Monday, 6 January 2014

A Word on Iceland

We were there in all for around ten hours, four of them at the swish and comfortable and generally chilled airport.  We liked Iceland.  We were picked up at 9.30 and taken to the Blue Lagoon.  It was still dark, and we drove, through lava-bristling landscape into a kind of Roger Dean dawn. Otherworldly, especially after no sleep on the plane from Boston.  The Blue Lagoon, which I think is also the title of a Brooke Shields film of questionable taste, is a large (about the size of a football pitch) volcanic pond full of sulphurous hot water.  It is very odd indeed to plunge out of the freezing chill-factory dry into the steaming hot wet and then simply to walk about in it, surrounded on all sides by needle sharp black rock.  Who did we share it with?  All sorts.  Really, all sorts.  Brits laughing, Japanese chattering, Nordic couples canoodling.  Very fat middle aged women.  Rather svelte young women.  Lots of ugly men. We were encouraged to slather mud over our faces for its health-giving properties.  I think most of the health came from the giggles that ensued.  The heat of the water was in patches rather scary in the I'm going to get scalded all over way, but one had only to stand up to believe that it was perhaps better to be too hot than too cold.  The place was full of people yet at no time did one feel cramped or put upon.  The changing rooms were clean and had extremely groovy futuristic lockers. We had sushi in the cafe afterwards and then drove back through the now fully visible, but no less weird landscape.  We want to return.

Cal in front of the Blue Lagoon


1 comment:

  1. Ahhh, I'm so envious, but I plan on going soon. In fact, someday I'll need to tell you about a project I'm working on about eddic writer Snorri Sturluson.

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