4 Days in Iceland: Priceless

By Guest Noodle: Ryan

As the Noodles have correctly observed, a visit to Iceland is not easy on the wallet. However, lured by tales of natural steam bathes, black sand beaches and copious 6-foot-tall blondes, your Guest Blogger and Honorary Noodle could not pass up the opportunity to meet the Noodles at 65 degrees North latitude. And it was worth every krona.

Fresh from sleepless overnight flights, we met just after 7am at Keflavik airport and boarded the Flybus for the 52-kilometer, 45-minute ride to Reykjavik. We thought we were headed directly for Guesthouse Centrum, our humble abode for the next 4 nights, but found ourselves confused by the abrupt stop at the main bus terminal. Still a bit disoriented and puzzled by the porter's unloading of all baggage except ours, we approached the drivers of several nearby minibuses hoping that they would be our transfer to the guesthouse. In each case, we were told to wait where we stood and the drivers then proceeded to get into their minibuses and drive away without further explanation. Huh?

Undaunted, we managed to walk to the guesthouse and drop off our bags. As we watched other visitors eat the complimentary breakfast, we wondered: Could we join in? No. The guesthouse owner tersely informed us that breakfast on the first day was not included but could be purchased for 600 kronur ($9.50). We passed. Your Guest Blogger, however, makes a habit as he travels of noting what the locals eat for breakfast. In this case, it was ham, pepperoni and cheese, typically placed on toast and eaten as an open-faced sandwich with tomatoes and cucumbers.

We spent the remainder of Day 1 acclimating to the surroundings and exploring the city (somehow "town" or "village" seems more appropriate). One of our main observations about Iceland is that it's empty. Or mostly so. The country has about the same land area as England or the state of Kentucky. But while that subsection of Great Britain is home to 48 million people and the Bluegrass State hosts 4.1 million residents, Iceland's population is less than 300,000. And 180,000 live in Reykjavik or its outskirts.

But what the locals lack in numbers they make up for in style. As we walked down the main shopping street, we were struck by the trendy appearance of the natives. It was difficult to tell whether fashon in Reykjavik was following New York's lead or vice versa. One Noodle even remarked that "there are no uncool-looking teenagers here". There also were no visible bums or college-graduate backpackers in Reykjavik. Presumably neither could afford it.

We kicked into gear on Day 2, first spending three hours in the afternoon cruising several miles off-shore in search of whales. In the end, we did see a couple of Minke whales (see brown dolphin) and quite a few "chubby" web-footed puffins nesting on an island along the way.

Consulting the guidebook, we also learned that Icelanders love swimming and the natural hot springs provide the fuel for numerous public pools. That night, in our next adventure, we visited the largest of these, Laugardalur. Located just steps from the youth hostel, it still managed to retain the flavor of the place the locals go.

Subsidized by the government, a visit to the pool provides one of the least-expensive diversions in town. In the return for the admission fee, 300 kronur ($4.75), we each received a small token designed to unlock the wristband-key to our lockers. Once in the locker room, one of us (who shall remain nameless) had so much trouble with the token/key removal process that he had to seek the assistance of a naked but not particularly shy man who also happened to be the only person we met in the country who didn't speak perfect English.

The pool provided an excellent spot for people-watching and if you're looking for a way to achieve total relaxation after an afternoon (10pm and the sun is still out - that's still afternoon, right) spent whale-watching (and mostly sea-seeing), there really is nothing better than a little hot pot.

Icelanders channel the naturally heated water into jacuzzi-like tubs called "hot pots", which range in temperature from 39 - 45 degrees Celsius. (In Fahrenheit terms: Extremely Hot - Unbearably Scorching.) And by the way, when you exit the locker room for the pool, leave your towel on the shelf rack by the showers.

The Noodles and their honorary visitor parted ways on Day 3 as your Guest Blogger headed off on a guided tour called the South Shore Adventure. During the course of the 10-hour trip, your author's closest traveling companion was a Swedish E-N-T doctor who was in town for a conference and whose name was probably spelled "Per" but was definitely pronounced "Pear". This later produced tremendous amusement among the Noodles.

