It’s Time For Whimsy On A Wednesday!

“Mother, grab your bags, our adventure to Iceland begins!”

That was at 2.30 am.

I don’t know if you can be ready to go marching across glaciers, scaling volcanoes and facing giant geysers so early in the morning but off we set. 

 The trip we booked was called a wellness break but we’ve yet to figure out which part the wellness was in. From the moment we got there we didn’t stop – from 7 am to early evening we were out on the road adventuring all across Iceland.

 We started by nearly missing the plane as the gate was several thousand miles away, probably in another town to be honest. We were the last pair on and I could feel the hatred pouring into me from the eyes of the other passengers.

Anyway, once we arrived at about 9.30 am it was still dark. Nobody was there to fetch us and we stood in the airport like very silly tourists. 

“Where’s the transfer information?” I asked.

“In my suitcase.”

Who keeps paperwork that is much needed in order to facilitate your journey packed in a bloody suitcase?

“Are you kidding me?”

Things got fractious. My mother sat down, unzipped her case and found it amongst her smalls. We eventually figured out that nobody was coming to get us and the lady at the silly tourist’s desk said to take two separate buses to our hotel. In the snow. And ice. Whilst terribly brrrski. 

If I was to explain my first impression of Iceland in the dim winter light from the bus window it would be this:

Rothko Grey/Blue.

We eventually made it to the hotel in Reykjavik desperately exhausted by the endless travelling but got straight back out there and found our way into the centre for some cocktails and tapas! Good start. A fabulous time was had running up and down the rainbow road, nipping into shops looking at Icelandic jumpers with costly price tags and visiting the church.

 At about 10 pm we left the restaurant and went to look for a taxi. Not a cab in sight. We kept on walking, assured that we would come across one at some point. This is the capital of Iceland after all. Nope. We walked quite a way, in fact, we walked for miles, noting that all the restaurants were now shut. So was the concert hall. Even the Hard Rock Cafe had closed its doors on yet another person buying a location t-shirt. At this point it was getting so cold it hurt to breathe in. 

We noticed a restaurant further down the street with staff still inside and decided to beat on the windows to make them open the door. They weren’t going to but we persisted like mad English people, a reputation that instils fear into the rest of Europe and beyond. Eventually, a man opened the door to us and I think he may have been holding a rolling pin behind his back for protection. Once we explained our dilemma he pointed across the road to a bench. 

“People tend to wait for taxis over there but there aren’t many around.” 

“Really, hadn’t noticed. Got anything for frostbite?”

He called us a taxi anyway and shut the door. The taxi never came. I reckon he called the coppers and asked we be arrested for banging on his windows. We finally decided to wait at the bench, and despite it being some random place in the middle of the street, we got picked up. What an odd thing. If you ever go to Iceland remember this important point. The bench across the road from the Hard Rock Cafe is where you stand to get a lift. 

The next day we had to pack up and go to another hotel whilst stopping to see geysers and waterfalls. I could see the excitement in my mum’s eyes (or was it fear? I can never tell). My mother does not do early and favours getting up at the crack of noon. I think it was at this point I realised my mother is actually a giant toddler and her nickname was born. GT.

Obviously, she railed against my opinion of her being a lot like a three-year-old but then a toddler would. I often think it would be better to have my mother on reigns. One minute she’s just ambling about and the next she’s disappeared in a flash in search of something shiny and I have to spend 20 minutes trying to find her. This happens a lot.

Let’s take the early mornings as a toddlerish example:

“Mum, we have to be downstairs fully packed in 15 minutes ready to get on the coach for our next trip.”

“Yes. I know. Meh, blah. Stop going on at me.”

“Well, you’re sitting there playing games on your phone in your pants and t-shirt. Maybe play games later after you’re ready.”

*Crickets* At this point GT is blatantly ignoring me because I am threatening its enjoyment.

“MUM!” 

“Oh shut up!”

Eventually, in her own time, she starts to get ready. Slowly.

 I breathe deeply and tell myself that the fire building in my head isn’t the onset of a stroke but just mild irritation.

“Only half your hair is brushed.”

“No it isn’t!”

“OK.”

She then gets stuck in her coat and I have to help bundle her into the giant puffa. We get her zipped up and ready and I start to open the door of our hotel room. We have 3 minutes to get downstairs and then she falters…

“I need a poo.”

ARRRRRRRRRRRRRRRR!

