The next two days are the awkward part of the out-and-back itinerary; an exact reversal of the prior two days, making our way back west along the South Coast, and stopping at any points of interest that we missed on the outbound part of our journey. It’s an awkward plan to be sure (indeed, we’ll be returning tonight to the same hotel in Vík that we left the morning prior), but one nice part is that it has taken away the pressure to see and do everything in this region (as if we ever could, even with a dozen more trips), and built in some flexibility in case of bad weather. Indeed, we awaken at the Fosshotel to heavy rain and thirty-mile-per-hour gusts, the worst weather of the week. The wind will thankfully clear by the late morning, but the southeast will be under rainy conditions for much of the day. After another terrific breakfast (Jordan again eating nothing but baked beans, while Jane and I stuff ourselves with bacon, eggs, skyr, ham, fruit, smoked salmon, and pastries), we have a slow morning (I actually fall back asleep despite Jordan being Jordan). We eventually head out on the road in the late morning, and Jane and Jordan promptly fall asleep in the car. I drive east to Jökulsárlón, but it’s pouring rain and there’s really no view nor reason to get kiddo out of the car in these conditions. At the nearby beach (with its famous ice drifts, which Jane and I visited and frolicked amongst in 2015), there is practically no ice at all on the sand, probably a result of the tempestuous weather and the crashing Atlantic waves. I turn the car around and head back west, having (once again) reached the eastern terminus of our itinerary. Maybe we’ll come back and show Jordan this place in another eleven years; for now, he sleeps right through it. We make our way to the little village of Hof, where there is an open bounce-pad, but we are sternly informed by the nearby schoolteachers that it’s for schoolkids only, which makes sense (it being a weekday and school being very much in session). We visit the nearby turf-grass church before the long drive back west to Klaustur, Jane reading much of Hilo, Book 2 to Jordan during the hour-long ride. In Klaustur, we head into town and find a school playground that is much more welcoming of our presence. I take photos of Jordan playing beneath a waterfall which flows down from a nearby cliff-top lake; we have a picnic lunch (pizza bread, grapes, and Kókómjólk), and when the schoolkids come out for their own afternoon recess, Jordan makes a friend named Edgar who is quite excited to hear that we are visiting from America. Edgar asks Jane who our founder is (“George Washington?” which doesn’t quite hit the same as Ingólfur Arnarson) and then attempts to talk to her about Roblox, but alas, Jane only knows about Minecraft.
Back in the car, another long stretch of driving back through the lava fields to Vík, and another few readthroughs of the final chapters in Jordan’s graphic novel, replete with Jane’s dramatic renditions of a few death scenes (Beamer: Hilo help help, Hilo help…) and some harrowing plot twists. Jane and I have obviously wondered if the book is age-appropriate, but it’s clearly much too late, and Jordan is hooked. Back in Vík, we stop by the beach to idle away an hour before hotel check-in time in the afternoon. Jordan marvels at the black volcanic sand and, as usual, starts rooting around and making train tracks in the ground. I shoot some photos of him and Jordan looking quite small and lonely on the beach, against the big waves and the gnarled rock stacks of Reynisdrangar in the distance. He goes clambering up a dune, and I find him a gull feather that he’ll bring with him all the way until the end of the trip. Back in town, we re-fuel the car and pop by the local Krónan grocery store to re-stock our vittles, including a bundle of drinks and sandwiches (pasta for Jordan) for tonight’s dinner. I buy of carton of goji berry juice (primarily apple and white grape juice, but with a disarmingly neon orange colour. As far as I can tell, goji berry is the fourth-most common juice type here in Iceland (after the usual apple and orange, and the disarmingly taste “multi-fruit” juice), which is somewhat funny to my Chinese sensibilities. We check back into the Hotel Kría across the street, and Jordan seems excited to be in a familiar town and a familiar place. Bizarrely, this time our room comes with a complimentary berry cake (topped with lingonberry and gooseberry), but is missing a crib. I work with the front desk staff to procure a crib for Jordan (though he’ll ultimately sleep with us on the big bed, anyways) and we have a very relaxing afternoon. In the early evening, we ultimately return to the little school playground that we passed by on our way back from the beach. Jordan gets on the slide a few times, and digs around in a nearby sandbox (the first volcanic, black-sand sandbox I have ever seen). Watching Jordan, toy shovel in hand, enjoying himself in the Scandinavian spring sun, we openly muse about what it would be like to uproot our lives and move to this little seaside village in southern Iceland. Then, we tuck in early and have dinner in our room. For the first time in a few nights, I choose not to go out for photos at dusk; this is my damn vacation, after all.
