Iceland in the Dark, Day Two: 1/19/08

We left the Blue Lagoon geothermal pools to meet the most vicious wind I have ever encountered. Truly I felt that my cheeks were being carved by ice—we could hide nowhere, find nothing to block it. It sliced through ears and clothes, sealed our nostrils and froze our eyes. Only 100 yards, perhaps, through a narrow ravine carved from the lava, and we stumbled and turned about.  I understood how this country could kill people.

Oddly, the snow around us—fairly deep and mostly unplowed—is new to this portion of Iceland in the past several years. In the past 30 years, Iceland has had January temperatures which have averaged two degrees below zero centigrade; however, the past six years have seen the average climb to one degree above. Snow and ice are back this year, and both are quite determined.

This was the day we chose to strip down and step into the wind and occasional hail for a swim in the Blue Lagoon, an enormous geothermal-heated pool rich in salt, sulfur, and other minerals. The mud packs and creams created from these pools are outrageously expensive—one small cake of soap averages $20.  All of the young women working there were blond and svelte. We used the complementary offers and passed on the rest.

The power plant nearby provides 45 megawatts of heat (and electricity) for nearby towns (the average person consumes one kilowatt). Six thousand meters below us, a large chamber of magma heats this portion of Iceland; similar chambers provide Iceland with 87% of its habitable warmth; the rest is from electricity powered by the same volcanic activity. Iceland, of course, sits on the tectonic boundary of the European and American plates which slowly and violently separate, occasionally creating oceanic trenches, occasionally creating islands like Surtsey (see yesterday’s entry) or Iceland. Someday the island will erupt again, perhaps even being torn apart. And, somewhere in between the power of the earth’s core below and the wailing ice of the Arctic above, lay a 40+ degree pool of minerals which we call a spa.

The twenty foot walk from the locker rooms to the pool itself was bracing—the pool itself was simply luxurious. Warm from the shoulders down, sometimes even hot, the steam and cold winds combined with snow and later a light hail across our bare cheeks and heads. We’d duck under a hot waterfall; some of us would float in the warm pools for massages; and all the while attendants patrolled the edges in thick yellow arctic jackets. It was crazy; and it was good.

The true taste of Iceland’s winter on the walk back was stunning, but it also was a prequel to tomorrow’s trek into the uninhabitable interior, where hundreds of miles of lava-ruined landscape lay buried in the snow and ice, and we will search for waterfalls.

The remainder of our day was an assortment of explorations.  We met two delusional artists who dream of building a Norse mythology-themed park with five star hotels and various “Lands” of the dwarves, elves, dark elves, Hel, and Asgard. They were selling paintings of their scenes for $500 and warned us not use the word “Disney” around them. We saw Höfòi House where Reagan and Gorbachev brought about the end of the Cold War. We saw the cavernous Hallgrimskirkja Church, completed in 1984. We discovered that Iceland’s phone books are arranged by first name because the culture has no last names:  in the traditional way, children are given second names as the “son” or “daughter” of their fathers and mothers.  My name would be Steven Jerryson, but my sister would be Lanette Zodaughter.

The idea of a girl taking her mother’s name is new since 1991, but according to our guide Jon Hagarson, this is best because “It’s more of a sure thing.” “Unfortunately,” Jon says, “we’ve been brought to civilization.” For the longest time, Iceland had only one TV station—and so there was no television on Thursday nights, the staff’s night off, or in July, their vacation. Now CNN plays behind me while I write this on my wireless connection. Beer was not introduced into the country until the mid-1980s, and until recently even dogs were kept off the island for fear their parasitic worms would infect the small sheep population. Our bus drives by a Domino’s pizza; Iceland now is rated second highest in cars per capita; gasoline prices here are about $9 per gallon.

For Jon, Iceland is about simplicity.  He says three concepts define it: informality, individuality, and lack of discipline. It’s the kind of attitude which appeals to a people rugged enough to endure these winters, descendents of Vikings and the women they captured, living on a land born of volcano, and in their own Ragnarok, fated to end it the same way.