Iceland
Chapter five
Hveragerði to Reykjavík.
May 20. Hveragerði.
The weather calls for rain, but it’s clear when I wake up and I am forced to decide whether to make the one hour hike to a nearby natural hot spring. I debate it while I shower and gather my things.
The night before, on arriving in Hveragerði, there was no one to welcome me at the hotel. The restaurant that served as the front desk was closed and the parking lot was all but empty.
As I canvassed the building, I found one door unlocked. At the top of the stairs, a door was open. Inside, a man sat at a desk working. I knocked on the doorframe and he looked up, flustered. I asked if he worked for the hotel. He looked at me and got up and shook his head. He picked up a phone and made a phone call and asked me to step outside.
Shortly, a woman arrived, apologizing profusely. She opened up the restaurant and told me that she hadn’t had a booking in so long she had stopped checking. She told me that unfortunately, there was no free breakfast in the morning as the restaurant was on pause for lack of guests.
She looked for the keys and lead me outside to a block of rooms. Stopping at one of the rooms she looked for the room key on her ring of keys without success. Finally she gave me a master key and told me I could take any room I wanted. I thanked her and watched from the window as she wandered back to the restaurant. Soon I saw her lock up and leave.
Hveragerði is known for the geothermal activity that surrounds the town and for the hot springs it produces. Some joke that hot springs can be found in every back yard.
North of town, a road leads to a large parking lot. From there, a dirt path winds up through the valley past fumaroles and mud pits. I passed one couple returning from the springs who told me when they left there was but one other person enjoying the waters.
About an hour later, I arrived. A man was getting out of the water and soon I had the springs to myself. I stepped naked into the river and found a comfortable spot among the rocks. Steam rose around me and I lifted my toes out of the water to feel the cooler air. I sat in the river, water running over my shoulders admiring the view, warmed by the spring.
As I made my way back I passed Indian man at a trot, who kept looking back behind him. How much further? he asked. Near. He said his wife was behind him, and I could see a small figure in the distance. She had wanted to turn back but they had already come so far. They were on a timetable, he said, and he barely stopped walking as we talked.
Passing his wife, I said I guess your husband wastes no time on you. She laughed and trudged along.
Reykjavík.
In Reykjavík, I parked the car in the small lot at the House of the Snowbird, one of the most beautiful places I’ve stayed. A two-story building just off one of the main squares, each floor is a self-contained apartment. It wasn’t time yet to check in and so I decided to take a walk through the city before coming back and readying myself for dinner.
I walked aimlessly, surprised at how seemingly suburban lawns could exist within the confines of the city itself. I explored the neighborhoods of the compact center, making note of landmarks and routes I might want to explore again later.
At the top of a hill, I reached Hallgrímskirkja, the largest church in Iceland. The pristine, relatively unadorned interior reflected the clarity I experienced touring the country, and I was surprised at how well it seemed to reflect my impressions of Iceland.
I took the elevator to the top of the tower. From there, I could see the different houses and buildings, huddled together, and the ocean beyond. I was alone in the church and the city felt quiet. But even then it was strange to be surrounded by so many structures built by humans after spending the days in the countryside, and I longed for the open road and to be surrounded once again by nature.
Street life.
From the church I walked back to the apartment. It was time to check in, and I thrilled over the place I would call home for the next few days. I unpacked and spent some time relaxing. Since arriving in Iceland, my schedule had been packed and as I sat on the couch listening to music, I realized I hadn’t had much down time until then. My dinner reservation wasn’t until later in the evening and I had no particular place to go or site to see until then.
Óx.
I arrived at the restaurant fifteen minutes early. It took me a minute to find it, forgetting that it’s located within another restaurant. The host seated me at the bar and let me know that they’d be opening Óx shortly.
The restaurant was set for nine, each of us seated at the chef’s counter. Plastic dividers separated each of parties seated. Over the course of the dinner, I came to realize that almost everyone dining was in the industry or friends of the industry. One woman had worked with the sous chef before and was a waitress at Lava, the high-end restaurant at the Blue Lagoon. Another was the sole importer of fresh wasabi into Iceland, and was trying to encourage more chefs to try using the ingredient.
Dinner was amazing, with course after course prepped and finished before us. Throughout, the chefs kept a running commentary on what we were eating with occasional stories behind the various courses.
As we finished our desserts, chef Þráinn Freyr Vigfússon branded the name of the restaurant into wooden spoons, which he presented to us at the end of the meal along with a printed menu of our experience.
We all lingered to chat with the chef and I asked him what his favorite thing to do in the country. For him it is to bathe in the Grettislaug Geothermal Pool on the summer solstice to watch the sun sink and then just touch the horizon at five or six in the morning. I said I would plan my next trip around it.
I asked him what his plans were for the weekend. He said he was hoping to have dinner the next night at Dill. I said I had plans to dine there and felt he’d have no issue getting in. He chuckled. I thanked him for the meal and told him I hoped to see him tomorrow. 🇮🇸
