I have a feeling... Mother Nature... she is not a bad girl! -- Iceland

Three days ago, I was done with Iceland. I was ready to throw in the towel, pack up Ellie and stalk out of this cold, windy city with my hands indignantly clutching my credit cards (inside my pockets, of course. It's much too cold to indignantly clutch credit cards with hands outside the pockets). Boy and I were fed up with paying (for us) an exorbitant sum of money to just survive. 

All this money spent and we're not even having that good of a time in Reykjavik... what a pity. 

After a good deal of brainstorming about options and venting about "this silly country!" we decided we had two viable options in front of us. 

Option A) Pay another hundred dollars to stay at the campsite in Reykjavik for three more nights. 

Option B) Rent a car and see the countryside for two nights and sleep in the airport our final night in the city. Cars cost a minimum of 90 dollars a day (Iceland is approximately three times as expensive as the US) and petrol is 8 dollars a gallon. But in the countryside, we could at least camp for free. 

"So," I summarized our options, "we can spend a hundred dollars to survive or three hundred dollars to enjoy."

"What do you want to do?" Boy gave me space to sort through my feelings. 

"When I make these kind of decisions, I think back to my scuba diving license fiasco. I took this course through the college, so I didn't have to pay for it -- I had enough leftover scholarship money from my two years in Americorps to cover the expense. So it was free, but it consumed my evenings. And it was tough for me. I get anxiety in water, and taking this course was supposed to help me work through some of my anxiety.  It was also pretty embarrassing for me. The first day of class, we had to demonstrate that we could at least swim -- you know, get from one side of the pool to the other a few times without drowning. Nothing special. So all the students picked a stroke that suited them and quickly conquered their six laps. I chose a backstroke and finished a solid ten minutes after everyone else had left the pool. In fact, they had been waiting for me for so long that they broke into applause when I finally finished. That's how abysmally awful I am at swimming. I passed the written exam at the end of the course, but I chose not to take the final test -- an open water dive in Lake Tahoe. Why? Because it would cost me about 200 dollars and my scholarship wouldn't pay for it. That's it. That was my only reason. So after all that effort and time and humiliation and anxiety processing, I am still unable to scuba dive. Which I regret very deeply. I'm sure I'll have the opportunity to get my license again, but life is too precious and too short and far too unpredictable to depend on the self-sabotaging phrase, "I can always do it later..." I don't want Iceland to be like scuba diving. I don't want it to be another, "I'll do it later" when life has given me the chance to do it now." 

So we rented ourselves a little Toyota at one of the many shops that boasted "Cheapest Car Rental in Iceland!" Then we walked downtown to the hill where half of Iceland had congregated to watch their team play France in the Euro Cup (the other half of Iceland was probably in France).

Boy and I selected our spot on the hill very carefully, making sure nary a tall Icelander was in our line of sight.

Good thing this isn't Holland. We wouldn't be able to see anything.

Boy and I didn't realize that Iceland does not sit down when their team is playing. Iceland stands up and screams and chants and claps and groans and gasps. They cheered their team on to the end -- even when it became abundantly clear that they were getting slaughtered by France.

Not that I saw any of this slaughtering, mind you. For me, the entire match was a study of the backs of Icelandic heads. Which is of about equal interest to me as soccer, so I didn't mind much.

The screen is on the other side of this fellow's head.

A chant that Iceland does when they're encouraging their team. Hands go up, guttural grunts are made, cheering and jumping and shouting commence. It's altogether raucous.

We walked back to our campsite, excited and nervous about the next day.

"It'll be my first time driving in a foreign country," Boy commented.

"Lots of firsts on this trip. First time living off of beans and rice for a week, first time paying so much money for a damn coffee, first time being this cold in friggin July..."

I posted a note on the carsharing bulletin board at the campsite, painfully aware that it was a very late shot in the dark, but that a very late shot in the dark was better than nothing.

