In May my oldest friend, Nate, and I set out for Iceland. We had two weeks to drive the Ring Road and very little planned. We came to see the waterfalls. The horses. The midnight sun. Like most visitors, our starting point was Reykjavík. But it was only for a moment, as we were eager to get out into the land.
This is just how I pictured Iceland—muted greens and browns, gloomy cloud cover, and dramatic landforms.
It's hard to beat breakfast outside, gazing at the sun rising over the mountains you sit at the very feet of, with a natural hot spring within a short walk.
For many traveling is about seeing the famous things, like monuments or landmarks. I've found I am most excited about little moments that I couldn't foresee. Things that mean nothing to anyone. Like watching a feeding bird through the opening in the roof of this stone walled shed, on the slopes near Stokksnes. These moments feel extra personal to me.
Glaciers. Icebergs. This was completely foreign territory. The stuff I've only ever seen in other's photos. Now it was right in front of me.
Anyone driving in Iceland will note the abundance of churches. Every homestead seemed to have its own. Long defunct, no doubt. But they generally maintain one iconic form and a red roof (though some regions seem to use blue roofs). Occasionally, in a city, you will come across a variant.
Sometimes I get an image, or the semblance of an image in my head before I visit a place. The photo below captures what I envisaged. A winding road that provides scale and perspective. The brown and green tones ubiquitous to the island. A rugged, rising landscape, a body of water and of course, everything is wet with rain.
The water of Bruarfoss might actually be Gatorade Frost. I've never seen water this color before.
This house, abandoned for whatever reason, was one of my favorite things seen on the trip. I don't know why it's textured as it is. It's like seeing a painting of a house. It was sort of magical.