| The Warm
Pleasures Of Cold |
| Iceland
Offseason |
| By Brandy Bauer |
| The road out
of Reykjavik passes along several coastal towns shrouded in morning mist,
then transforms into a two-lane path that stretches among craggy volcanic
outcrop. Even though it is almost mid-morning, the sun has yet to peer
out from under its blanket of darkness; only a small pink-gold band can
be seen on the horizon. On either side of the road, tiny mounds of stones
dot the ground, like miniature houses for the gnomes the Icelandic people
are said to believe in.
Finally,
just when civilization appears to have been deserted altogether, a steam
cloud can be seen wafting up from the distant rocks. It’s here that I’m
headed, in a mini-bus with four others, to Iceland’s most touted attraction,
the Blue Lagoon. |
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The lagoon
is a place of legends, a geothermal pool set amid a power plant whose waters
are said to have curative powers. As we disembark, a young Japanese man
and I begin to chat. He’s just arrived from Keflavik airport, and when
I ask him his impressions of this land at the top of the world, he has
only two words to say: “It’s cold.”
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Well, that’s
a given. The name of the country itself is enough to put some people
off traveling to Iceland, but I’ve come here in late autumn, hoping to
find undiscovered beauty in a solitary place. And avoid crowds I have…the
direct flight from Baltimore has only about two dozen people on board;
the plane is so empty I have an entire row of six seats to myself. |
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| Only now
beginning to register as a travel destination on the world scene, Iceland
is an anomaly. A country of just a quarter million people, it is nestled
high in the Atlantic, occupying a space that’s not quite European and definitely
not North American. It’s a nation proud of its culture and virtually classless
society–in such a small place, there’s employment for almost everyone.
Like most Scandinavians
(the group Icelanders are most frequently lumped with), the Icelandic
people can seem shy at first. But beneath that aloof exterior, Icelanders
are quirky (think Björk) and brilliant–they’re perhaps the
most literate people on earth, producing more books per capita than any
nation on earth. It’s no wonder, then, Iceland rises to the near top of
all human development indices. What’s great about visiting Iceland, too,
is that the people speak fluent English, and aren’t hesitant to use it,
as I found out when I started conversing with a young university student
waiting tables at a coffee + waffle house on a back road in the capital. |
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Offshore
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| This comes
in handy whether you’re struggling to pronounce the unintelligible name
of a geyser, or trying desperately to avoid the culinary specialty of putrefied
shark’s meat on the menu.
The Icelandic
character is probably most pronounced in its artistic expression, which
usually takes the form of sculpture and architecture. Walking through the
woods near a lake in Reykjavik my first day, I’m surprised to come upon
a sculpture of a man and woman embracing in the middle of the trees.
Such works of art are everywhere I turn—from the foyers of public buildings
to pedestals on people’s back lawns. On my second day in country, I head
to the Einar Jónsson Museum, which celebrates the work of one of
Iceland’s most prolific sculptors, whose pieces range from cubiform to
semi-traditional figures.
Just behind
the sculpture garden is Reykjavik’s most imposing structure, Hallgrimskirkja,
which can be seen from just about anywhere in the city. This church,
too, is unusually Icelandic in design. The stepped bricks which form its
exterior make the building look like it was carved out of lava. |
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| Ascending
to the top of the clock tower (which, like the other places I visit,
is totally devoid of visitors—does anyone visit this country outside of
summer?), I look out over the brightly colored dwellings of the capital
and beyond the peninsula to the North Atlantic.
But enough
of this—I haven’t come to Iceland to see art and buildings. Having
been drawn to the magic of thermal pools following a brief stay in Budapest,
I’ve embarked on this journey after hearing that Reykjavik rivals the greatest
spa towns on earth. Kind of surprising, isn’t it, that in a land where
the temperature in summer barely makes it past 65 degrees, swimming is
the national sport? The Blue Lagoon is the first destination in my quest
to luxuriate in warm waters. While it may be labeled a tourist trap in
the peak season (that’s the few months summer comes to Iceland),
there are only about a dozen bathers in the spa on the day I arrive. |
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| At the entrance,
I am handed several towels and shower gels produced by the associated Blue
Lagoon company, designed to combat the sun’s reflection while in the pool
and wash out the algae from one’s hair afterwards.
