It's weird finally going places you've wanted to visit for such a long time. Ever since I saw Iceland's Blue Lagoon on television some fifteen years ago I have wanted to visit and this afternoon I realized this dream. It necessitated an early start out of Manchester though as my flight was at 7:45am, meaning I had to wake up at the ungodly hour of 5:30am. It's quite weird waking up in the dark too but I imagine I'm going to have quite a lot of this over the next week as the sunrise in Iceland at this time of year is at 10:45am. It was quite difficult to get out of bed this morning, largely because of the early hour but also because I met up with Ent, Angela and Fen_ra on the Thursday evening. It was great catching up with them, even if it was somewhat brief, with work meaning that I didn't arrive into Victoria until half past eight. With the weather atrocious through heavy rain, we didn't really progress past the new bar at the impressively revamped Victoria station although the price of a beer there was somewhat astronomical. The bar was also a little cold on account of the entrance door with a buster hinge, meaning it just remained open whenever someone opened it. Aside from a busy fifteen minute period, the bar was reasonably quiet, giving us ample time to catch up and chew the fat over everything furry. A few hours later, the rain has abated so we all headed over towards Piccadilly, with Fen taking me to the new impressive Piccadilly Tap where we had one more beer before I had to call it a night. I was having such a good time talking about holidays that I was tempted to continue the evening in BrewDog, where Fen was going next, but I decided being sensible was the best way and to get to the hotel. This was by the airport but I didn't realize just how far it was from the station, so I decided just to get a cab instead of wait for a train to the airport. This was a big mistake as I had failed to appreciate just how far the airport is from the city center. This cleaned me out, with the bill coming to £30, resulting in a desperate need to find more cash for the shuttle bus to the airport. The cash machine at the Premier Inn North, opposite the South one where I was staying, was out of order both in the evening and the next day, so the shuttle driver had to stop off at the railway station for me to withdraw cash. It was a little embarrassing delaying my fellow passengers but we were all in good time and it didn't take long. And at least I didn't have to pay £1.85 for the privilege of withdrawing my own money, which I would have had to do had I used the Premier Inn cash machine.
I thought I didn't have too much time at the airport but security was surprisingly swift meaning I did manage to grab a quick breakfast at Giraffe - a rather disappointing salmon and scrambled egg ensemble on rye bread. I had just enough time to go to the toilet before discovering that they were already boarding before I had opportunity to get anywhere near my gate. A quick yomp though and I was in, only to be stuck in a queue as we waited to board. Still, we did eventually get on the plane and the whole journey was reasonably smooth. This was a good thing as I had booked a bus shuttle transfer to the Blue Lagoon at the other end departing from Kefalik airport at 11:30, with me reasoning that 55 minutes would be enough to clear customs. Alas I did not bank on the weather as, although I had been checking it religiously both in Manchester and Iceland over the days prior, there was an unexpected burst of snow that had lain to a whole foot of depth. It was wondrously magical on our approach into Iceland, with sweeping whiteness prominent amidst a dark blue wild and choppy sea but once on the ground, the airplane had to taxi at a fraction of one mile an hour, taking twenty minutes to get from runway to terminal. With a delay with the door opening mechanism too, I was pushing it for my bus but customs was a breeze with no queue and in the end I was ten minutes early and forced to wait in the bitingly cold wind with a few other tourists. Some of the same people on my plane also had the same idea - the Blue Lagoon is on the way to Reykjavik from the Airport so it maker sense to go on your way to or from there to save travel cost - and soon we were bounding through featureless desolate snow-covered countryside in our way to the Blue Lagoon.
Described as one of the twenty-five natural wonders of the world by National Geographic, the Blue Lagoon is a product of Iceland's volcanic geology. Sat amidst a futuristic black lava field there sits some milky blue lakes with water fed from underground which is forced up through pressure to the surface. As it does, it cools from 461C to 38C, the perfect bathing temperature as it matches that of the human body. The superheated water is rich in silica, blue-green algae and mineral salts, and there are opportunities to daub your face (and other body parts) in the resultant mud as it has excellent healing properties. I did this on a number of occasions, both from the barrels dotted around the complex and from the lady who was paddling around and offering a different composition of mud. The idea was to leave it on for around ten minutes at a time before washing it off. The water is 70% salt water, 30% fresh and its composition gave it a rich salty taste which was quite off putting when you swallowed it. The whole complex was quite eerie and futuristic on account of the steaming vents which engorged the area with a thick sulphurous steam. This was at 100C and thus far hotter than the water in the pools but upon contact with the cold Icelandic air, it cooled quickly. Indeed you could stand in its path and lose yourself in a sea of cloud, with the spray enveloping your world for seconds at a time as if you were travelling in think fog. It was quite a surreal experience and would have been quite frightening had it not been for the myriad of voices you could hear in the vicinity. This sensation only increased as it got dark while the building work they are doing, with the cranes and diggers' lights cutting through the fog, only made the whole experience even more mysterious.
