After the short visit to London, a classmate of Translation and Interpreting waited for me in Reykjavik, where I might have never travelled hadn’t this geologist and translator been interested in the Icelandic ground and language.
The seats were oddly arranged on the plane: two seats on the left of the aisle and three on the right. Consider it; that means the weight wasn’t balanced since there was an extra row of passengers on the right, whereas there was an empty aisle on the left. In spite of that, we landed safe and sound.The weirdest thing about getting there (apart from having flown to the end of the world to see a classmate with whom I shared but a one semester course) was setting my clock another hour back and realise that, although it was midnight — two in the morning in my biological clock —, the sun was touching everything just like in Mufasa’s kingdom.
The first national item I was introduced to was some meat that tasted like smoke, literally. My friend also told me about the rotten shark meat, but there’s a limit to my curiosity. On the following day the experience was not culinary; we climbed a mountain instead following a steaming hot river, which created a dim fog on its way down the mountain. Every now and then, rock-boiling puddles showed up. We took our clothes off and spend about an hour in swimsuit in the river ignoring the 9 Celsius outside.
I also met a workmate and friend in the city. We had agreed to meet there for a beer; we’re just cool. I also enjoyed the company of her brother since they were travelling together. We used the trip to go to the outdoor swimming pools: kids pools, pools with lanes, Jacuzzis… all filled with hot water, which comes straight from the ground below. And not even rain or snow could scare the swimmers away.
This is the story of how I discovered the country where I’d like to go hiking next summer.