Iceland Journals: Glaciers, Gratitude & Goodbyes
Day 5 (5/10)
I’ve never been much of a morning person, preferring to rush through a fifteen minute morning routine rather than lose an extra fifteen minutes of sleep and often hitting the alarm two or three times before rolling out of bed. And while I’ve been moved to try different tips, tricks, and hacks to become a morning person at various points in my life, none have ever succeeded to help me wake earlier and be happy doing so. In the ideal scenario, I would wake up naturally well before I need to be at work or have any particular commitments and spend that time reading, writing, meditating, running, and in general, bettering myself. The reality has been that I’ll start the attempt somewhat chipper, certainly with the aid of many alarms, eventually grow to dread waking up before I absolutely must, and, after a few nights of going to bed later than intended, give up entirely. Waking up early goes in the folder of cold showers and daily exercise, activities which I believe would enhance my life, but haven’t come naturally to me, despite many attempts to ingrain them in my routines.
Several days into my time in Iceland and, not coincidentally, my foray into unintentionally waking up early every day, I now wonder if my environment, more than personal motivations, is the key to becoming a morning person. Here in Iceland, I wake up most mornings around 6am, partly because the abundance of sunlight and lack of blinds won’t let me sleep in, partly because there is so much to do that I don’t want to try to pull the covers (or, in this case, sleeping bag) higher, and partly because I’ve been sleeping around 10pm every night and clocking eight full, albeit interrupted hours of sleep. These circumstances have made it possible for me to not only wake naturally, but get out of bed, a distinction which those who desire to get up earlier know all too well. On this morning in particular, waking up and getting out of bed was particularly delightful. When you wake to the sounds of chirping birds and the view of snow-capped mountains against sunny, blue skies, it’s easy to begin the day.
The boys weren’t awake yet, so I took the time to capture photos of camp life in the early morning light. What I love about carrying around an actual camera is not necessarily that it produces better pictures than my phone, but that it gives me permission to seek out new ways of looking at the world around me. After documenting camp life to satisfaction, I went about cleaning the car of the clutter that accumulates after several days of travel. While cleaning out the cooking bin, I found the cooking stove I’d brought on the trip, but since abandoned after a few failed attempts to produce flame. For some reason, I decided to give it one last shot before eliminating the dead weight, and to my complete and utter shock, I had fire! Literally jumping with joy and sure that this was a good start to the day, I celebrated by heating up the oatmeal I hadn’t been able to cook. What I love about camping and cooking on the road is that the simplest things taken for granted at home, like the ability to turn a knob and have fire with which to cook, are celebrated for the small miracles that they are. When a warm pot of oatmeal feels like victory, you can only imagine the sense of gratitude and joy that comes with everything else.
After finishing off breakfast and meandering around the beautiful Skaftafell campsite, Dmitry, Robbie and I ventured into Vatnajökull, the largest national park in Iceland, covering nearly 15% of the country. We set off to see Svartifoss, a famous waterfall only a few kilometers from our campsite and one of Vatnajökull most visited attractions. On the hike, we met Tiffany, a fellow solo female traveler from the Barbados who’d also rented a car to travel around Iceland on her own. For me, it’s always a special treat to meet solo female travelers on the road because it takes a certain kind of craziness and wild courage to embark on a journey on your own. As we relayed stories of places traveled and people met in Iceland, we discovered that she was heading a little further east today to visit the Jokulsarlon Glacier Lagoon, in the direction that Dmitry and Robbie were headed. Over the course of the last few days, we’d spent nearly all waking hours together and if that hadn’t solidified the friendship, then learning to lean on them for support while navigating the lost wallet situation certainly had. I was sad that I would have to stay behind to conserve gas and return to Vik in order to pick up the new credit card, but I knew that Dima and Robbie would need to continue without me, if they were to finish hitch-hiking around Ring Road before their return flights on Sunday. As I recounted the highs and lows of my trip to Tiffany, she shared that she was actually going to be driving back toward the campsite after visiting the lagoon and would be happy to drop me off at my car on the return trip. Without hesitation, I said yes and found myself hitch-hiking for the second time since setting foot in Iceland. As I reflect on this string of events post-trip, I continue to stand in wonder at the beautiful and unexpected people and opportunities that enter our lives if we are only open to receiving them. Our new friend Tiffany put it best when remarking that had she completed this trip with friends, she may have said a quick ‘hello’ to us while passing by, rather than pack three strangers into her car for the day. I’m thankful that she did, because meeting her that day gave me hope that the wonderfully vibrant people I’d encountered thus far weren’t a fluke, but that there were people and adventure out there still, waiting to be met.
