(Day One: Reykjavik) 

The plane lands in the early morning after a 7-hour flight from Seattle. On the tarmac, before we leave, the stewardesses tell us about a volcanic eruption that happened that morning. Nothing that would disrupt flights—only a lava fissure that opened up near the airport. Just another day for Icelanders where seismic activity is a birthright. Travel from Keflavik airport to Reykjavik is expensive so we trundled to our pre-booked bus into town. The road cuts through miles of moss-covered lava fields, mountains off in the distance, the sea to our left. After 40 km of moonscape, we arrive at the main bus terminal. 

I am not sure what I was expecting but apart from the stately mountains across the bay, coming into town was alternately picturesque, bland, charming and dull. The natural setting is stunning and the old town center—a pedestrian-friendly conglomeration of mid-century low-rise buildings in various states of repair and disrepair—is ridiculously charming. Frugal, functional structures are festooned with colorful murals and topped with pitched roofs in bright primary colors. The place is unfussy, comfortable, friendly and quirky. The primary mode of transportation seems to be scooters. Scooters, scooters, everywhere scooters. Very enjoyable! 

A walk through town as we wait for our room leads us to the docks and a stunning piece of modern architecture, the Harpa Concert Hall and Conference Center. Inside, the sharply angled roof and walls of honeycombed glass create a kaleidoscope effect—a contemporary echo of the mosaic mirror decorations found in Iran. Later on, an evening stroll takes us to the great modernist Church of Iceland (Hallgrimskirkja). Inside a rehearsal is taking place. The organist plays a gargantuan pipe organ accompanied by a french horn player. What a sublime treat! We top off our half day with a delicious meal of local fare in a tiny, packed pub. Fish soup and fish and chips made with arctic char.

(Day Two: The South Coast)

After a deep and refreshing night of sleep, we are picked up by our tour guide, Jonas, and head to tour the south coast. Jonas is tall and thin with the physique of an avid outdoorsman and classic Nordic physiognomy. He tells us of learning to ski as a young boy at his father’s ski school. He also tells us of having hiked the night before to view the recent lava flow but cautions us not to do the same as without deep local knowledge of terrain and wind patterns we risked getting overwhelmed by the noxious gases—particularly CO2 which is odorless. 

The drive out of town takes us through greater Reykjavik, a sprawl of no-nonsense apartment blocks, commercial buildings and suburbs with the occasional newish glass structure. This is a place where a stoic nordic heritage meets a landscape so overwhelmingly stunning that no man-made structure can compete. All the attention goes to the setting. Jonas proudly proclaims that they have no castles or palaces here. The important history here is geologic. 

The south coast is a vast flat plain that skirts glacier-topped volcanoes. Most of the island’s farming is located here. Lush green fields of grass, where Icelandic horses, sheep and occasionally cows graze. The area is sparsely populated with the occasional white farmhouse or church, topped with a bright red roof set against a backdrop of glacier-covered volcanoes dripping with waterfalls and rimmed with black sand beaches. You might remember the eruption in 2010, Eyjafjallajökull, one of the smaller glacier peaked volcanos in Iceland, created a massive disruption to air travel across the northern hemisphere. They still talk about it. 

After visiting many waterfalls, a glacier and black sand beaches, the tour ends in the island’s southernmost town of Vic. Here, those of us returning to Reykjavik get a ride back with Jonas’s colleague, Pyotr. In the annals of amusing characters, Pyotr has a special place. Rotund, impish, flush-faced and multiply gap-toothed, Pyotr deems himself a comic entertainer and for the next two and half hours proceeds to regale us with self-deprecating humor. Over and over, he reminds us of the importance of laughter but leaves unsaid how often life makes us want to cry. Pyotr’s own laugh, a somewhat high-pitched titter/giggle is itself quite comical and he laughs freely at all his own stories. Among the nuggets he imparts are tales of his alcoholic youth, his Filipino wife’s control over his life, his 30+ years as a ship’s captain, having to amputate a crew member’s leg at sea and his own brain surgery to remove a tumor. All this with one hand on the steering wheel and the other flipping through his phone for pictures to better illustrate his stories. A part of the ride back is through dense, dense fog. But of course, he brings us home safely. 

We have an early flight to Amsterdam the next morning and leave our hotel at 4 am to walk to bus stop #10. Reykjavik at 4 am is actually quite interesting. Across from us is the 10-11, a 24-hour convenience store. Numerous young revelers sing and laugh their way to somewhere, taxi drivers stop by to get a coffee and a snack, a young woman on a scooter stops to shop and many more scooter-enabled citizens swish by us. In the dim light of the arctic night, a young Asian woman slowly guides her elderly relative (?) down the street to stop in front of the Noodle Station and take a selfie. 

Our two very full days in Iceland come to end too soon. I could carry on and on and it would not be hyperbolic to say that Iceland is one of the more wondrous places on earth and we hope to visit again.