Falling hard for Iceland
I don't care who you are, waterfalls are irresistible, and nowhere more so than in Iceland. The first one we came across was in Thingvellir, in the Golden Circle, where everyone will insist you go. And it’s pretty, the waterfall: totally worth getting out and putting on your raincoat and hat, and getting wet.
It’s so pretty that you will be exhilarated. And a little cold and wet. Then you’ll drive and pass several more waterfalls and think, maybe I should stop there, too! And if you do, each one will be more beautiful than the last, until you get to Gullfoss, which is not only beautiful, but humongous and beautiful.
Plus, the visitors center there sells delicious hot chocolate and the best cafe mocha I’ve had, maybe ever. You’ll need it, because it will probably rain, and after all the waterfall excursions you've already done that day, you will be cold. Because it’s Iceland. And then, after a while, you’ll become sort of immune to the waterfalls. I did, anyway.
So when Adam suggested at 9pm one night, that instead of putting on our jammies, we put on our parkas and go chase down a patch of sunlight he'd spotted in the clouds, I was skeptical. This better be good, I grumbled. It was better.
We chased that patch of sunlight into a valley with a waterfall on one side and the purplest lupine field ever on the other. Along the way we stepped in several hidden mud pits masquerading as firm ground. We didn’t care. And our shoes would see much worse later.
The only downside of how beautiful this country didn’t become apparent until after we’d left Iceland for the Scottish highlands, generally regarded as one of the most beautiful spots on earth. Sure, it’s pretty, I thought, but it’s no Iceland. And I was to remain jaded until we hit Norway. (And for that, Norway, I thank you.)