"If we can find someone to share the adventure and the cost of the car, that would be amazing. If not, let's use the three extra seats to pick up hitchhikers. Then at least we can have people to share the adventure.

We went to be late that night.

Midnight in Iceland

It's been difficult for me to drift off to sleep in Iceland. There's something calming and comforting about being enveloped in darkness. It soothes the senses. And it tells me, "you can't do anything 'cos you can't see anything. So you might as well sleep." But in Iceland during this time of year, the sun sets but the light lingers. My senses are stimulated at all hours of the never ending day. Regardless of how tired I am, once I close all the flaps of Mrs. Peterson, zip up my sleeping bag and listen to Boy read aloud to me from his sommelier book (I'm learning so much about wine), I still can't sleep. I lay awake in the light and listen to the wind batter Mrs. Peterson. I listen to the birds who also seem to never sleep. I listen to my fellow campers zipping up their tents and chatting away in languages I can't understand. It's always a surprise to me when I wake up.

I can't believed I managed to fall asleep...

After I woke up with surprise on Monday morning, Boy and I packed our tent, bags and pads into our bulging backpacks. Then I charged devices whilst Boy went off to the nearest Kronan to purchase our supplies of beans and rice. Six cans of beans, sick packets of cooked rice. Lunch and dinner for three days.

I've started singing the Game of Thrones theme song whenever we eat.

"BEANS...BEANS... RICE AND BEANS...BEANS...RICE AND BEANS, BEANS, RICE AND BEANS, BEANS..."

Boy is annoyed and amused by these antics.

As I sat there with my laptop charging, I noticed a younger, blonde fellow reading our note on the bulletin board and reaching for his phone. I stood up and strode towards him.

"Hey, were you going to call about this ride?" I asked in my best, "I'm not desperate, but please, please, please say yes!" voice.

"Yeah, I was."

"Well, that's me. I'm Aimee," I extended my hand.

"Marek," my new friend took my hand.

"Nice to meet you, Marek. Where are you from?"

"The Czech Republic. You?"

"Colorado."

"Oh, I've never been, but I have friend's in Grand Junction."

"That's where I live! Wow."

What a crazy, interconnected, TINY world we live in...

"So, where are you going on this trip?" Marek gestured at the board.

"We're totally flexible. We were thinking about doing the Golden Circle and then heading east on the Ring Road. Past Vik. Probably not as far as Hofn, though. We'll need to drive back on Wednesday morning to drop off the car by 12, so we cant get too far away from Reykjavik. Oh, and we paid ninety dollars a day for our rental, so... is it just you or do you have a friend?"

"I have a friend."

"Great, okay... so how about we split the price of the car? My boyfriend and I can pay ninety and you and your friend can pay ninety."  

"It sounds good... let me talk to my friend and I'll let you know."

"Perfect, I'll be right here."

 And that is how Marek and Simon ended up joining us on our adventure into Iceland. 

Iceland's roads are very few and very narrow. The few part is useful for people like us -- it would take effort to get lost in Iceland -- the narrow part? Not so useful. Iceland's main road is called The Ring Road, and it has zero feet of shoulder. One does not doze off or daydream whilst driving in this country. And the majority of the bridges are one lane only, so you have to pull over to the side to make sure no one is coming in the opposite direction before you drive onto the bridge.

Our first real stop was Geyser. The geyser after  which all geysers are named.

They really want to make sure you know just how far away the hospital is...

We stopped at Skogafoss during our Golden Circle Route. My knee was already hurting from being cramped up in the car for hours and from the bit of hiking we'd done around Geysir. But Gullfoss was irresistible.

We hiked to the bottom of the waterfall and sat for ages, soaking up the spray and the beauty and relishing the sensation of being utterly in awe.

"How are you feeling?" Marek asked me as we slowly began our walk back to the car.

"I mean, my knee hurts... going down stairs is still really hard for me... but this waterfall is incredible. So it's definitely worth all this pain. How are you feeling?"

