Tangled Travel: Iceland

Snow Driving with Daughter

Gleamy counter, photo courtesy of the author.

There’s a lovely bakery on a main street in Reykjavik, Iceland called Sandlot. Flaky pastries and rich cakes are arranged in clean lines on a gleamy countertop. Transparent bottles hold still water on a stand, off to the side. There might have been a fireplace. Or maybe it was just small flames from votive candles in simple glass, glistening. It was warmth. Open tables, one here and one over there, in an otherwise full space made us wonder if they were available. For us?

I don’t think either of us was sure if we were good enough for it, if that restaurant wasn’t reserved, instead, for people who are somehow more local, more knowledgeable about food, wealthier? Standing at that counter of Sandlot with my daughter, I wasn’t sure if we shouldn’t just walk out. It takes a bit of courage to claim such a beautiful space, especially if you’re running low on confidence.

My girl had just finished her first semester at Princeton. She worked hard most of her life to get there, only to convince herself she didn’t belong once she arrived. In that summer between high school and college, we made a pact that the next years would be ones of easy, grateful learning, not excelling. But those habits of perfectionism die hard. So many moments of overwhelmed had depleted her. By the time the holiday break came, she wasn’t sure she could go back. I wasn’t sure she should go back. I didn’t want her to go back. It’s painful to see your child struggle, even if you know it’s part of the process.

But also, I wanted to go instead! I was so desperate for growth and learning. I wanted the confidence that comes with intellectual transformation. When my daughter and her two brothers were tiny, before the third brother, I worked as a dean at Harvard. I felt important and vibrant, though the job was not sustainable for mothers of three. I quit. We bought a farm way out of our budget and had a fourth child.

I had wide-eyed plans to grow flowers and vegetables. I would write and mother with space and energy to flourish in all things. But without work, the delimited spaces to produce, create, and think become elusive. Working with children and without help can just be too tricky. While my husband traveled for work, I sold vegetables at the farmer’s market, first pregnant and then nursing. I gave the older kids work responsibilities. I brought games for the toddler. I brought the dog. The dog ran away. Then came back. Then ran away. The honey lady shook her head at us. I bought a canopy. It flew away. I found nice tablecloths. My cucumbers did well, but there were only about twenty of them. The wind knocked over my vases. Buds fell off of stems. I let go of that venture. A failure. I told myself it was all for the good. Children must witness resilience and must understand that failure is a critical ingredient for growth, a certainty when we try hard things. But too much resilience saps energy to do anything but fight.

At Sandlot, a gorgeous woman swept away our insecurities as she seated us at one of the tables. (Everyone in Iceland is shockingly beautiful. It’s weird.) We ordered Americanos, croissants, and an omelette with a lovely little salad. Each of the ingredients felt curated, selected from some high-end list of the world.

Curated Americano, photo courtesy of the author.

I want you to be able to smell the espresso beans and peel apart the pastry layers. I’m going to tell you how to get there, with your daughter or son, if you have one, on a first college spring break. Or you can go alone. Or with all of your people. You can put them back together in the clarity of the snow and the ice. You can put yourself back together.

1. Buy tickets. We use Google Flights with all the search parameters open. If you know your dates, you can find a cheap place. If you know your place, you can find cheap dates. I didn’t pick Iceland. It picked me. We went because it was cheap and it felt good and all of a sudden, I could envision that it was always exactly what I needed. Be open as you search for cheap. Envision Puerto Rico, Portugal, Peoria. I swear, there is something absolutely lovely everywhere. There’s always a Sandlot.

2. Bring layers. This is essential. Bring so many waterproof, chic, and cozy layers. Rain pants. Long underwear. A nice cashmere sweater from Goodwill. Ten dollars each! Their soft fuzz pops out from the racks and calls to you. Even if you don’t go to Iceland, go to second hand shops. Cheap cashmere sweaters are perhaps more vital than you know.

3. Travel in the spring or fall. Though, if you go in the summer, you can drive around the whole island. In June, July, and August, the snow, rain, and sleet won’t slow you down or hem you in. You will have glorious evenings full of sun! If you go in the winter, you’ll have northern lights forever. But because I went in early march, I know the middle seasons are the best. The weather is a challenge but it is absolutely full and self-affirming. (You can do this! You did this! Or even if you run into challenges, you made it through this!)

We had to check the weather app (Vedur — critical information) every ten minutes (no exaggeration). Weather changes fast and the roads and trails can become treacherous. On a hike, we got stuck on the side of a great hill. The wind was blowing so ferociously, we thought we might get tossed down the mossy incline into the center of the earth. We held onto rocks, taking one slow and hard won step at a time, for hours.

We drove through white outs. Oh, I am so proud of my driving (though I am a terrified driver, generally). The driving made me feel capable capable capable! And I felt like I was in an Ursula Le Guin novel. Read The Left Hand of Darkness; she describes the white of snow in a way that will make you understand, in the depth of your gut, something so wondrous that you have never seen. But then you can see it in Iceland.

Sunset in the white, photo courtesy of the author.

4. On driving, rent a car. If you go somewhere else, avoid cars! Take buses or ride bikes. But because I am going to tell you specifically about Iceland, a car is a lovely way to go. This is an absolutely amazing country to drive. You can stop and go and stop and go through waterfalls and peninsulas and little inns and adorable coffee shops and hot springs. There were only a few cars on the road in early March. The drivers who knew what they were doing would slip around me once they saw my hazards. The people operating within my skill level were grateful to follow, so slowly.