On the tour, we visited the Skogafoss and Seljalandsfoss waterfalls, stood on the edge of the Solheimajokull glacier during a brief but heavy cloudburst and walked on the black sand beaches of Vik. The drive from point to point was a study in geographic contrast as we passed from barren moonscape to grassy sheep-filled flatlands and finally by seaside mountain peaks. In the course of our journey we passed nearly no trees and almost as few people. Outside Reykjavik, the population is sparse, with a 20-40 mile stretch of road separating each 500-person village. Upon stopping in the larger villages, one notices that commerce tends to center on the gas station, which in addition to the typical pumps and mini-mart also often contains a full-scale restaurant in which you can, and your Guest Blogger did, purchase a $10 bowl of mushroom soup.

Reykjavik, popularly known as the "smokeless city" for its total adoption of geothermal heat and power, actually means "Smoky Bay", a name coined in the 9th century to reflect its seaside location among steam-gushing thermal springs. But such sights are less common twelve centuries later in the world's northernmost capital city. So to see a geyser in action, we needed to hit the road.

On Day 4, our last full day in Iceland, we rented a car to pursue an ambitious adventure on our own. With the Soy Noodle in the driver's seat, we headed out on the first leg of the journey -- popularly called the Golden Circle.

Our first stop was Pingvellir National Park, the site of the first Icelandic parliament in the 10th century and where we stood in a crack in the rift valley formed by the separating North American and Eurasian continental plates. Along the way, we stopped at a viewpoint and had a surprising amount of difficulty figuring out the trick in the rental car's automatic transmission to get it from Drive into Reverse or Park. A foreshadowing of things to come?

Next on our agenda was the Geysir thermal springs area, home to the original geyser itself: Geysir - "the Gusher". Unfortunately, the Gusher is today just a staid pool but nearby sits another gurgling unit which, in response to geothermal stimulation, shoots off a 30-meter high spurt every few minutes. We stayed around long enough for a few blasts from this one, which was named, apparently without consideration for cross-border pun, Strokkur.

After hitting the last viewpoint on the Golden Circle, a two-tiered waterfall named Gullfoss, we began to backtrack toward Reykjavik on the way to our final, and not-nearby, stop: The Blue Lagoon. Your Guest Blogger was behind the wheel for this leg of the journey and as we approached the city, he began to notice the OIL light flash on and off periodically on the dashboard. Cause for concern? Well, we had noticed an odd burning smell earlier in the trip so we decided to stop at an Olis gas station to check things out.

That turned out to be a particularly good move given our friendly gas station attendant's highly technical diagnosis of the engine after we had unknowingly driven 228 km with virtually no oil: "I think it is majorly fucked up."

The last person to service the engine had inadvertantly left a cap off and nearly all of the oil in the engine had sloshed out, presumably throughout our trip. The car was no longer drivable, but after about an hour's work interacting with our local rental agency, Berg, we had a replacement Daewoo and were back on the road.

The Blue Lagoon, an artificial hot spring next to a geothermal power plant with its own line of cosmetics and sundries, is almost the definition of a tourist trap. It's a nice setting and we still had a great time, although you'd never find a local there. Where else would people pay 1300 kronur ($20) to smear grainy white paste ("silvery-grey silt," says the guidebook) all over their upper bodies and share a bath with hundreds of other tourists?

We returned to Reykjavik, refreshed by the Lagoon, tired from the day's activities and in time for a hearty meal to close this chapter of the Noodles' journey. Interestingly, Iceland does not follow the typical Western European practice of sitting down to dinner no earlier than 11pm, so we barely beat the 10pm food-service cut-off.

Dining at the trendy-chic Solon, we opened a bottle of Fat Bastard chardonnay and reflected on the trip. In particular, as we looked out on the still brightly day-lit street at 11:30pm, we commented that it had not ever gotten dark during our stay in Iceland. While the sun officially sets at around midnight this time of year, a twilight remains until sunrise at 3am. We took our last $10 beer at a local bar on the main street while the 3 Noodles admired the local DJs mad skillz and the fashionable decor of the bar's other non-Noodle patrons.

Alas we've reached the sunset of the Honorary Noodle's participation in this worldwide journey, so with envy he passes the blog back to the Noodles at the sunrise of their Eurasian excursion.