Iceland, Day 3, Friday, August 14, 2015
The next day we were supposed to go to the glacial lagoon. A combination of weather concerns and states of exhaustion caused us to decide to do the “easier” Golden Circle day instead. We put Geysir in our GPS and headed off.
Our plan had been to go to this highly recommended coffee shop for breakfast. But it turned out that it didn’t open until 11. Because no one in Iceland apparently wants coffee until 11. Because our second choice also didn’t open until 11.
Not that I wanted coffee but I did want breakfast. Luckily, I had eaten my donut, so I was okay.
L asked if we were up to going to some valley before going to Geysir. We all said fine, so we tried to add a via point to the GPS (this was always tricky, since few things in Iceland have addresses and the GPS didn’t have Icelandic letters).
The scenery as we drove was spectacular. In some ways, Iceland strikes me as an opposite-world version of Hawaii. Like, if it wasn’t freezing cold, the ocean crashing against a hilly landscape, the prevalence of waterfalls, the black sand beaches could all be in Hawaii. Where Iceland differs from Hawaii, of course, is in the fact that is is cold, so those mountains in the distance, sharp and jagged, are coated with snow that only partially smooths them out. Iceland is full of a plethora of different landscapes. That day, as we drove through rain, the glinting mountain in the distance was wreathed in impossible sunshine. You could imagine living in a fantasy landscape where it rained constantly and the people gazed longingly at the mountain peak of elusive sunlight.
We kept driving, and the roads shifted from paved to unpaved and back again. At one point, driving in a construction zone, I became alarmed that maybe the road would be gravel for the next 80 miles for all we knew. It was an unpleasant enough road that we were confused about whether it was still open to cars or we would encounter a paving machine halfway along. It was bad enough that an American road in such a state would definitely have been closed.
Encountering a construction worker, I asked if we were allowed to drive on the road. He looked bewildered that I was confused about this. “Yes,” he answered. “How long is it unpaved?” I asked. “What?” he said, clearly not understanding my question. “How long is the road like this?” I clarified. “Not long,” he assured me. After I drove away, it occurred to all of us that I had asked the wrong question, because Icelanders considered the road we were on to be paved. I should have asked how long it was untarred.
Eventually we came to a scenic lookout (“Look,” I said, “it’s the scenic lookout symbol!”). Of course, because this is Iceland, the scenic lookout involved an unmarked hike up a steep hill. And also of course, once you got up there, the wind almost knocked you back down. But the view from the top was very beautiful.
We kept driving, looking for the valley. The scenery was, as always, striking, a bumpy plain that reminded me of the air bubble left behind when you try to put a new screen on your phone. Mostly we saw no people or signs of people-Iceland is the kind of place where everyone else on Earth could disappear and it would take you a little while to notice. Eventually we randomly came around some fluttering flags marking the start of a long driveway leading to a little constellation of buildings, which was honestly creepier than all the emptiness had been, since it was in the middle of nowhere. I was too busy freaking out about that to notice the Hobbit houses that everyone else saw.
Around this point, the GPS tried to tell me to get on some road that had all these signs that only Serious Vehicles should drive upon it. So we vetoed the GPS and looped back down to the Hobbit houses everyone had seen.
They turned out to be houses built into the hillside, with sod roofs, in a replica of a development that had been there and destroyed by a volcano in the 1100s. It was really interesting to how they lived. It was an odd combination of high ceilings to reach light and get cooking smoke out, I suppose, and really low, narrow passageways between the spaces. I found most interesting that the settlement had been segregated by gender (patriarchy! Already!) and that Icelanders had basically had no fruits and vegetables in their diets until well into the 19th century.
With that side trip out of the way, we started to head back toward Geysir, getting us back on the GPS route. We stopped for gas, where there were multiple weird shenanigans about having to pay via gift card because of our foolish American credit cards. While N and I figured that out, S bought me this delicious coconut ice cream bar thing.
As we drove back on the GPS track, we came to a map being guarded by creepy wooden carvings shrouded in real furs (which, frankly, were disgusting from being out in the elements). We naturally had to stop the car to investigate this, and a perusal of the map revealed several intriguing things, including something called the Secret Lagoon. How do you not go see something called the Secret Lagoon?