Considering this is the main tourist attraction in Iceland, I was surprised that it wasn't too busy although nearly every person there seemed to be British or Irish. There were a few other nationalities but it was predominantly people with whom I could converse and indeed I don't think I've had a day when I've been on my own and ended up speaking to so many random people. In the sauna and steam rooms I ended up chatting to a French couple from Paris and a Canadian about their trips, which were just ending, while later on I spoke to an Irishman who had spent two years in my hometown of Middlesbrough at Teesside Polytechnic between 1988 and 1990. He hasn't been back to the town since and I urged him that he should go, with him reminiscing about all the stuff he used to do twenty-five years ago. It was great talking to him and subjecting the six others in the sauna to indescribably tedious local knowledge about the place I grew up. The Irish guy was from Ballymena and I grew up with a guy from there too so there was another common interest. We spent a good half hour bouncing back between the sauna and rolling around in the snow, which was a trying if not invigorating experience (I also largely did this as the showers by the sauna weren't working).
Aside from this, I endured standing under the powerful waterfall which felt like your head and arms were repeatedly being caved in by a club while I also grabbed a couple of Gull beers (indescribably average Pilsner) which I drank as I swam and stumbled around the complex. The bracing cold air and the warm water was a striking combination while the black silica sand underfoot was also interesting to observe as much of it contained metamorphosed crystals of Quartz which glistened in the light. As the day progressed, the more relaxed I became and I spent quite a while just flitting about looking for places to chill, although overhearing a conversation on abortion between an Australian, a Canadian and an American did little to alleviate my stress levels, despite how fascinating it was. The water was shallow throughout at about three feet deep and there were little ledges where you could sit or other places you could perch. There was also a little cave which gave you geological facts about the place while there was a little cafe and rest area if you wanted a break. Of course it being a major tourist attraction, they do snare you on price (£25 for a protective plastic case for your iPhone for example) but the beer was reasonable and I also grabbed some spicy Doritos as I hadn't eaten since 7am breakfast. In the end I spent a very pleasurable four and a half hours here although the last hour got a bit tedious as I waited for darkness to fall, feeling that this surreal landscape would be even weirder in the gloaming. I wasn't disappointed.
I opted for a Comfort Ticket, with booking in advance a necessity, although part of me regrets not going for the massage package. However, it was quite steep for just the comfort ticket at €50 (€77 including transfers) and I do think I got my money's worth. Fortunately the bus company on the way back would drop us all off at our hotels but i didn't actually know when the bus would depart. Fortunately I got very lucky as they left for Reykjavik at quarter past every hour so I was bang on time. It was a little hairy though as a party of twenty had just arrived, delaying me from collecting my luggage from the left luggage place, but fortunately the demand for the bus was high, necessitating a second coach and thus resulting in an exceptionally convenient delay. Another reason I was slightly late was that I had to spend a lot of time conditioning my hair as the high silica content of the water has a habit of drying it out. As we were waiting in the queue to get into the complex, the lady said we should ideally tie our hair back and put conditioner on the tips before venturing into the pool. I did the latter but could not do the former. Still my fair seems to have survived, which is the main thing.
I was the first person to be dropped off at their hotel after the 45 minute journey to Europe's most northerly capital (and the most north I have ever been) and I was soon checked in. I'm staying at the 22 Hill Hotel, which is very much like an ibis back home. It's clean and the staff are friendly though so I'm happy although the curtains don't shut fully. I doubt this will be much of an issue with sunrise at 10:50am though. After a freshen up and a little television - I seem to have all UK TV stations and very little else for some reason, including ITV4 - I decided to walk into the centre which is about ten minutes away. The thick snow hampered my progress but with warnings of a storm coming this evening (which has yet failed to materialise) I thought I should get out early so I could get back if the weather turned. Reykjavik seems to be a pleasant and compact city and I hope to explore more tomorrow, but this evening food was on the agenda. Not really knowing anywhere, I decided to try a bar which was recommended to me by my Aussie friend Brett. It's founded by Mikkeller and has many of his beers (including a vast range of his sour Spontan range) on the top floor, with the bottom floor dedicated to Icelandic and other craft beers. Being on my own, I decided to sit at the bar and chat to the very friendly bar staff, most of whom seemed to be Australian (digressing, my favourite staff member at the Blue Lagoon was the fun guy with a thick Scottish accent). I grabbed some food - dirt smoked lamb from Gylfi and some cheesy chips with garlic mayo as the lamb wasn't quite substantial enough. It is a local delicacy and was quite pleasant although it was served on a hot rock for some reason. It was perhaps a little too smoked for me but it was pleasant enough, and a nice way to satiate my hunger after eating very little since breakfast. I was a little in the way at the bar so once I had finished my Einstok Doppelbock, I headed upstairs to the Mikkeller bar where I sampled a few beers and started chatting to the President of the Icelandic Home Brewing Club. He and his friend, who was with him, had spent some time in Durham and Cambridge so we spent quite a while chatting about the real ale and craft beer scene in the UK while they also pointed out all of the craft beer bars in the city on my map. I ended to speaking to them for about half an hour, and this experience highlights just how friendly and hospitable I have discovered this place to be. Seeing the snow start to fall and not wanting to outstay my welcome, I bid them farewell before walking back to the hotel in a snowy blizzard. I stopped off at a supermarket to get some poor low strength beer and some potato chips, and promptly left my guidebook in the supermarket so I had to go back and collect it when I realised it had been forgotten. Fortunately it was only a few minutes later and I made it back to the hotel with little issue, although my hiking boots which my Dad delivered last week were a Godsend. I think they'll come in handy tomorrow when I tour the city some more - after all, I hear all the roads out of the city will be closed on Saturday due to the snowstorm so what else will there be to do?