Iceland

After the end of 2014, I’d resolved not to return to the Philippines. Life there had taken its toll on me.

Least of all it’d made me very acclimated to tropical weather.

Being back in the States, I found myself cold so often. Didn’t matter if all my friends were in tank tops and shorts. I was bundled up in a jacket. The tropical way of life had truly changed me in a tangible way.

I couldn’t accept this, of course. So I had the brilliant idea of shocking my system. “If I’m cold all of the time because I used to be where it’s hot,” I thought, “then I just need to go be somewhere it’s cold all the time so I can even it back out.”

Next thing I know, a French guy’s film about Iceland is starting to go viral. I’d only ever dreamed of seeing such landscapes. And yet there it was in full frame: Iceland. More accessible than ever. And what was stopping me from going to see it for myself? Absolutely nothing but my own hesitation.

So I found a travel agency in the area, told them I wanted to work while on the road in Iceland, and they were more than happy to take a lofty sum of my hard earned money. The next week, I was on a plane to Reykjavik.

Touchdown

This was to be my first truly solo foreign trip. No guides, no chauffeurs, no friends. Just me, my phone, and a general idea of what I was hoping to see. The travel agency filled in the majority of the gaps of my plan. And offered a pretty sweeping safety net in case I got into any trouble.

After landing at Keflavik Airport, a shuttle took me downtown for my first night’s stay. It had been a long day, having taken a red-eye from Boston, so I was eager to take a shower and get some sleep. However, I’d long learned the best way to beat jet lag is to simply stay awake the first day and have a regular schedule.

So I piddled around Reykjavik’s city center. Looking at this and that. Eating a hot dog, because apparently that’s something you have to do.

Then I noticed something. Despite this being the nation’s capital, it was remarkably calm. Manila had me thinking capitals were noisy, crowded, smelly… New York, Seoul, Taipei … none of them had convinced me otherwise. But here was Reykjavik. Calm, serene, the soft scent of ocean spray. Sure it had some noise, and the streets weren’t barren. But it was unlike any other city I’d been in before. By any other standard, this place was immaculate. It might as well have been paradise for someone like me.

Later in the afternoon I met up with one of my dad’s old college friends. Oddly enough, my dad had gone to college with this lovely woman from Iceland. They’d kept in touch, she knew I was headed to her country, and she offered to take me in and feed me the first day to get myself oriented. I met her husband, her kids (who were all around my age-ish), and we all shared an exquisite meal along with blissful conversation. Possibly the best conversation in the world, per-capita.

Sharing stories, sharing food, sharing experiences from around the world. It truthfully doesn’t get much better than that.

The Golden Circle

The next day, the travel agency arranged to shuttle me over to my rental car for my time in Iceland. I hopped in this modest little Ford Fusion and off I went along Highway 1 towards my first destination: the Golden Circle.

After picking up the car, off I went onto the roads of Iceland. It was my first time completely out on my own in a foreign country. My first time driving myself with no guide, no one exactly telling me what to do.

Oh … wait. Do they drive on the left or right hand side of the road? Wait, why are there no lines on this road? What does that mean? How do you use a roundabout again??

Thankfully hardly anyone noticed my panic. Save for one driver who probably just fell asleep on their steering wheel. Yes. That explains the honking perfectly.

The South Coast

The panic wore off. The roads opened up. And what unfolded before me over the next three weeks was unlike anything I’d experienced before.

The south coast of Iceland is the kind of place that makes you question whether what you’re seeing is real. Waterfalls cascading off cliffs into black sand. Mountains draped in snow giving way to green pastures that seem to stretch forever. The light changes every twenty minutes, and every time it does, you pull over again because the scene is completely different from what it was a mile back.

I drove slowly. I stopped constantly. I wasn’t on a schedule. For the first time in years, I didn’t have to be anywhere except where I was.

The Flat Tire

I came back from a hike in Skaftafell to find my tire completely flat. No problem. I know how to change a tire. Pop the trunk, grab the spare, grab the wrench. Easy.

The lug nuts had other plans.

They were completely seized. Rusted on, frozen, whatever you want to call it. I threw everything I had into the rental car’s flimsy little wrench, and I could feel the thing bending under the pressure. It was going to snap before those nuts budged. I tried again. And again. Nothing.

So there I am, alone in a parking lot in southern Iceland, with a flat tire I can’t remove and a wrench that’s about to become two pieces. The nearest town with a mechanic is an hour away. I don’t even know if they’d have my tire size.

I swallowed my pride and walked into the visitor’s center. A sweet Icelandic woman listened to my predicament, disappeared into a back room, and came out with a wrench that looked like it could take the lugs off a tractor. She handed it to me with a smile like this happened every week. It probably did.

The bigger wrench did the job. Spare tire on, crisis averted. Mostly.

See, there happened to be a delivery truck strike going on. Which meant the nearest town that might have had a replacement tire didn’t have one. Which meant I was driving on a spare for a lot longer than anyone should drive on a spare. Through some of the most remote stretches of road in the country. Every bump made me wince.

I did eventually get it sorted. And on my way back towards Reykjavik, I stopped at the visitor’s center one more time to bring the woman a bar of chocolate. It was the least I could do for the person who’d saved my trip with a bigger wrench and zero judgment.

Goodbye (For Now)

Three weeks went by faster than I could’ve imagined. The last morning I drove back towards Reykjavik with a knot in my stomach. I didn’t want to leave. I’d come here to shock my system back to tolerating cold weather, and instead the place had warmed my heart.

I told myself I’d come back. I didn’t know when, but I knew I would.

It took me less than a year.

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The Ring Road (2016)

I came back in 2016. This time for months. This time to do the whole thing: the Ring Road, all 828 miles of it, plus every detour and side road that looked interesting.

The first trip had been about discovery. This one was about settling in. I’d upgraded my camera to a Canon 5D Mark III, I had a better car, and I had no return ticket booked. I was going to stay as long as the country would have me.

The Ring Road is a different experience than the south coast. The south is dramatic and lush. The north is alien. Vast lava fields stretching to the horizon. Geothermal vents steaming in the distance. Fjords that make you feel impossibly small. The east is quiet and forgotten, like Iceland’s own secret.

I got stuck in quicksand at midnight next to a glacier, but scrambled my way out to safety. I watched the northern lights from the hood of my car in a field so dark I couldn’t see my own hands. Or maybe it was the cold that just made it feel like I had no hands. I got stranded by a blizzard, but rescued by some strangers who became friends for an evening.

You learn a lot about yourself when the only person you have to rely on is you. Iceland taught me that more than anywhere else. The solitude gave moments of loneliness, but it just as readily gave me clarity and purpose.

I eventually did come home. But a part of me is still out there on that road, somewhere between Vik and Akureyri, pulling over one more time because the light just changed again.