On my first trip to Iceland, as posted at the Icelandic Association of Chicago's newsletter website.
I spent my first night with a dog in a gas station. Actually, it was great. It's so easy to get into a mindless routine; Iceland is exactly the private piece of microcosm I needed to get in touch with my core.
Skógafoss in the morning. Sorry, Reykjavík I didn't come for the civilization. Onto Dyrhólæy. First, Mr. Drunk man at three in the morning, "can you please tell me how to get gas?" He has no idea. Oh well.
Dyrhólæy, my first encounter with black lava rock and the ocean in the daytime. Sheep everywhere, horses too. An otherworldy surreal landscape; heaven and hell.
Dyrhólæy was great, but Reynisfjall was like a dream. Spires, no, daggers spiralling up out of the ocean; Maleficent's mountain. Iceland is the only place wonder and weird add up to make cool. Black sand, white ocean froth, basalt columns. A Sigur Rós music video -- no, better, another world.
Would I want to stay here? I don't know about the dark winters. Can a mind survive something like that in one piece?
At Skaftafell I met the forest sanctuary, Svartafoss. She was magnifecent. And Skeiðaràrasandur a geologic wet dream. Finally, Jökulsárlon; gems of diamond white atop coal pitch. Translation please? Where the mountain glaciers go to meet with the sea and become saltwater. As they transform they tinkle like bells into smaller and smaller renditions down a river to the surf.
The glacier that manage to survive litter the shore amid maroon kelp and the occasional driftwood and diamond ice masses. A sight to behold, walk on beach sand stones, return with a lost part of your soul.
My adventure, in the remote reaches of Iceland, crafted by human minds and human hands. A world where the winds and sea are king and go to meet with fire, crash, and wonder the mind, wonder the soul--so beautiful.
Þakka þér fyrir að Icelandic Association of Chicago og Lena Hallgrímsdóttir for preparing me fyrir the adventure!