Regardless, we managed to get seated and hit the road early, determined to conquer Iceland’s natural wonders. However, a storm was coming in that was so bad an amber warning had been issued and no travel was allowed after 2 pm.

On the way, our guide, Petr, told us stories about the food and how they were currently celebrating the dreadfully shit cooking of yore. In Iceland there are some traditional recipes that may not be to everyone’s taste. These dishes are often eaten as a way to celebrate the country’s heritage and pay homage to the old ways of life. One such dish is fermented Ray fins. The fins are salted and left for several months resulting in a strong, pungent flavour that is apparently an acquired taste. Then there are seal flippers soaked in brine which are often referred to as “human hands” due to their appearance once bloated. The flippers are soaked for several days also resulting in a strong, salty flavour edible torture.

We finally arrived at the giant geysers and watched them erupt. The smell was very sulphuric; like bad eggs. However, I was already used to that as the water in the hotel smelt the same and was much like washing in liquid fart. 

After that we drove on to the gigantic waterfalls.

“Once you’ve seen one waterfall you’ve seen them all,” my mother said. “I’m not getting off the bloody bus for this one.” I walked down and went right to the edge and got absolutely soaked. 

The storm came belting in and it was sodding freezing. We sat watching it from the bar of our new hotel in Selfoss where we got chatting with an English lady who had moved over to Iceland for her grandkids. As she took our food order I made her promise not to give me puffin and could I please have the fish and chips, no brine, no flippers. I asked her what Icelanders ate for Christmas dinner.

“Oh, it’s a very salted lamb, caramelised potatoes and then they open a tin of peas and a tin of sweetcorn and put that on the plate.”

“Oh. Have you ever cooked them a traditional Christmas roast with all the trimmings?”

“Yes. They hated it.”

Well, there’s just no helping some people. However, the fish and chips were absolutely delicious and that’s coming from someone who lives in fish and chip land. 

Ice trekking across the universe

The next day it was time for a trip to the glaciers on the south coast. My mother may be a seasoned traveller but making your way through a natural ice cave was a whole new level of roughing it. I had visions of her falling down a ravine or slipping and sliding on the ice like Bambi a toddler and wondered whether we should go. However, she refused to give up. I like that attitude. She’s a trooper, I’ll give her that.

We off-roaded it in giant 4x4s that made my pick-up truck look like a Dinky toy.

Across the ice, we skidded for 50 minutes above the violent and ready to growl, Katla. We were told that if she did go off there would be no warning and they’d been waiting for her to spew a tirade for a while now. Great. We finally reached the summit and the views were magnificent. On went the hard hats and crampons.

“Single File!” the guides shouted. “Do not deviate or you may disappear down a sinkhole!”

I gave GT a warning look.

March, march, march we did, across the Myrdalsjokull glacier that looked just like a charcoal drawing.

Seriously, zoom in and tell me that’s not a sketch!

It was so surreal I couldn’t entirely take it in. And then I spied the opening to the ice cave—a giant black and turquoise crystal. I don’t think I have ever seen anything quite so beautiful.

Going through the cave was an ordeal. Rudimentary planks had been put down and only one loose hanging rope to hold, sometimes none at all.

At times it was so dark you couldn’t see a thing and you just had to hope you didn’t slip and die. I came out of it exhausted and mesmerised.

GT was so spent she could barely think. But that’s okay, because who wants to think about eating fermented shark (I don’t blame her)

But even in her tired state, she couldn’t help but marvel at the beauty outside. “Thank God it’s the Blue Lagoon tomorrow.”

We still hadn’t managed to witness aurora borealis as the weather had been pretty stormy. Each night we left our names on a list to be woken up if they were spotted but it never happened. To be honest, as I said to my mother, ”If someone wakes me up at 3 am tonight to see some green lights I’m likely to beat them to death with the coffee spoon.” 

Besides, it gives us another reason to go back. Apparently, you should visit in winter and summer to see the difference.

The next day the Blue Lagoon offered much-needed bone therapy. It’s a huge place where geothermal seawater gives you a spa-like experience. The place looks like a turquoise haven in a misty industrial area.  We had silicone face masks and strawberry champagne and bobbed about in the warm water. The outside temperature was minus 8 and at one point I thought my ears might fall off never mind my eyebrows.  

As trips go this adventure was fun from start to finish and I’d definitely recommend a visit to Iceland as the scenery is beautiful and dramatic, the ice caves are a bucket-list must-do, and no eyebrows or puffins were harmed during our time despite what people try to tell you.