Sunday, December 19: More Wet Things

Of course it was dark when we got up on Sunday morning, and we ate our breakfast at our scheduled time, 8 am, in the brightly lit dining room at the hotel, with the dark of night outside. We tried almost everything among the four of us: European foods like yogurt with museli on top and American foods like sausages, scrambled eggs, and bacon, as well as pickled fish, cookies, pastries, deli meats and cheeses, and beautiful slices of pineapple and melon. After breakfast, we packed up the car and vacated the much-loved hotel, driving toward Gullfoss, the “Niagra Falls of Iceland.” We made it about 5 miles or so through the dark morning before it seemed like the road was in bad condition; the car was thumping around. The burning rubber smell started just as Dave was looking for a place to pull off. He took the bags out of the trunk, opened the hatch, and pulled out the spare tire and jack. He rooted around in an empty compartment; there was no jack handle and no lug wrench. The kids and I sat sleepily in the car while Dave called the rental agency. They offered to figure out where the tools were likely to be and call back. That sounded idiotic even to the kids, but we got out, looked at the lovely scenery, and waited for the callback. Sure enough, the tools were intended to be in the trunk with the spare tire. They eventually agreed to send a mechanic, but in the meantime, Dave decided to drive back to Vík and see if anyone might have the tools we needed. We drove slowly and tried to ignore the smell.

The gas station didn’t have any tools, so Dave walked over to the hotel to see if they could help. A couple of guys came over to take a look. Meanwhile, Benjamin and I climbed this boat outside the restaurant where we had dinner the night before. Look what we could see!

While we were up there, the mechanic came and looked in the trunk for the tools Dave must’ve missed. (Nothing.) The kids and I walked back to the Skool Beans bus, where Benjamin ordered and enjoyed the hot white chocolate fennel. This time, we were awake enough to realize that the bus contained its own mythology in the form of a three-legged cat, Jeffrey, who (it is written) lost his leg fighting a dragon underwater. Most of the tchotchkes for sale in the bus were cat things (mittens, pens, etc.). We did meet Jeffrey; Benjamin got in one quick stroke, despite the note saying that Jeffrey dislikes children and being petted.

All in all, it wasn’t so bad; it didn’t take that long to get help, even on a Sunday. But with only 4 hours of daylight, you hate to waste any of them! We were on our way again to the waterfall.

I happened to be looking at the travel book and noticed that a geyser was nearby. We debated whether to stop; Dave had read that the geyser was dormant, but the book said there was another active one right next to it, and it was a very short drive from Gullfoss. We were really glad we stopped!

Our next stop was the Secret Lagoon, which was a lovely way to relax after a busy day.

After the lagoon, we drove into Reykjavík. We’d discovered that if we locked the rental car, the driver’s side door still opened, although it did set off the alarm. Obviously, we didn’t want to leave our bags in the car, so we drove straight to the studio apartment we were renting to drop off our bags. Then we went out to take a look around and find some dinner. Our apartment was just a block away from the modern cathedral Hallgrimskirkja (consecrated 1986 and inspired by Icelandic traditions), 73 meters tall—and located on a hill above downtown. I promise not to show you more than a few of the dozens of photos we took of it!

We had dinner at Scandinavian, a restaurant on the touristy shopping street Laugavegur. Dave had fish stew, I had lamb soup, Phoebe had pasta in tomato sauce, and Benjamin had fish and chips. I assume many Americans are as delighted as we were to find Lebowski Bar, and we were excited that Kaffibrenslann across the street served glögg (though they were out of it). (Dave likes to make glögg using a recipe from his Swedish grandma.)

We stumbled into a bookstore I’d read about in the Iceland book, Bókabúð Máls & menningar. We only stayed a few minutes, but it was clear we’d have to come back. I spotted a biography of Halldór Laxness, Iceland’s Nobel laureate. Happily, a friend mentioned reading Laxness before we left, and I realized a different friend had given me Independent People a few years ago. I found it on my shelf and read it throughout the trip; I honestly don’t think I would’ve enjoyed it without having been to Iceland. Even after such a short trip, the book feels personal. I learned a valuable lesson about reading literature from the places I plan to travel!