So we diverted from the GPS to go seek the Secret Lagoon. It turned out to be something like the Blue Lagoon, only on a smaller scale (I guess that was what made it “secret”). The guy working there let us walk around the perimeter, which led to us discovering that the lagoon contained its own small geyser, and somehow that led to some analogy between geysers and male sexual performance, and how to see a really good geyser you need to be the geyser’s OTP, because a geyser will always perform in a satisfying manner for its OTP. I blame the Penis Museum for that whole thing.
Back in the car, we were all now hungry, so a decision was made to go to the coffee shop we’d originally planned to go to in the morning, hours earlier, because now it was actually open. How did we end up back there? I was confused, too, so L and N and S all made me a map to explain. (It didn’t work.)
The coffee shop was nestled in a little development of houses, but naturally still remote enough that the road was unpaved and people were galloping along it on horseback. The coffee shop was also a pottery studio, and the bigger side of it house what was clearly pottery-making equipment, but I didn’t see any pottery for sale.
The coffee shop had come recommended like crazy, but it was much smaller than we’d expected, with only four things on the menu. Luckily, one of those things was Icelandic pancakes, which are slightly heavier crepes rolled with granulated sugar. Really delicious. I also had Icelandic tea. It wasn’t bad but the most accurate way to describe it is to tell you that it tasted like a combination of moss and lichen. L concurred.
Coffee shop outing completed, we got back on the road for Geysir, but then I saw a sign for Gullfoss, so we went there instead.
I had been to Gullfoss before, because it’s one of the top four things they tell tourists to do in Iceland.
I remembered Gullfoss as being so surrounded by RELENTLESS ICELANDIC WIND TM that I felt like I could barely make my way back to our car (and, once to the car, we literally could not physically open the door against the RELENTLESS ICELANDIC WIND TM). This time, there was still RELENTLESS ICELANDIC WIND TM, but, instead of being surrounded by treacherous ice, it was now surrounded by greenery, including some flower that reminded me of cotton in bloom (and, when I went down to investigate further, I slipped and pulled a muscle in my leg, and this is why I avoid “nature”). Anyway, Gullfoss is gorgeous and utterly impressive and not to be missed if you come to Iceland. Also, apparently it was preserved by a woman of medium height who had been considered reasonably attractive. Because that’s a totally appropriate thing to put on someone’s commemorative historical plaque. Patriarchy!
After Gullfoss, we finally got to Geysir, only, like, six hours after we’d set out for it that morning. I don’t remember much about my first trip to Geysir except it was cold.
It was still cold.
We walked up to Strokkur, which is the geyser that’s still functioning because the original Geysir geyser has died (and let’s not talk about the name Strokkur for a geyser in the context of our geyser OTP discussion). L and S and N were all taking pictures. I had decided to leave the picture-taking to them to focus on my truly impressive talent for panoramas, so I got what seemed like a good idea in my head. There were signs all over the place warning us not to touch the water because it was basically boiling. I decided to walk over to where the wind was blowing the hot steam, so I could warm up.
This worked well-until Strokkur erupted. Looking up as the water rose over my head, I realized I’d made a terrible mistake. I uttered a little cry and tried to retreat. But it was too late. I found myself drenched in…freezing cold water. Like, what the hell? I hadn’t wanted to be burned but freezing cold? Everyone told me that it was because the water cools as soon as it hits the air but now I’m convinced the hot springs are all a hoax.
Drenching me once in cold water wasn’t enough. Strokkur had a special bonus eruption just for me. S said it’s because I’m Strokkur’s OTP and probably the fact that I was drenched meant I was pregnant with Strokkur’s baby. Or Strokkur was pregnant. Mpreg seemed more likely to us.
After Strokkur’s eruption, L went running up a nearby hill, because periodically he just does that, and S and N and I wandered over to the pit of Hell. I mean, I guess it was technically something else, but it was a hold in the ground shrouded in eerie smoke, so it’s equally likely it was just the pit of Hell. Really, no wonder Icelanders believe in things like Hidden Folk, given the landscape they’re living in. I feel like their landscape is still inexplicable to me, even in the modern era.
At Geysir, we decided to stop for another snack. All of us decided on mushroom soup, which we thought was basically the most delicious thing we’d ever tasted. And then we realized it was probably good but also we hadn’t really eaten anything all day.
After Geysir, we continued on to þingvellir, distracted along the way by the most fabulously vivid rainbow I’d ever seen. We saw frequent rainbows in Iceland but this one was amazing. You could see the whole of its perfect arc, where each end met the Earth.
