbacked trail from the cliff down to the ocean beyond.  Teddy crushed the climb!  Sai and Catherine crushed the playground at the bottom.  I wish we could have taken some clubs and golf balls to the top and hit a few out to sea, but it was not meant to be.    

We visited an old fort (Skansinn) along the water, where you look forward to the docks and the looming Heimaklettur peak beyond, with the beluga bay beside that.  Behind is the destruction from Eldfell.  Despite their best efforts, Teddy and Catherine could not get the old Skansinn cannon to fire.  The next best excitement came when my son screamed in absolute horror from the confines of a public water closet.  I assumed he was being attacked by puffins (maybe that’s where they were hiding?) or his ass had frozen to the seat?  But no, Teddy just really wanted everyone on the island to know how upset he was that he had picked a stall with no toilet paper.  Life is so hard!

We then drove back around the island to a higher starting position to finish our business at Eldfell from the day before.  Eldfell erupted fifty years prior, wiping out a big chunk of the town in 1973.  There are rubble areas where roads and houses once stood.  There’s also a museum if you want more history than what I just provided.  From the parking area, it’s about a 25-minute climb if you’re a boy.  If you are a girl, it is apparently impassable, based on the efforts of Sai and Catherine.  They quickly gave up and waited in the car. 

Teddy again stormed the mountain!  This path meandered up red rock rather than the grassy slopes at the golf course because flora have not yet had the chance to reclaim the inner lining of the volcano. 

I asked Teddy to say “I’m on top of the world!” for his photo op at the top, but the smart ass instead informed me that he is always on top of the world.  “Not when you’re in a cave” I could have replied, had I thought of it.  Instead, I pushed him off, yelling for Sai to catch him at the bottom.  It’s a shame my son was such a wise guy.  It’s even worse that his mom has hands of stone.    

The hike back down to the car was a lot easier than the climb up, especially since I didn’t have to worry about Teddy.  Looking across the road, there was what appeared to be some sort of marking up the side of Helgafell, the next volcano… It didn’t take much for Sai to convince me it was an optical illusion and not a trail.  Hella got me into enough trouble on the mainland.  Helga would not do the same on Westman. 

Rhino Games

You would think that after climbing a couple of volcanoes that my boy would be wiped out (like I was), but Teddy gamely went to town on a nearby playground.  From the trails above we’d espied a cool in-ground bouncy pad overrun with jumping kids.  On the drive back from Eldfell we stopped to check it out.  Teddy and Catherine found this far more entertaining than anything else they’d seen in Iceland.  We could have saved so many kronor just by renting a bounce house!  While most of the people encountered during our travels were generally polite (aside from the pushy line cutters, of which there were more than a few), it takes playground antics to isolate the good from the bad.  A young Icelandic thug thought it would be fun to knock my kids down by jumping up and bouncing beside them, then laugh and say “I made you fall!  Ha ha ha!”  (Insert your own Icelandic accent).  We’ll call him Gunnar, as that’s a threatening-sounding Icelandic name.  Teddy took the challenge and demonstrated remarkable balance, staying on his feet despite hooligan Gunner’s every attempt.  But Catherine recognized the threat to her big brother and took it upon herself to protect.  Because she lacked the finer balance of her doubly aged big bro, Catherine stayed low, utilizing all four limbs.  And rather than avoiding the fall, she decided it best to ram the son of a gunnar senior.  After a few of these attacks, Gunnar nicknamed her “the Rhino” and determined it best to stay away from the crazy American kids.  Teddy declared himself victorious and we left before Gunnar’s parents protested our daughter’s (somewhat provoked?) animal attacks. 

The next morning we had more waffles for breakfast before making another island loop in a last-ditch look for puffins, and then we boarded the ferry back.  The return ride was much smoother, suggesting maybe a nicer day? 

Fossless Selfoss

Our last destination was the town of Selfoss, located somewhere between Landeyjahofn and Keflavik, where we’d spend one final bright night before boarding our return flight.  Selfoss happens to be near the Golden Circle loop that we’d missed earlier in the trip when Catherine was too busy barfing. 

From my limited research, there are three main attractions on the scenic route: Thingvellir National Park; Geysir, and Gulfoss.  Kerid is another nearby one to consider. 

The thing about Thingvellir is that it’s all about the history of Iceland, and it’s a great place to hike.  Old churches and original parliament may be interesting to some.  In the rain that sprang upon us shortly after departing the ferry, it lost its appeal to our lazy family.  Didn’t make the cut. 