Slow mornings are the best. We’re nearing the end of our road trip now, with one more night before we head towards Reykjavik. Jordan’s been alternating between sleeping in his hotel-provided crib, or the big bed with the two of us. Jane and I have been assiduously avoiding co-sleeping with him since he was a baby, but as a result it feels even more special now to wake up with him wrapped around part of my back, snoring peacefully into my ear. I think Jordan finds it special too: a concentrated week of nothing but family time (“Together! Family!” he cries whenever he wants all three of us to do something), including mornings, afternoons, evenings, and midnights. We wake late and creep downstairs for breakfast again. Jordan is finally getting a little bored of baked beans, and accepts some skyr along with smoked salmon, ham, toast, and cut fruit. We head out into the fairly placid, overcast morning, bidding farewell again to Vík and returning westward along the Ring Road. It’s another day of backtracking and light (nearly non-existent) itinerary. Our one main stop is to see the mighty Skógafoss, which we skipped past several days ago in the rain. Jordan wants to walk by himself all the way from the car park to the waterfall, but he also wants to hold my hand. I accept this as the special gift that it is. Like at Seljalandsfoss, the car park has been expanded and is now much further from the main attraction than it was eleven years ago; but overall it’s a good upgrade, and none of us mind the walk. I again whip out the tele lens as Jane and Jordan go toddling across the stream near the waterfall’s base, though over the roar of the cascade it is nearly impossible to communicate with Jane (or pose Jordan) from several hundred feet away. Jordan, inpatient as ever, has his eyes fixed on the long staircase leading to the top of the falls, and he and Jane set off on the climb. I initially linger behind, figuring that they’ll stop partway and come back down, but eventually hustle with them incredulously as they make their way up the 527-step (!) metal staircase. How Jane and I did these steps completely sleep-deprived eleven years ago, I’ll never know (twenty-something-year-olds are just a different breed, it seems). The climb takes forever, but Jordan fares much better than some of the other tourists he’s holding up, some of whom turn and head back down; I suppose it’s much easier to activate a fear of heights when you’re trapped behind a toddler and have ample time to take in the view. After a solid half hour of gradually coaxing Jordan onward flight by flight (indeed, there’s some point in the 527 steps where you’re obviously past the point of no return), we eventually reach the top. “I’ve never been congratulated in so many languages,” says Jane, out-of-breath. Jordan teeters over to the viewing platform on wobbly legs, and points at the big cataract. “Mama waterfall,” he says, seemingly content with this outcome and not really aware at all of his major achievement. We ask a nearby tourist to take a family photo for us; Jordan glowers at him. Jordan insists on continuing up the trail past the waterfall (a famous, 15-mile hike deep into the Icelandic highlands), and throws a bit of a hissy-fit when we corral him back in the direction of the car - and back to the stairs.
On the way back down, Jane and I take turns carrying Jordan, mostly to speed things up (or rather, prevent him from stalling) and lessen the traffic jam. I carry him from the base of the stairs all the way back to the car, and can’t help but notice how heavy he’s grown. He squeezes my ears and my nose while I make funny nasal sounds; he cackles and snorts. He may be five times heavier than the baby I once knew, but he’s always had the same impish sense of humor. Our next stop is back in Hvolsvöllur, where we agree to take a break for bathrooms, picnic lunch (again sourced from the nearby Krónan supermarket), and so that Jordan can pay another visit to Nipple Statue. He and I go for a jog along the nearby rainbow asphalt track; Jordan takes a little spill but bravely gets back up after I send the “breakdown train” to put my little engine back on the “track”. Then, it’s back in the car, headed westward and northward. Past Hella, we leave the South Coast behind, tracing the same route that Jane and I drove eleven years ago along the Golden Circle. Unlike last time, we won’t be fitting all those major attractions into one day (God only knows how we did it then). Instead, we’ll stop for the afternoon at the Secret Lagoon (Gamla Laugin) in Flúðir, where I’ve booked an overnight stay for us in the cabin beside the lagoon, price inclusive of entry to the hot springs. Jordan again skips his midday nap despite the long car ride north; his Hilo graphic novel is just too exciting when read by Mama. Along the way, the landscape changes from the basalt sands, cliffs, and lava flows of the coast, to the rolling hills and valleys of the country’s southern uplands - scenery that, to my visual memory, is rather Scottish in its appearance. We pass by farms and greenhouses, and we teach Jordan about the concept of growing fruits and vegetables indoors. He is fascinated by all of this.