I’d remembered þingvellir as being my least favorite of the Golden Circle attractions, and it still was, but they’d made lots of improvements to it, I think. They’re in the middle of building a walkway to provide access to even more of it. The signs were weird, though. When you spoke in front of them, they echoed your voice back to you. (And, despite what L thinks, the þingvellir symbol is not the scenic lookout symbol.)
After þingvellir, we decided to drive into Reykjavik for dinner. Which means it’s probably time for another edition of Conversations in Iceland.
Me: Are you happy I gave all my change to you to lug around?
L: I had a feeling you were going to do something evil today.
Me: Yes, that was definitely my evil plan.
***
S: Are you so small because you’re Portuguese?
Me: I don’t know. Maybe.
S: So are small geysers called Portuguese geysers?
Me: Probably.
***
S: The fingers of my gloves are too long.
Me: Mine, too!
S: Do Icelandic people just have really long fingers?
Me: Yes! Because of the elven blood!
***
Me: Here is a list of things I find difficult.
L: This is going to be a long list.
Me: Now I feel like my first one is stupid.
S: You might as well say it. We’re going to make fun of you anyway.
Me: I find it difficult in this cold weather with long daylight. It’s so cold I keep thinking it’ll be dark by 4 and I’m all thrown when it’s night and basically I have no sense of time here.
S: No, that’s fair.
***
Me: I think when we came here before we parked in this parking lot.
S: Really? I thought it was that parking lot.
L: I don’t think your trip to Iceland really happened. I think you’re lying about it.
***
L: Do you have more pepper? Because I need all the pepper. Oh, no, that’s too much pepper!
S: But you asked for all the pepper.
Me: If a genie was here, you’d be screwed.
***
Me: The National album really grew on me.
L: I like that song about love.
Me: Oh, the one song about love.
L: And hearts.
Me: I don’t know.
L: Oh, wait. I’m talking about the Editors, not the National.
Me: We’ve had this exact same conversation before.
After I negotiated seven million rotaries, we arrived in Reykjavik and sat down to dinner at a hamburger place. At, like, 10:00 at night. Because it was still light enough the street lights weren’t on yet. And we had no sense of time in Iceland.
The hamburger place was really good. We shared nachos and jalapeno poppers and sliders, and I really only liked the nachos part of that meal but the nachos were quality. We’d gone to that restaurant because the licorice milkshakes were supposed to be amazing. I don’t like licorice but everyone else was crazy for this milkshake so it must have been good. I had a “muffin” (read: cupcake) crafted out of fondant to resemble a hamburger, and we also split astronaut’s cake, which was some cake with caramel. Also delicious.
We’d had hot dogs the day before and N really wanted another one so I dropped her off to get one while I circled the block. And then L, who was absolutely trashed off one glass of wine, offered to go buy me a bottle-I hadn’t drunk because I was driving-and darted out into the Icelandic night. “We will never see him again,” S remarked. “This was clearly my evil plan,” I agreed.
But, when I circled the block, both N and L were there waiting, so all’s well that ends well. Except L didn’t have a bottle of wine because you can’t buy wine after a certain time in Reykjavik. So I guess all didn’t end entirely well.
So then we got in the car to drive home and my favorite
Conversation in Iceland
Took place. Henceforth to be known as L’s ordeal.
L: So I think some guy came on to me in the Blue Lagoon locker rooms.
S: What? What do you mean?
L: I happened to pick the locker next to the key fob thing.
N: Everyone knows picking the locker by the key fob thing is the universal signal that you’re looking for a man.
L: So anyway I’m standing there naked and he kind of has to lean his hand down to reach the key knob-I mean, key fob.
N: Wow, was that a Freudian slip.
S: I guess he could’ve just been trying to open his locker.
L: He kept asking me questions, too.
S: Like what?
L: Like where the towels were.
Me: Was one of this questions where he could find a good hot dog?
S: We have penises on the mind because of the Penis Museum.
L: I always have penises on the mind. Wait, that came out wrong.
I was laughing so hard over this entire conversation that I almost crashed the car and I was crying and my stomach hurt. It was fantastic.
Eventually we got home. Which, let me tell you, it was one of Iceland’s rare August hours of full darkness, and that driveway was super-fun to navigate in the dark.