"I have a feeling... Mother Nature... she is not a bad girl!"

I stopped for a moment, confused.

Mother nature... not a bad girl? Oh... gosh, that's funny. 

"You're right," I agreed with a stifled laugh. "Mother Nature is pretty great."

There are so many sheep in Iceland. Sheep everywhere. I couldn't get any pictures of said sheep because I saw all of them while we were driving on sections of the road with no shoulders, but I did see all these funny grasses. Which made me think of sheep farts.

The Czech boys had found a free hot springs online which they thought would make a great place to wildcamp for the night. Unfortunately, the road to the springs was dirt, gravel and riddled with massive pot holes.

"It's a brand new rental car, Boy... I don't feel comfortable driving this kind of road in an expensive car that we're responsible for."

So Boy did his usual, "let's all understand each other and come to an agreement together," type of thing, and we decided to turn back to the main road and find a different location to spend the night.

We found a field of flowers.

We slept fitfully, as we were surrounded by birds who sounded like an entire hive of bees, but we still managed to set off at about 8:30 on Tuesday morning.

Skogafoss

Boy trying to find the pot of gold at the end of the rainbow so that BOTH of us can afford to buy coffees at the next Icelandic cafe we visit.

Kestrals

I love that this sign says, "Dangerous sneaker waves"

Black Sand Beach

Our very packed car... Marek kept making jokes about this. We'd see hitchhikers and he'd be like, "Why not pick them up... we have room!" Or, "Next time, we must get a smaller car. We have too much extra space in this one."

Icelandic people take their "hidden people" folklore very seriously. Read this article for more info on that: huldufolk

Miles and miles of lava covered in carpets of moss

A glacier lagoon

Simon, Marek and Boy

We drove Marek and Simon to a campsite at the foot of a glacier they planned to summit in the morning. We ate our last can of beans as Simon cooked potatoes and Marek set up their tent.

"It was ninety for the car?" Marek asked.

"Yes."

"But how much for petrol?"

"Well, we've paid eighty so far, and we'll probably pay another thirty or forty... but it wasn't part of the original deal that you'd help us with petrol, so it's not necessary."

"It's only fair."

"Okay... how about forty?" "

So Marek paid us for the gas and the car and we said goodbye.

"Thank you so much for being a part of our adventure. It was wonderful to travel with you."

"Thank you," Marek returned. "This experience helps me know there is good in the world." 

Boy and I left Marek and Simon at the foot of their glacier, wishing them luck and inviting them to visit Colorado (whenever we happen to be there). We then started the long drive back to Reykjavik, along narrow roads and narrower bridges.

We stopped at a field of cairns to stack our own stones for good luck in our travels. 

"Do you want to drive back to where we camped last night?" Boy asked as the sun began its slow descent behind the horizon.

"Sure, why not? That was a gorgeous place to camp."

Boy made a quick left turn towards an attraction we'd missed when driving with Marek and Simon. It's very easy to miss attractions in this country. They come up so suddenly that we whiz right on past, and it takes ages to find a wide enough section on these harrowing, shoulderless  roads where it's safe to turn around. 

"Or we could sleep here," Boy looked up at the hill in front of us. "This isn't a waterfall -- it's a hike. There's a tomb of one of the original vikings up there."

"I don't know if my knee can handle the downhill tomorrow..." I mumbled. "But I want to... but I don't know if I should... GAH... "

"We can start up, and if you feel like it's not going to be good for you, we can just hike down and camp where we slept last night."

"Okay," I sighed nervously, "I'll try."

Viking tomb

Our bedtime view

We packed up the next morning and drove straight to Reykjavik.

The rest of the day was spent wandering around the cold city, eating our last can of beans (and hating it) and watching yet another game of football.

Boy and I got on the bus for Keflavik airport at about ten pm. We high-fived each other, jubilant and shivering and craving wine and cheese like we've never craved wine and cheese before.

"No more beans," I said.

"No more beans," Boy agreed.