Cars can be expensive so try to rent one early from an Icelandic company. If you are absolutely loaded or if you just like to spend money on trips, you might consider taking tours. Though I’m a bit of a snobby adventurer and I get anxious about prescribed routes, a good guide can transport you. And there are so many wonderful guides who will cradle you in a big comfortable vehicle with tires as huge as elephants and experienced drivers.

Elephant tires, photo courtesy of the author.

But a car gives you freedom, especially if you buy the insurance, which I didn’t. I can never tell if my credit cards will cover the insurance or not, so I just make myself a believer. Because, the expense! I was worried about not having insurance the whole time but when I returned that car without a scratch, I felt like a beast.

Most importantly, if you’re traveling with your college kid, they are literally stuck with you alone for hours and days. They will tell you so much about their life in that car.

5. Consider staying at hostels. They have become luxurious, full of international families, cool young people, and interesting older people. You can cook comfort food in packed kitchens, sharing a spatula or piece of pie with those who you would otherwise never know. The beds in Iceland are perfect. They all have clean white duvets that keep you so cozy. Everyone is always opening windows so the cool air comes in to remind you of how lucky you are to be alive and how lucky you are to experience Icelandic linens.

6. Drive the circles. There’s a Golden Circle and a Ring Road circle. The Golden Circle conveniently begins in Reykjavík and gives you Iceland in a lovely little package: Pingvellir, Geysir, Gullfoss. You can scuba dive in between the crusts of the earth, be surprised by gorgeous geysers, and be humbled by waterfalls. Somewhere on the route, someone sells amazing tomato soup but we never found it. Our favorite part of this day, though, was the snow driving. Oh my gosh, I’ve never seen such beautiful and haunting white. Truly magical.

The other circle is the Ring Road which goes around the island. We wanted to go for it on our week long trip (oh, we are so ambitious) but the weather can slow you down and make you miss your plane. And doing it in a week, even when the sunlight lasts all night, is really too rushed.

But we did go east to the Vik area (this black beach, this beautiful piece of yellow ocean detritus, the Barn Hostel) and west to Snæfellsnes (Fossatun Camping Pods, oh my goodness, you must!).

Yellow detritus on black beach, photo courtesy of the author.

7. Play music and books on tape in the car. As I get older and become accustomed to the insistent “mom. Mom. Mom! Mom!!!” of my kids, I listen to less music. Too many waves already fill my space. But I used to love music and depend on it to settle me, to comfort me, to inspire me. Oh, my baby and I listened to music. She played me her music and I played mine, being energized by the new but remembering huge swaths of time and emotion which I had left behind. John Prine was always so important to me: “Hello In There” makes me sob. “Angel from Montgomery” with Bonnie Raitt! My girl and I were listening to John Prine and she was feeling me feel him and his beautiful lyrics.

As he was singing, we pulled into the Fossatun pods. The place is set in some deep troll lore. It’s the best kind of kitschy and sweet. But it’s not just kitsch. Something kind of wild is going on there. In the reception area, John Prine’s voice filled the air. The people who run Fossatun are musicians who have recently released a John Prine commemorative album.

Troll pod, photo courtesy of the author.

And you must listen to an abridged version of Jules Verne’s Journey to the Center of the Earth, as you travel to the Snæfellsjökull volcano, the inspiration for the Center. And Bjork. You must listen to Bjork.

The center of the earth, photo courtesy of the author.

8. Go to all the hot springs you can afford or find. We got off the plane, had coffee and Açai in the airport, and went straight to Blue Lagoon, an easy iconic delight.

Iconic Blue Lagoon, photo courtesy of the author.

9. Northern Lights. These became a thing for me, a secret don’t-tell-my-daughter-because-it’s-kind-of-cliché bucket list item. I don’t believe in bucket lists because I think there are buckets all over the place that are just waiting to jump on our lists, if only we would let them. But I really wanted to see the Northern Lights; I felt like I just had to. It’s actually hard to see them with a naked eye. It’s easier to catch them if you hold your phone camera up to the sky. There’s something about the lens that allows the green to emerge. But in March, there are so many clouds that hover, only opening in little momentary windows. One must be vigilant.

I was constantly bugging my daughter to go on night walks, in the rain, and the wind, after she just got out of the shower. She’d agree and we’d walk together. I’d ignore her as I positioned my phone over my head. She started to push back gently against these cold excursions at 11pm, at 1am, at 3am? I was understanding, then frustrated, then kind of privately angry. Which is never private, of course, with a kid who knows you so well. She was privately angry with me, in return, which I felt.

The exhaustion of years had to emerge. We are two women who work so hard and who feel the injustices that push against us and the rest of the world. We both needed that trip in exactly the ways we needed it. Our individual experiences had to scoop us up and show us that the world is good and that our frustrations are understandable and that we are decent humans. Just like my daughter needed the butterflies in butterfly gardens to land on her when she was little, so she’d know that they saw her gentleness and her virtue, I needed the northern lights to appear through all the clouds, to tell me that I was okay.

Self-affirming northern lights, photo courtesy of the author.