L and I decided to go in the hot tub again but I couldn’t figure out how to run the jets properly and long story short we were in there for an hour again oops. We tried to look for shooting stars but again, both too cloudy and too light.
Our plan had been to go to this highly recommended coffee shop for breakfast. But it turned out that it didn’t open until 11. Because no one in Iceland apparently wants coffee until 11. Because our second choice also didn’t open until 11.
Not that I wanted coffee but I did want breakfast. Luckily, I had eaten my donut, so I was okay.
L asked if we were up to going to some valley before going to Geysir. We all said fine, so we tried to add a via point to the GPS (this was always tricky, since few things in Iceland have addresses and the GPS didn’t have Icelandic letters).
The scenery as we drove was spectacular. In some ways, Iceland strikes me as an opposite-world version of Hawaii. Like, if it wasn’t freezing cold, the ocean crashing against a hilly landscape, the prevalence of waterfalls, the black sand beaches could all be in Hawaii. Where Iceland differs from Hawaii, of course, is in the fact that is is cold, so those mountains in the distance, sharp and jagged, are coated with snow that only partially smooths them out. Iceland is full of a plethora of different landscapes. That day, as we drove through rain, the glinting mountain in the distance was wreathed in impossible sunshine. You could imagine living in a fantasy landscape where it rained constantly and the people gazed longingly at the mountain peak of elusive sunlight.
We kept driving, and the roads shifted from paved to unpaved and back again. At one point, driving in a construction zone, I became alarmed that maybe the road would be gravel for the next 80 miles for all we knew. It was an unpleasant enough road that we were confused about whether it was still open to cars or we would encounter a paving machine halfway along. It was bad enough that an American road in such a state would definitely have been closed.
Encountering a construction worker, I asked if we were allowed to drive on the road. He looked bewildered that I was confused about this. “Yes,” he answered. “How long is it unpaved?” I asked. “What?” he said, clearly not understanding my question. “How long is the road like this?” I clarified. “Not long,” he assured me. After I drove away, it occurred to all of us that I had asked the wrong question, because Icelanders considered the road we were on to be paved. I should have asked how long it was untarred.
Eventually we came to a scenic lookout (“Look,” I said, “it’s the scenic lookout symbol!”). Of course, because this is Iceland, the scenic lookout involved an unmarked hike up a steep hill. And also of course, once you got up there, the wind almost knocked you back down. But the view from the top was very beautiful.
We kept driving, looking for the valley. The scenery was, as always, striking, a bumpy plain that reminded me of the air bubble left behind when you try to put a new screen on your phone. Mostly we saw no people or signs of people-Iceland is the kind of place where everyone else on Earth could disappear and it would take you a little while to notice. Eventually we randomly came around some fluttering flags marking the start of a long driveway leading to a little constellation of buildings, which was honestly creepier than all the emptiness had been, since it was in the middle of nowhere. I was too busy freaking out about that to notice the Hobbit houses that everyone else saw.
Around this point, the GPS tried to tell me to get on some road that had all these signs that only Serious Vehicles should drive upon it. So we vetoed the GPS and looped back down to the Hobbit houses everyone had seen.
They turned out to be houses built into the hillside, with sod roofs, in a replica of a development that had been there and destroyed by a volcano in the 1100s. It was really interesting to how they lived. It was an odd combination of high ceilings to reach light and get cooking smoke out, I suppose, and really low, narrow passageways between the spaces. I found most interesting that the settlement had been segregated by gender (patriarchy! Already!) and that Icelanders had basically had no fruits and vegetables in their diets until well into the 19th century.
With that side trip out of the way, we started to head back toward Geysir, getting us back on the GPS route. We stopped for gas, where there were multiple weird shenanigans about having to pay via gift card because of our foolish American credit cards. While N and I figured that out, S bought me this delicious coconut ice cream bar thing.
As we drove back on the GPS track, we came to a map being guarded by creepy wooden carvings shrouded in real furs (which, frankly, were disgusting from being out in the elements). We naturally had to stop the car to investigate this, and a perusal of the map revealed several intriguing things, including something called the Secret Lagoon. How do you not go see something called the Secret Lagoon?
So we diverted from the GPS to go seek the Secret Lagoon. It turned out to be something like the Blue Lagoon, only on a smaller scale (I guess that was what made it “secret”). The guy working there let us walk around the perimeter, which led to us discovering that the lagoon contained its own small geyser, and somehow that led to some analogy between geysers and male sexual performance, and how to see a really good geyser you need to be the geyser’s OTP, because a geyser will always perform in a satisfying manner for its OTP. I blame the Penis Museum for that whole thing.