After taking
the requisite pre-dip shower, I head out into the pool. There are two
ways into the lagoon: for those who want to ease into it, the waters rise
up underneath a door into the building itself, and one can simply wade
through this, already bathed in warmth. But I want to experience the vigorous
Icelandic air, so I opt for the native method. Dressed in only my swimsuit,
I step outdoors onto the platform that adjoins the pool, where the freezing
wind whips off the black rocks. Then I dip slowly into the cerulean waters,
whose temperatures linger around 100 degrees, and feel any tension drift
away.
The Blue
Lagoon has established itself as more than a thermal pool, and boasts masseuses,
conference rooms, and shops selling all sorts of spa products.
But the main attraction remains the thermal pool itself, where I spend
about two hours in all. Making my way around the lagoon, I discover alternating
pockets of warmer and cooler water, and find one particular spot where
the silica mud at the pool’s bottom massages my feet. After showering,
I feast on lunch in the adjacent restaurant before heading back to Reykjavik.
The jaunt
to the Blue Lagoon only whets my appetite for swimming, so upon my return
to the capital, I investigate other thermal pools. Reykjavik has numerous
indoor and outdoor swimming areas, and admission is usually a few dollars
for access to the pools, saunas, and showers. I uncover Sundhöllin,
the city’s oldest thermal pool, in the middle of a residential district,
and on the Thursday afternoon that I venture there, the pool is virtually
deserted. Only one end of the almost Olympic-size structure is in use,
by a kindergarten class learning to do the breast stroke. As I make my
laps, I watch the instructors try to coax the comically uncoordinated six-year-olds
into moving their arms in the circular motions necessary to complete the
task.
In addition
to heated pools, Reykjavik’s swimming facilities host another unique
and pleasurable experience: “hot pots.” These are Jacuzzi-like structures
that feature water temperatures hotter than the pools themselves, equivalent
to taking a (very) hot bath.
There are
usually three or more hot pots at a given pool, the idea being that
one starts off in the cooler hot pots (about 90 degrees) and works
his/her way up into the hottest ones. At Sundhöllin, these hot pots
were situated outdoors on the roof of the building, along with a sauna.
Sitting in the hot, pumping waters is made all the more gratifying by having
a cool, crisp wind blow across one’s face.
Thermal
pools aside, Iceland offers numerous other physical activities that
can be partaken in any season. There’s skiing in many areas, including
southeast of Reykjavik, as well as sledding and riding on the oddly hirsute
Icelandic horses. But trekking is probably the other greatest pastime of
the country’s denizens, and there’s a path that rings the whole country
that’s built entirely for this purpose.
On my last
day in Iceland, there’s a biting wind and a light drizzle of rain.
The temperature hovers a little above freezing, and as the flights out
of the country don’t leave until late afternoon, I decide to take a long
walk around the perimeter of the capital. Just a few blocks from my hotel
there’s a bicycle and footpath, and even today there are a few hearty souls
out walking their dogs or pushing prams. The overcast sky casts a deep
blue pallor over the city.
I walk beyond
the houses with their painted corrugated metal siding, and past a sculpture
of an egret that rests, lifelike, several meters out to sea. Then I
pass a sunken area that becomes another popular thermal pool in summer,
and tread the trails that lead me up to Perlan, a futuristic, silver building
that contains the city’s hot water reservoir and also hosts a revolving
restaurant. From here I can see the whole city coming to life–traffic streaming
down the main artery, the lights from the clock tower at Hallgrimskirkja
slowing fading away with the sunrise.
The scene
fills me with the sort of comfort I had when I was a child, returning
to my grandparents’ home in New England after a day of sledding in the
snow, knowing the hot chocolate and wood stove awaited me indoors. Looking
out over Reykjavik and the arctic waters, I’m overcome by a brilliant rush
of warmth, a sensation that lasts longer than any thermal bath.
The following
are Brandy's previous articles for the magazine:
To contact Brandy
Click Here |
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