Dip into Iceland and stay for the warmth
IT HAD been a fool-proof plan. To transplant my Paris-based family for a summer on the Chesapeake Bay, where I grew up, we would meet my mother “halfway” in Iceland and enjoy the famous stop-over that Icelandair has marketed brilliantly over the past few years. We’d then continue the voyage with a doting grandmother to help entertain a (possibly) unruly toddler. An added bonus: The gradual adjustment to a new time zone, since Iceland is two hours behind France, making for an easier arrival on the East Coast.
But then I trawled a trio of weather websites that all predicted constant downpours and temperatures hovering around 50 in July. Despite all the admonitions to pack light, bags would be stretched to the seams with rain gear, hats, maybe even winter coats. I went on the site for the Blue Lagoon - the geo-thermal spa pool that’s the country’s most famous attraction - and found that reservations were booked solid for our arrival time. Had Iceland become a victim of its own tourism success?
The 3.5-hour flight from Paris to Iceland was blissfully calm. Although adults are not served complimentary meals, kids are spoiled with coloring books, headphones and blankets that fold up neatly into backpacks.
We stepped off the plane at 9am into an airport that’s a showcase for sleek Nordic design, where Mom was waiting. We quickly learned that taxis to Reykjavik, a good hour’s drive away, could cost upwards of 100 euros (RM470), so a rental car made the most sense. But a line snaked around the terminal from the rental car kiosks. And patience was starting to wear thin thankfully, a smoothie made from skyr (Icelandic yogurt) took the edge off the kids’ hunger.
Salvation appeared in the form of an Icelander named Heidar Mar, driving a four-wheel-drive SUV. Mom had arrived the day before, sleeping at a lovely lodging near the airport called the Hotel Berg. Perched on the cliffs facing the fishing harbour in Keflavik, the family-owned hotel also arranges car rentals. On the phone, Heidar Mar was a man of few words. He would check on availability and call us back. Instead, less than 10 minutes later, he was waiting outside the terminal with a smile. He raised an eyebrow at the back-breaking weight of the luggage - piled precariously on the trolley - and without a word stacked it in the trunk of his car, the stroller blocking the rear view. “The car I had in mind might be too small,” he said.
Temporarily without a car of our own, we took off exploring the Hotel Berg’s pretty environs. We climbed a hill to discover a magical mise-en-scène: A field of purple lupine, brilliantly lit from rays of sunlight that broke through the ominous gray clouds. A lone path meandered to the ocean’s edge. The girls broke into a gleeful run.
From this vantage point, we spied giant footprints painted on a footpath that hugged the harbour, begging to be explored. Drizzle tumbled from the sky as we followed the footprints - each toe the size of my daughter’s sneaker - with slight trepidation. We watched a red boat power out to sea, and three bulky fishermen - clad in heavy, all-weather gear - lifted their arms in a happy, spontaneous wave.
The footprints disappeared into a black stone cave. As we ventured cautiously inside, we heard a strange, guttural rumbling that echoed off the walls. “She’s snoring!” Jane cried, pointing at an enormous, wart-nosed troll made out of papier-mâché. The giant was only partially visible behind a makeshift barricade, adding to the drama and verisimilitude for the kids. Younger sister Cecilia was more interested in the colourful pacifiers that were strewn around the cave. They were even found dangling like ornaments from a tree.
The cave was empty but we noticed benches where we could sit, contemplate our surroundings, and listen to the soundtrack. And suddenly, “poot!”- as the girls recounted hysterically throughout the duration of our trip - the troll made a rude noise in her sleep.
Giddy with laughter, we ran through the rain back to the hotel where a white jeep was waiting. Here was our introduction to Icelandic ingenuity.
Not only had Heidar Mar located a larger vehicle, but he had also acquired child car seats - calling all his friends and neighbours to track them down.
Mum hadn’t driven a stick shift in decades. But where else but the tiny island nation of Iceland - with excellent infrastructure and a population of just 323,000 - could be better to polish a rusty skill? “It’s like riding a bike,” grinned Heidar Mar. And just like that, we set
I went on the site for the Blue Lagoon - the geothermal spa pool that’s the country’s most famous attraction - and found that reservations were booked solid for our arrival time. Had Iceland become a victim of its own tourism success?
off in the rain, driving across the boulder-strewn lava fields. Let the Icelandic adventure begin.
When Iceland’s economy crashed in 2008, and the krona took a nosedive against the US dollar, an infamously expensive destination was suddenly put into reach for the average traveller.
Over the past seven years, Iceland has successfully transformed an economic downturn into a tourism boom with a savvy marketing campaign depicting the cinematic landscapes - volcanoes, northern lights, glaciers and waterfalls - that make Iceland a paradise of natural phenomena. Icelandair advertises competitive airfares between the United States and Europe, with a multi-day stopover included at no additional cost. With expanded flight routes serving destinations across North America, Icelandair continues to offer competitive prices (the Icelandair flights I purchased from Paris to Washington were the cheapest I could find).
Plus, the new Iceland-based Wow Air is upping the ante with US$99 (RM416) fares. Today you won’t find the bargain hotel and food prices that were the norm after the financial crisis, but Iceland continues to reign at the top of travelers’ bucket lists.
Iceland’s appeal is multifaceted; there’s a rocking nightlife, a dynamic arts and music scene, sigh-inducing natural beauty, and even the cuisine is making a name for itself. For us, it was perfect for family travel, providing excitement and fun for three generations. Beyond all this, it was the Icelanders who won us over. I knew I’d fall for a country where a Pirate Party politician rapped a song in Parliament, where the descendants of fierce Vikings vocalise their beliefs in elves and trolls, and where there are no surnames (last names comprise a father’s (or mother’s) first name with the addition of -dottir (daughter) or -son.
Quirky Icelandic wit threads through all aspects of culture; we were amused to learn about a new tourist offering, a guided tour called “Bankers Behind Bars,” which traces the causes and consequences of the banking system’s 2008 collapse.
(Yes, several officials actually went to jail.) Magnus Sveinn Helgason, who leads the walks, was quoted as saying: “What could be more exciting than the story of how a tiny country was turned into a giant hedge fund, only to blow up?”
An apartment rental with Reykjavik4You was the most cost-effective way to sleep a family of four in the city centre. — WP-Bloomberg