Back in the car, we were all now hungry, so a decision was made to go to the coffee shop we’d originally planned to go to in the morning, hours earlier, because now it was actually open. How did we end up back there? I was confused, too, so L and N and S all made me a map to explain. (It didn’t work.)
The coffee shop was nestled in a little development of houses, but naturally still remote enough that the road was unpaved and people were galloping along it on horseback. The coffee shop was also a pottery studio, and the bigger side of it house what was clearly pottery-making equipment, but I didn’t see any pottery for sale.
The coffee shop had come recommended like crazy, but it was much smaller than we’d expected, with only four things on the menu. Luckily, one of those things was Icelandic pancakes, which are slightly heavier crepes rolled with granulated sugar. Really delicious. I also had Icelandic tea. It wasn’t bad but the most accurate way to describe it is to tell you that it tasted like a combination of moss and lichen. L concurred.
Coffee shop outing completed, we got back on the road for Geysir, but then I saw a sign for Gullfoss, so we went there instead.
I had been to Gullfoss before, because it’s one of the top four things they tell tourists to do in Iceland.
I remembered Gullfoss as being so surrounded by RELENTLESS ICELANDIC WIND TM that I felt like I could barely make my way back to our car (and, once to the car, we literally could not physically open the door against the RELENTLESS ICELANDIC WIND TM). This time, there was still RELENTLESS ICELANDIC WIND TM, but, instead of being surrounded by treacherous ice, it was now surrounded by greenery, including some flower that reminded me of cotton in bloom (and, when I went down to investigate further, I slipped and pulled a muscle in my leg, and this is why I avoid “nature”). Anyway, Gullfoss is gorgeous and utterly impressive and not to be missed if you come to Iceland. Also, apparently it was preserved by a woman of medium height who had been considered reasonably attractive. Because that’s a totally appropriate thing to put on someone’s commemorative historical plaque. Patriarchy!
After Gullfoss, we finally got to Geysir, only, like, six hours after we’d set out for it that morning. I don’t remember much about my first trip to Geysir except it was cold.
It was still cold.
We walked up to Strokkur, which is the geyser that’s still functioning because the original Geysir geyser has died (and let’s not talk about the name Strokkur for a geyser in the context of our geyser OTP discussion). L and S and N were all taking pictures. I had decided to leave the picture-taking to them to focus on my truly impressive talent for panoramas, so I got what seemed like a good idea in my head. There were signs all over the place warning us not to touch the water because it was basically boiling. I decided to walk over to where the wind was blowing the hot steam, so I could warm up.
This worked well-until Strokkur erupted. Looking up as the water rose over my head, I realized I’d made a terrible mistake. I uttered a little cry and tried to retreat. But it was too late. I found myself drenched in…freezing cold water. Like, what the hell? I hadn’t wanted to be burned but freezing cold? Everyone told me that it was because the water cools as soon as it hits the air but now I’m convinced the hot springs are all a hoax.
Drenching me once in cold water wasn’t enough. Strokkur had a special bonus eruption just for me. S said it’s because I’m Strokkur’s OTP and probably the fact that I was drenched meant I was pregnant with Strokkur’s baby. Or Strokkur was pregnant. Mpreg seemed more likely to us.
After Strokkur’s eruption, L went running up a nearby hill, because periodically he just does that, and S and N and I wandered over to the pit of Hell. I mean, I guess it was technically something else, but it was a hold in the ground shrouded in eerie smoke, so it’s equally likely it was just the pit of Hell. Really, no wonder Icelanders believe in things like Hidden Folk, given the landscape they’re living in. I feel like their landscape is still inexplicable to me, even in the modern era.
At Geysir, we decided to stop for another snack. All of us decided on mushroom soup, which we thought was basically the most delicious thing we’d ever tasted. And then we realized it was probably good but also we hadn’t really eaten anything all day.
After Geysir, we continued on to þingvellir, distracted along the way by the most fabulously vivid rainbow I’d ever seen. We saw frequent rainbows in Iceland but this one was amazing. You could see the whole of its perfect arc, where each end met the Earth.
