I have a bit of wanderlust. And by a bit I mean I want to see, hmm, about 75% of the
world 100% of the time.
I dream of walking down roads I don’t recognize. Of hearing languages I don’t know,
seeing faces vastly different from my own and scenery so unique that my mind can’t
place it and is instead roves completely unsettled.
I rest in fatigue, at the summit of a long hike to a mountaintop or at the end of an
exhausted day of exploration.
I love to travel.
My Adam and I have made a point to exercise our passport every year, planning epic
trips to Spain and Portugal, Australia and New Zealand in recent years. This year’s
itinerary: Iceland and Copenhagen.
We came to Iceland because it was the closest I could get to giving my great love a
trip to Mars. Because the strange and bizarre lunar landscape thrilled him before we
even left the states. Because he craves the cold, the silence, the desolate, the absence
of people messing everything up. I didn’t know though, how much he would love it,
how deeply it would touch him, or how deep the country would nestle itself inside
me, either.
We started the trip in Reykjavik. The capital city has 200,000 yet it was so much
smaller, so much more walk-able and sweet than I expected. Also, so much colder.
It’s August – yet everyone still work thick, beautiful sweaters out during the day,
warm wooly hats. Summer chose not to smile on Iceland this year.
The highlight of our first day was a trip to Reykjavik for me was a trip to Reykjavik
Roasters, a small, local coffee shop with impeccable coffee. They sourced great
beans from around the world and even now, I’d give so much to be back in that cozy
coffee shop with that beautiful pour-over. My clients, Oceana Coffee, have taught me
a thing or two about beans along the way. They’d be proud.
That afternoon, we went to a bacon festival in the town center on a bright rainbow
street. The locals were so friendly and talkative, offering up their cards and phone
numbers and urging us to call day or night if we needed anything.
That night, we joined a group called Wake up Reykjavik, which took us out to the
best bars and clubs in Reykjavik. We went dancing until the sun came up, which in
Iceland was around 4:30.
The next day, we went on a tour called ”Inside the Volcano” that took us to the
Thrihnukagigur volcano. It was a 3 km hike to the base camp, where we were
offered traditional Icelandic lamb soup. The base camp had adopted a local baby fox,
which played around with the tourists coyly. In small groups, we were taken down a
modified skyscraper window cleaner into an active but dormant volcano for 45minutes.
There are raindrops falling steadily making unspecified patterns and light falling
across them as we descend. It’s amazing and beautiful and unsettling. At the bottom,
we climb out and walk around, scrabbling on our hands and feet. The walls look as if
a troupe of talented but mischievous 7th-grade boys have taken on the challenge and
painted them all – covered in abstract art red, orange, purple and green. Minerals. It
is completely awe-inspiring.
“This is my favorite day. Of all the places that we’ve been around the world, this is
the most peaceful,” Adam said. “There’s not the annoyance of people yet.”
This was it, this was his space, his place. I find peace in beautiful ocean, in the wind
on the side of the mountains, in awe-inspiring wide-open space and nature. I love
the reptilian feel of heat. But here, buried down, 100 meters and deep inside 40degree weather, thousands of miles away from everyone, and impossible to get to,
this was Adam’s happy space. This is where he felt at peace Away from man, away
from cars, away from noise and sun and warmth. The closest place he could get to
walking on Mars. This was his place.
The next day, we picked up our car and drove to Hosfos, where we stayed at an
airbnb called Magical Horses. I didn’t know it came with a unicorn.
That night, we drove to Lotkin to have one of the best meals of my life. It’s a small
restaurant, situated on the ocean on the edge of the arctic-circle with a woman who
considers herself a theater director and not a chef, all the food is sourced within 30
km of the restaurant. We started with puffin in a local berry sauce and a shellfish
and mussel soup with coconut broth. The soup is spicy and layered with flavors and
there are thick, chew rolls to accompany it. The butter is served on a lava rock.
And then there’s my smoked cod. Served almost like a Thanksgiving dressing with
potatoes, onions and sweet potatoes, the saltiness of the cod lends so much flavor to
each bite I want to savor the meal for hours. Each bite is completely fulfilling,
completely enough. It’s ornate and lush and deeply satisfying. There’s a thin slice of
dark rye bread that tastes as if it’s been baked inside the earth. I grudgingly but
lovingly give the bigger slice to Adam, who says the sauce is so delicious, he can eat
the lamb. (He hates lamb). Lamb we are sure grew up outside the restaurant quite
happy. It’s the same berry sauce – not sweet but a more earthy and pungent flavor
to balance the sweetness out.
For dessert, we share a berry panna-cotta topped with arctic thyme. The thyme puts
the dessert over the top and it’s almost too much for me to take.
I am in love. In love with Adam for bringing me to this land of wild ponies, wild cod,
wild thyme, wild roads, wild ocean, wild light. I am in love with watching the light
dance behind him, golden, then silver, then pale luminous. In love with this pale,
cool people. In love with the chance to explore, taste, see with Adam, once again.
As we leave at the end of the night we watch the colors of the sunset, stretched long
and slender across the sky. We are unsure where the sun is but the pink peeks out
from somewhere. It’s past 9:30 and the sky is still lit up with softness and kindness.
The next morning, on our horseback ride, my Adam broke his collarbone.
There’s not much to say. We wish it hadn’t happened. We’re grateful that it wasn’t
worse.
We rallied on though, taking in the sites – waterfall after waterfall, pony after pony
snickering at the side of the road. (No – I’m not suggesting they were laughing at us.
It’s just that every time we stopped the car and I approached to take their picture,
they developed the air of a smug, happy, snickering pony.)
I love this country. I love it in a way that befuddles and confuses me. Many countries
you visit and feel as if you understand a small part of it. You take pictures, souvenirs,
memories. And then you move on, ready for your next adventure. The old myth of
planning your next adventure while you’re currently on vacation.
But not so with Iceland. I feel through my bones as if we’re not through. As if we’ve
only just shaken hands, kissed cold cheeks, that I’ve only started making her
pictures.
Coming later this week…A few more pix from my beloved Iceland.