We arrive in Flúðir in the mid-afternoon, and are able to check in to our accommodations after a few short minutes of last-minute prep by the cleaning staff. This cabin proves to be the coziest and most comfortable stay of our entire road trip, aided by the fact that although we only have one of the four available bedrooms, there are no other guests booked tonight, so we have the entire kitchen and common area to ourselves. Jordan discovers a box of toys and, not having had any toys in several days, begins playing quietly by himself on the geothermally heated floors of the kitchen. He even starts to clean up neatly after himself, putting each toy back into the box before taking out another. This is in stark contrast to his habits at home; I get the sense that the kiddo is enjoying being on vacation.
Before we settle in for the night, though, we take cleansing showers and change into our bathing suits, heading over to the lagoon in our accommodation-provided bathrobes and slippers. Notably, because we are staying in the cabin, we get to shower off in the privacy of our room, rather than in the lagoon’s public, gender-specific showers and changing rooms - though I’m sure Jordan would have found the latter experience quite memorable and funny. At the check-in counter in the lobby of the lagoon, we peruse the snacks and drinks that the sophisticated bather can purchase to augment one’s experience; ultimately, we settle with buying a waterproof phone case for Jane’s phone (for the memories). Then we saunter out of the lobby and into the cold (it’s 40 degrees Fahrenheit and off-on rainy, as it has been all week). It feels amazing to step into the comfort of the geothermally heated pool. The pool - one of several open to the bathing public - is spacious and steamy; Jordan and Jane opt to sit at the edge, near the stairs, though we take a few laps with Jordan around the pool, treading across a disarmingly uneven, gravelly bottom. The water temperature ranges from balmy to painfully hot; it takes some experimentation to find the right place to sit, and we have to mobilize once in awhile to get more comfortable (less painful) whenever water is cycled in from the nearby hot springs. Jordan picks up a nearby pool noodle (there are also other pool toys and flotation devices provided in a big bin by the changing rooms) and pretends to fish with it. He winds up catching several “Baba Fish”. Awhile into our bathing session, a geyser goes off thirty feet away from the far edge of the pool; not a particularly huge one, but big enough to be a bit alarming nonetheless. Jordan and I have been talking about geysers ever since we checked out a book on Iceland from the Brookline Public Library two months ago, so he is pretty excited to see this one, and very hyped up to see the real deal (Strokkur, in the Geysir Geothermal Area) on the morrow.
After a solid hour-plus of bathing (carefully monitoring our toddler’s complexion, hydration, and increasingly pruney fingertips, we towel off and head back to our cabin to shower and change into leisure wear. I take the car and head into town to buy some breakfast foods (the typical sandwich materials, more bananas, and more skyr), but not before bringing my camera gear back to the Lagoon (the staff kindly let me walk around and photograph even though I’m in street clothes). Sneaking past a small crowd of bemused bathers in a nearby hot tub, I clamber up a grass bank in pursuit of a composition that I spotted while relaxing in the pool earlier: the brightly-lit greenhouses across the nearby geothermal river, backlit by dramatic clouds and falling sunlight. I resolve to head back out in a few hours to photograph the greenhouses in evening light, and to generally continue my photographic series on night walks and lighted windows (see Projects page).
For dinner, we have our stash of sandwiches and goji berry juice for me and Jane, and chicken/tomato pasta and Happy Monkey smoothie for Jordan. We do a load of laundry, and Jane is really settling into the cabin like it’s her new home. She talks about hygge and about the clean, tasteful, space-efficient Scandinavian interior design. She says she plans to make a run to Ikea when we return to Boston. I remind her that half of the furniture in our home is already decade-old, mismatched shit from Ikea. Jordan spends the evening playing with the communal toys and doodling on the rainbow magnetic drawing board in our room. After his bedtime, I sit out in the kitchen, waiting for the light to fade (oh so slowly, in this northern clime) before heading outside. Pointing my camera across the river, I make some lovely images of the greenhouses and their surrounding farm equipment, the road behind them winding up the distant hillside. The steam from the nearby hot springs adds a layer of haziness and separation to these compositions. Leaving the river behind, I take a walk across the completely empty (except for our rental car) parking lot and explore some of the nearby streets in this quiet part of town. There is a single lit apartment window at the top of the nearby cul-de-sac; I cannot resist walking over and taking a photograph of it. From here, the warm glowing greenhouses and steaming river look apocalyptic - as if an active lava flow is threatening to engulf our cabin and our car. After some more nighttime wandering, I head back in and join the others in bed.