Geysir geysers blast angry hot air like a wife I know.  This was the busiest place we visited and not as nice as I’d hoped.  Bubbling cauldrons and smoking stinkholes might blow you away; we thought it was just okay. 

Perhaps it would have been better had it not been intermittently pouring cold rain, unimproved by the hot clouds.  Gulfoss was worse, just a few kilometers away from Geysir.  The rain really started coming down.  Feeling bad for Sai for her having missed the volcano climbs in Westman, I waited with an impatient Catherine while mom and son made the short trek to see the next set of falls. 

Gulfoss is apparently one of the more popular waterfalls in Iceland.  This is probably because of its location on the Golden Circle loop, easy driving distance from Reykjavik.  After Sai and Teddy completed their water-soaked trek and the sky cleared, Sai calmly told me that there is another parking lot even closer to the action, from which she probably could have taken the same pictures without leaving the car.  But where’s the adventure in that?

On the way to our Air BnB we passed the pull-off for Kerid, passed through downtown Selfoss, and headed out to horse country for a remote little place on a farm where Teddy again ran into some trouble in the toilet.  Slightly less dramatic than the lack of paper from Skansinn, this time the boy managed to lock himself in.  The skeleton key seemed simple enough to me, but he couldn’t align it properly to turn the latch, nor to pull it out.  Had I not felt my own strong desire to use the toilet, this would have been hilarious.  Sai bravely tried to climb through the bathroom window before recalling that she is not limber enough to climb.  My lock picking skills were not up to the task (I lacked the proper tools).  Finally, with Sai hanging half-in the window, she was able to coach Teddy on how to turn the key to remove it from the lock, and I saved the day, like the hero of this story that I proclaim to be. 

Teddy can inflate his own exploits in his travel journal.  I’m sticking to this version, where Sai breathes fire, Teddy has traumatic poops, and Catherine is a crazy, lazy rhino-child.   

The next morning, we packed our bags for the last time, loaded the car, and headed on, with our ultimate destination for the day of USA.

But first we swung by Kerid Crater, since it was only a twenty-minute drive from our place in Selfoss.  This cool crater lake saves you the trouble of climbing up by instead starting at the top.  You can circumambulate the rim before taking the steps down the emerald waters at the bottom.  Surprisingly, Kerid was the only stop in our whole tour of Iceland where we had to pay for parking (not counting the ferry charges).  Nothing purchased in Iceland is cheap, but the scenery is typically free. 

Running low on time to drive and to drive Sai crazy, I mentioned that my guidebook noted three sets of waterfalls near each other, with the last being Selfoss.  I wasn’t sure why it wasn’t tagged in the Golden Circle itinerary, but figured it was a subtle secret.  Sai punched it up in our GPS and informed me that it was an eight-hour drive.  It must be Icelandic humor to put the Selfoss foss way up in the northwest of the country, nowhere near the Selfoss town in the south.  Kjerks.  I found a few other potential stops around Keflavik, but my credibility was eroded like the top of Kerid.  I’d fully cratered her trust. 

Sai navigated a scenic route to the airport, ignoring the most direct Ring Road (Route 1) in favor of less traveled road along the southern coast.  It took a little longer, but I delivered us to the rental car office within ten minutes of the target time (still several hours before our flight), so we were good and did not need to panic.  But someone felt like it was a fire and panicked like you’re not supposed to do.  I won’t name names because she’s already searched out every mention of her name.    

The return flight was painless, aside from Catherine’s monster poop conveniently timed for the short window when mommy asked to trade seats with me.  Clearly my princess is in cahoots with the queen of mean.  I mean queen of mine. 

We arrived back in DC at approximately 10:30 p.m. local time, which was 2:30 a.m. back in Iceland.  Weirdly, even though it was four hours earlier, for some reason it was dark outside.  It was also around 30 degrees warmer than our average trip temp, and significantly more humid.  Summer in DC is not nice.  No wonder it’s the busy time to see Iceland. 

Final Thoughts

I had many coworkers ask about my trip and wondering where those bruises came from.  Beyond the bits you’ve just read, the rest will have to wait for therapy.  Iceland is a really beautiful place.  It is an outdoor enthusiast’s ideal.  The stark landscapes, miles of nothingness and then breathtaking waterfalls, mountains and glaciers, dormant volcanoes (unless you time it wrong), cliffs and beaches.  I highly recommend visiting.  Just don’t ride with me and Sai. 

Leslie & Josh – Thank you for inviting us to this momentous occasion. I hope you’ll speak to us again someday.