The Blue Lagoon

Just before noon we set out to catch a bus to the Blue Lagoon. Bus stop 6. Waiting in the cold was the worst part as, although the instructions told passengers to arrive 30 minutes early, the bus arrived 10 minutes late. Still the promise of being warmed by the thermal pools kept us all hopeful and pleasant conversation passed between passengers, many from the UK and USA about what tours each had been on and what was worthwhile versus what was not. The hill behind the bus stop was a popular sledding hill so you could watch children and their parents frolic in the fluffy snow.

The ride to the lagoon was pleasant enough and we got our first real views of Iceland’s rock tumbled landscape, the jagged tips of volcanic rocks jutting through the blanket of white.

Upon arrival we were directed towards then men’s and women’s changing rooms and had to sort out lockers and bathing in preparation of our time in the hot spring. The minerals of the spring can damage prescription lenses so I did not wear mine and stumbled my way through the proper preparations. Lock up your things in a locker linked to your entry bracelet. Shower without your bathing wear using the wash provided. Leave in conditioner and tie up your hair. Try to find the person you came in with even though your eyesight is terrible and you’re very cold as the strong wind winds it’s way inside whenever someone enters or exits the lagoon. Basically we got in the water as fast as we could and stayed 90% submerged for the next 3 hours.

Through the glass mistily

The lagoon is quite large and we made our way around in a counterclockwise direction, starting with the in-water bar, exploring some coves, to the mask bar, then to the waterfall, and steam room/sauna. The waterfall was truly delightful, the hot water cascading down, pummeling any aches from your shoulders and back. The sauna was not hot enough to work up a sweat according to our resident Scandinavian. The roof of the steam room was covered in little stalactites that would drop warm water erratically.

Far too quickly it was time to get out and head back to Reykjavik.

The sun we had watched come up not so many hours earlier was already beginning it’s descent behind the distant hills.

We had picked out a seafood restaurant for dinner as seemed appropriate. Our selection was located in the harbor and seemed like a little bit fancier place, in that the menu offered a 8 course meal in addition to its a la carte offerings. For ourselves, we opted for a more petite selection, soup to start, an appetizer of new potatoes, the catch of the day for him, the rack of lamb for her. I can describe this as petite because the couple seated next to us had ordered the full 8 course tasting menu and we witnessed the chef’s artistry in all its splendor.

Eating in the European style, with knife affixed to the right hand and fork affixed to the left, was taxing for an uncultured American such as myself but I made my best effort. Though around the time I was cutting off the lamb from the bone and seeing all of that choice meat left behind, I did falter. Surely the utter crime of wasting good lamb was greater than the sin of eating with one’s hands. For me it is at any rate.

A glimpse of the harbor

A short detour on our way home brought us to a little bookstore where I picked up a couple souvenirs, and to a house with the name ‘Gimli’ emblazoned on the side. As a lover of Tolkien, a photo had to be taken.

Gimli “It still only counts as one” Gloinson

Flying out tomorrow early in the day, we went soon to bed after getting ourselves all packed up for the next step in our journey.


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