Excerpts from a Travelogue - Part VI

Part VI - Italy, Iceland, Illinois, Indiana

You could say there is a bit of a shock leaving Rome and arriving in Keflavik, Iceland. Rome is warm and sunny, bustling, teeming with tourists. Rome is ancient cultures, ghosts of grandeur and greatness, sensory overload from every perspective. And Iceland is… remote, desolate, isolated, cold. But so beautiful in its own right with its own ancient ghosts; its own hauntings in misty harbors and shrouded crags where the spirits of fearless and indomitable Vikings still linger.

We went from jockeying for position in traffic, near misses, narrow lanes dominated by aggressive Italian drivers to a long lonesome two-lane road heading off into the tundra, where we met only a few other cars in the space of an hour and a half.

Approaching Keflavik, our Icelandair 737 tracked over an otherworldly landscape; craggy black, brown, and rust-colored mountains, sharply defined, with glaciers to the distant north, and plumes of vapor rising from geothermal vents across the landscape. We landed at dusk and by the time we waited in a long, slow line to rent our car, the sun was gone, and evening was well established.

Iceland is called the land of fire and ice. A land of volcanos, waterfalls, glaciers, and hot springs. And as of this year Iceland has a population of only 389,000 people. That’s the entire country. Metro Rome has 4.3 million so no wonder the shock, no wonder the initial disequilibrium, the cognitive dissonance. Colosseums to volcanos. Ruins to waterfalls. Tombs to tundra.

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Our first stop, on our way southeast to the town of Selfoss, was at a KFC on the outskirts of Reykjavik. This was our first drink in almost 3 weeks that we could actually fill ourselves at something called a drink fountain that had something called ice. Amazing. We lingered and chewed ice for a while, contemplatively of course, considering all the good things we take for granted. The fried chicken was good, too.

The drive to our night accommodation was a dark one, but we could pick out landforms rising here and there and wished we could see what appeared to be a rugged and interesting landscape.

Our Airbnb was located in the middle of a vast and sloping prairie of wild grasses, with the sea to the south, the town of Selfoss to the north. Spartan accommodation but comfortable and dead quiet. A few far-off neighbors comprised mostly of farms, by all appearances.

Iceland - Landscape

We were up early the next morning, close after sunrise. A full day ahead. The Golden Circle called, and we had things to see before our flight closed the doors at 4 PM. The early morning was broken cloud, some sunshine, chilly. And still. So still and quiet. Not a sound. No longer do all roads lead to Rome.

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The road that early in the morning was a quiet one. Only an occasional car. In the fields we noticed these gorgeous horses; some appeared to be wild, veritable flowing rivers of thick brown manes and feathered tails. Turns out these horses are specific to Iceland, called the Icelandic breed, apparently brought over by the Vikings a thousand years ago. They remain isolated and purebred. They were a joy to watch as they reveled in what appeared to be reckless and wild abandon in this wild north country.

Icelandic Horses

Our first stop was at the Gullfoss, a renowned waterfall on the circle. We were among the first to arrive, a mist had settled in, wet and cold. We bundled up and Emese and I made our way down to the falls. Rose, after a quick walk to have a look, discovered the large gift and coffee shop, just opened for the day, and waiting to sell us hot coffees and warm pastries, which was to be our breakfast. She shopped while Emese and I ran the trails and catwalks overlooking the falls, shivering in the mist, as the breath of the falls encompassed and encircled us like the spell of a wild untamed monster; we yelled with delight and the wonder of it all, shivered through the cold morning chill, and then sprinted back into the brightly lit warmth of the tourist center.

Gullfoss

On around the circle we proceeded, more sights involving water the color of iced turquoise-blue, breathtaking rivers and streams, most fed by a glacier we caught glimpses of once in a while to the far north. We stopped at two geothermal vents, including one geyser that erupted every 10-15 minutes. As the hours passed the skies cleared and the day warmed, just slightly. It was clearly late fall here, winter just around the corner.

Bruarfoss

The Golden Circle, for us, ended in Reykjavik, a small city of modern, colorful buildings, and a few high-rises. Lunch was at a little wharf-side fish and chip place that served up excellent, hearty offerings in a room full of locals. From there it was time to return to Keflavik, the airport, about 45 minutes to the south of Reykjavik.

At the airport, after returning the car, after the checkpoints, we stood in a very orderly line to board - Icelandair, in the no-nonsense way of the cold Scandic north, does not deign to call sections, rows, levels, medallions, or hierarchies. Everyone just lines up quietly and calmly and you board when you board. And guess what? That works, too. Kind of refreshing, to be honest.

We landed without event in Chicago (those are the best and only flights to have: uneventful). The kind and generous Chicago missionaries picked us up at Terminal 5 and took us home with them and then served us a warm and comforting soup. No parking garage has ever served us soup on return...

And then, as Emese would say as a 2- or 3-year-old when we'd drive in the driveway: "Back home!"

Epilogue

I asked my good wife the other day if she had any comments to conclude these excerpts. She is not a woman of idle words and in her concise way, she said: "East or west, home is best."

And she's right.

Travel is a passion; the chance to voluntarily jump into the deep end of cultures different than our own. The chance to try cuisines imagined and created in ways we don't experience on home soil. The chance to stand immersed in the aural currents of animated conversations in foreign tongues, understanding not a word, but reveling in the cadence, sound, and syllable. The chance to realize, sometimes uncomfortably so, that there are more than a few ways to cook an egg or skin a cat. The chance to feel the warmth of other suns.

And yet.

I came home with much gratitude for what we have. What we may lack in culture and charm we make up for with convenience, affordability, and ease of access. After paying 7 bucks a gallon for gas, it makes 3 bucks look cheap. I don't miss the constant tendrils of tobacco smoke wafting over us every time we ate. And the baked oatmeal and Americano with steamed milk I had this morning was every bit as good as we had there. Ok, I do miss the flaky chocolate croissants but there's gotta be one around here somewhere.

Thank-you all for joining us on this adventure.

BF