A while later, the farmers returned with matches, blankets, and food. Charles was too cold and left, but the rest of us sat around the bonfire that quickly ignited. We ate fresh rolled pancakes dipped in hot chocolate, while sitting on a black sand beach with the waves rolling in. It was the middle of the night, yet the sky was still light. An extraordinary way to mark the summer solstice. We were told that this night is full of magic. If we were to roll around naked in the dew, our diseases may be cured. If we placed a special orchid root under our own pillow and an unrequited love, their heart would be ours. And this was the night for venturing into enchanted places to collect magic rocks that grant wishes. I had no need for any of those rituals, as I was having a perfect night with wonderful people in an amazing country.

We took a cruise through the lagoon and our guide carved off a sliver from one of the icebergs, so that we could eat ice that was over 1000 years old. Our guide was a native Icelander who spends all her winters in Australia – she even went to college in my hometown of Canberra. She spoke like a perfect Australian native, which made it all the more shocking to hear her correctly pronounce towns like Þorlákshöfn when talking about the region.

Occasionally, seals would poke their heads out of the water. Our guide told us that there were two types of seals in Iceland, and that these are the cuter ones, as they are smaller and have fewer whiskers. We were later told that the locals call the seals that give birth on land Land Seals, and the ones that give birth out at sea Out There Seals. The Icelanders are big fans of literal names for creatures and places.

John pretended not to think the sheep were very cute, and made mock grumbling sounds when ever we stopped to take a closer look. However, Jay, Adrian, and I all voted that they were completely charming. These regions of Iceland were reminiscent of Tolkien’s Bag End, and I expected to see hobbits emerging from their holes. The turf keeps the houses snug under the snow during winter, and during summer they sprout a vibrant green top.

These mud ponds were really fun to watch – reminding me of the Bog of Eternal Stench. They were constantly simmering, bubbling up with big bursts of fumaric acid that would sound like “bloob bloob bloob”. It was stinky and messy and grotty and I really enjoyed exploring the region. The whole area smelt like rotten eggs, and the landscape was coloured with the various sulphur oxides. There were also steam vents pumping out water vapour, like a warmth breath from the interior of the earth. John decided that if the black barren landscape we had encountered previously was the moon, then now we must be on Io (the volcanic moon of Jupiter).

However, the saga was not over. We were then scramble the near sheer cliffs, with only the occasional ladder placed over the dirt for assistance. About one quarter of the way up, I had had enough. I sat down and refused to go on. Adrian sat by me and comforted me until I was calm enough to appreciate our surroundings. I later learned that Rob had captured this moment of my anxiety:

We decided to slowly return to the shore. I would feel happier away from the cliffs, and Adrian would be closer to the puffins for photography. John also joined us, although he constantly lifted his eyes and scanned for the return of Jay. The island that we were standing on was formed from the magma core of a volcano 700 000 years ago, slowly eroded by the seas. As we were the only three people around, I was able to sit quietly and watch the birds in detail.

There were hundreds of kittiwakes, puffins, and guillemots roosting in the cliffs. The puffins were very skittish, as this island is used for hunting during various times during the year. They always looked worried and sad, as if they were contemplating global warming or their impending arrival on a dining table. It was very odd to see them suddenly take off into flight on their stubby little wings. They look so similar to penguins that I almost expected them to be flightless. I sat in the sun, amongst the birds, and watched them ferrying food to their new hatchlings hidden in small rock burrows. By the time the boat returned, I was so relaxed I slept all the way back to the mainland.

Photo from bartpogoda

As Iceland straddles two tectonic plates, a mixture of sea water and glacial melt comes into contact with volcanic magma, which is then heated and quickly rises towards the surface. The Hitaveita Suðurnesja geothermal power plant opened in 1976, when they drilled 2000 meters to reach 243^oC fluid. Some of this fluid is passed underneath homes and roads to provide heading for 17 000 people. The rest of the fluid is used to drive steam turbines to provide electricity for 45 000 people.

This fluid is then cooled to 37-39^oC water and pumped into a 6 000 000 litre lagoon that is renewed every 40 hours. This fluid contains dissolved primary rocks from the interior mantel of the Earth. It contains 251 mg/kg silica, 7.643 mg/kg sodium, as well as potassium, calcium, magnesium, carbon dioxide, sulphate, chlorine, and fluorine. There are also unique filamentous and coccoid blue green algae that flourish in the warm salty water, giving the lagoon its eerie blue appearance.

The end result is extraordinary – pale blue milky water within jagged jet black lava rocks. The silica in the water coats all the rocks to smooth everything with a while glassy surface. They have buckets of silica mud for DIY facials, as well as a hot waterfall, steam rooms set into a lava cave and a white silica room, a sauna, and shallow areas filled with mud. One can also take a break from the baths and enjoy a light snack while wrapped up in a white robe looking out across the steaming water. I spent the day moving from one thermal activity to another, and left the Blue Lagoon warm to the core, completely relaxed and with glowing skin.

Photo from gudmunda