I’d remembered þingvellir as being my least favorite of the Golden Circle attractions, and it still was, but they’d made lots of improvements to it, I think. They’re in the middle of building a walkway to provide access to even more of it. The signs were weird, though. When you spoke in front of them, they echoed your voice back to you. (And, despite what L thinks, the þingvellir symbol is not the scenic lookout symbol.)
After þingvellir, we decided to drive into Reykjavik for dinner. Which means it’s probably time for another edition of Conversations in Iceland.
Me: Are you happy I gave all my change to you to lug around?
L: I had a feeling you were going to do something evil today.
Me: Yes, that was definitely my evil plan.
***
S: Are you so small because you’re Portuguese?
Me: I don’t know. Maybe.
S: So are small geysers called Portuguese geysers?
Me: Probably.
***
S: The fingers of my gloves are too long.
Me: Mine, too!
S: Do Icelandic people just have really long fingers?
Me: Yes! Because of the elven blood!
***
Me: Here is a list of things I find difficult.
L: This is going to be a long list.
Me: Now I feel like my first one is stupid.
S: You might as well say it. We’re going to make fun of you anyway.
Me: I find it difficult in this cold weather with long daylight. It’s so cold I keep thinking it’ll be dark by 4 and I’m all thrown when it’s night and basically I have no sense of time here.
S: No, that’s fair.
***
Me: I think when we came here before we parked in this parking lot.
S: Really? I thought it was that parking lot.
L: I don’t think your trip to Iceland really happened. I think you’re lying about it.
***
L: Do you have more pepper? Because I need all the pepper. Oh, no, that’s too much pepper!
S: But you asked for all the pepper.
Me: If a genie was here, you’d be screwed.
***
Me: The National album really grew on me.
L: I like that song about love.
Me: Oh, the one song about love.
L: And hearts.
Me: I don’t know.
L: Oh, wait. I’m talking about the Editors, not the National.
Me: We’ve had this exact same conversation before.
After I negotiated seven million rotaries, we arrived in Reykjavik and sat down to dinner at a hamburger place. At, like, 10:00 at night. Because it was still light enough the street lights weren’t on yet. And we had no sense of time in Iceland.
The hamburger place was really good. We shared nachos and jalapeno poppers and sliders, and I really only liked the nachos part of that meal but the nachos were quality. We’d gone to that restaurant because the licorice milkshakes were supposed to be amazing. I don’t like licorice but everyone else was crazy for this milkshake so it must have been good. I had a “muffin” (read: cupcake) crafted out of fondant to resemble a hamburger, and we also split astronaut’s cake, which was some cake with caramel. Also delicious.
We’d had hot dogs the day before and N really wanted another one so I dropped her off to get one while I circled the block. And then L, who was absolutely trashed off one glass of wine, offered to go buy me a bottle-I hadn’t drunk because I was driving-and darted out into the Icelandic night. “We will never see him again,” S remarked. “This was clearly my evil plan,” I agreed.
But, when I circled the block, both N and L were there waiting, so all’s well that ends well. Except L didn’t have a bottle of wine because you can’t buy wine after a certain time in Reykjavik. So I guess all didn’t end entirely well.
So then we got in the car to drive home and my favorite
Conversation in Iceland
Took place. Henceforth to be known as L’s ordeal.
L: So I think some guy came on to me in the Blue Lagoon locker rooms.
S: What? What do you mean?
L: I happened to pick the locker next to the key fob thing.
N: Everyone knows picking the locker by the key fob thing is the universal signal that you’re looking for a man.
L: So anyway I’m standing there naked and he kind of has to lean his hand down to reach the key knob-I mean, key fob.
N: Wow, was that a Freudian slip.
S: I guess he could’ve just been trying to open his locker.
L: He kept asking me questions, too.
S: Like what?
L: Like where the towels were.
Me: Was one of this questions where he could find a good hot dog?
S: We have penises on the mind because of the Penis Museum.
L: I always have penises on the mind. Wait, that came out wrong.
I was laughing so hard over this entire conversation that I almost crashed the car and I was crying and my stomach hurt. It was fantastic.
Eventually we got home. Which, let me tell you, it was one of Iceland’s rare August hours of full darkness, and that driveway was super-fun to navigate in the dark.
L and I decided to go in the hot tub again but I couldn’t figure out how to run the jets properly and long story short we were in there for an hour again oops. We tried to look for shooting stars but again, both too cloudy and too light.