We drove nearly two hours to the Glacier Lagoon, stopping only when the terrain looked entirely unlike that from which we came and the road gave way to glaciers in more shades of blue than I’ve ever seen. Standing on the edge of the parking area, peering out at the glacial expanse, I felt yet again as though I’d been transported to another place, perhaps another planet. We climbed down to the bedrock along the glacier, where photographers with their tripods were positioned to capture the ever so slight movement of drifting ice chunks. After taking selfies and pictures to our hearts content, we walked to Diamond Beach adjacent to the Glacier Lagoon, so named because the large chunks of which float in from the sea appear to be diamonds scattered all along the black sand beach. The wind whipped against our bodies, reminding me yet again of how much at mercy I was to the elements. When we’d walked along the beach for as long as we could stand outside, it was time to say goodbye. When we wished each other luck on the rest of our trips and exchanged promises to keep in touch and visit one another, I felt an unexpectedly strong sense of attachment to these two dirtbag travelers. We’d shared moments of belly-aching laughter and abject wonder at where we were and the company we’d stumbled upon by pure happenstance. I would miss Dmitry’s unintentional humor and his crazy chemist tales as well as his humility and generosity. I would miss Robbie’s spontaneity and abandon, which had led to a few instances of trespassing and many more-than-worth-it stunning views, as well as his clever rhymes and oh-so-Canadian eh’s.
As Tiffany and I dropped off our hitch-hikers on the side of the road heading back to Skaftafell, I was glad to have her company. We spoke of life in the Barbados and the States, what occupied us when we weren’t traipsing around Iceland, the adventures and decisions that had led us to this point in time, but mostly, our next destinations. In the set of questions ask of and by travelers, that of where will you go next? is posed nearly as often as where are you from? and how long are you here? There is an unspoken understanding that this thing we’re all doing — traveling — is a way of life and not simply a vacation from our lives. We inquire about the next destination not because we aren’t immensely thankful for where we are now and the great privilege of being able to travel at all, but because we share a hunger and passion to seek discomfort and forge connections in the unknown. As she encouraged me to visit her in the Barbados and painted a compelling picture of island tours and snorkeling excursions, I realized, much to my delight, that the longer I am on the road, the greater my list of places and people to visit becomes.
These self-proclaimed Iceland Journals are a collection of journal entries written during my two-week solo trip to Iceland, one for each day of the adventure. In brief, I booked a spontaneous solo trip to Iceland, decided to rent a car to drive around and live out of for two weeks, packed a single backpack to carry with me, and you’ll have to read on to see how the rest of the the adventure plays out! This Medium series, kept in close form to the original entries written during my trip, portrays the day-by-day lived experience and my personal takeaways from stepping out of my comfort zone, the lessons I learn as a result of what my parents would call somewhat questionable decision-making, and the people I met along the way. I hope you’ll get something from reading these sometimes indulgent, often spur-of-the-moment reflections, and this series inspires you to seek out discomfort in every facet of life, build community wherever you are and whomever you’re with, and fulfill the truest expression of yourself in everything you do.
To follow the rest of the journey:
Day 1: Choosing Courage
Day 2: From Strangers to Friends
Day 3: Highs and Lows
Day 4: Rebuilding Routine
Thanks for reading!