Courting Iceland: Ring Road or Engagement Ring?

Selfoss with rainbow in Northern Iceland

Dear friends,

If you like it then you should have put a ring on it.  If you don't like it, hit the Ring Road.   Who needs a single-set diamond ring when you can spin around a whole country?  Waving my bare left hand at the Icelandic Highlands on my way along Iceland's Ring Road, I saluted the path ahead and the opportunities to come.

Time is short, and my patience for dating is shorter.  This past year, I could have (1) saved money for a week-long road trip around Iceland or (2) dated online and lurked in bars looking for love.  I could not afford both.  Dating sites cost around $150.00 for six months of limited choices.  Then there are the dates.  I prefer splitting the bill, so I cough up a lot of money for what?  Waiting at the bar while he runs late, hearing about his sexual frustrations with his ex-girlfriend, and watching him check his phone under the table for something better.  “So, when do I get to see your place?” he says.  “Never,” I reply.  “I’m going to Iceland.  I’d rather leap into a glacial lake than into anything with you.”

 

I put one finger into this glacial lake.  It counts as swimming.

This May, I traveled to Iceland with Alison to spin around the Ring Road for a week.  (You may remember Alison from Spinster Spotlight: Living Sola in Detroit.)   

We rented a camper van that looked like Scooby Doo’s The Mystery Machine.  We christened her “Helga”.  Helga was a trusty steed with a bumpy start.  I learned one does not drive Helga with the parking brake on, and Helga protested by flashing her check-engine light.  For one week, she was part transport, part café/bar, and part hotel.  With Helga, we traveled on our time and camped anywhere--beneath waterfalls, beside the sea, and at the bottom of mountains.

 

Helga, our Go Camper

Before embarking to Iceland, know three things.  (1) Americans are everywhere, and the Icelanders are in the countryside. (2) Icelandic food is delicious, but beware pony meat.  (3) The beer is watery, but the Brennivin is just fine.  Jump in!

We met more Americans in Iceland than Icelanders!  They were mostly friendly Midwesterners field tripping out of Reykjavik or cruising the Ring Road with us.  Some drove rental cars and stayed in hotels.  Others camped in vans like ours.  The toughest pitched tents or rode pack-ladened bikes up and down the hills (bad assess).  Everyone sought the perfect picture in Iceland’s stunning landscape.  One adventurous couple even climbed a cliff to take their wedding photos!  From the dry safety of Helga, Alison and I watched the bride don her wedding gown and cleats and climb one-hundred-or-so feet in the rain to stand beneath a waterfall with her groom.  Although the bride’s actions were admirable, being a spinster seemed easier and safer.  On the other side of romance, and a few hundred miles north, we met a friendly divorcee named Becca.  Young and recently divorced, Becca was a scientist from Washington DC and had left her cats behind to tour the Ring Road alone.  She made divorce look good.  Happy, single again, and on an adventure, she was good fun.  We shared stories over langoustine sandwiches in a little marina restaurant on Iceland’s southeastern coast.

 

Breakfast in Snaftafell Park.  I cooked sandwiches.

Speaking of sandwiches, watch your meat.  Alison, a dedicated vegetarian, was smitten by the Icelandic livestock, especially the spring lambs.  We took many photos of these critters until I could not bear it anymore.  I simply had to eat one of them.  To Alison’s horror, I gobbled a bowl of lamb stew with a side of bread, butter, and cake.  It made me a better person.  There are plenty of lambs to spare!  Horses, too.  Icelandic horses are pure bred descendants of the hardy, small horses the Vikings brought on their ships a millenium before.  There were thousands of them across Iceland, more than tourists could ride, more than farmers could sustain for pleasure alone.  My inner carnivore knew the answer but couldn’t accept it.  The Icelanders could only be…

 

Icelandic horse

…eating the ponies.  I asked two Icelanders to tell me straight—what do ya’ll do with the ponies?  “Uhhhhh….well, we ride them…and raise them…and breed them and…that’s it.”  Lies!  I was enlightened by some fellow travelers in the airport who had dined on pony that week.  Icelanders eat the little guys, and they’re the better for it.  The average lifespan of an Icelander is 82.86 years compared to the U.S.’s 78.74 (Source: World Bank 2015).  Could Americans live an extra four years by eating horse alone?

No, but we can learn much from Icelanders.

 

Safety first!  This sign was for the tourists, not the Icelanders.

(1)  Eat real food.  Not fast food.  Not food that’s low fat or low sugar or low calorie.  Just eat the real butter, milk, fish, sugar, and horse.  The preservatives in fake food are making us huge and unhealthy, and the real stuff tastes better.

(2)  Eat fish.  Go catch it, then eat it.

(3)  Move.  Icelanders walk, bike, and hike into old age.  This keeps them svelt and quick witted.

(4)  Swim.  Icelanders sit in hot tubs and swimming in pools heated by the island’s thermal energy.  They sweat out toxins, top up with Brennivin (a liquorice-tasting liquor), and repeat.

(5)  Know your neighbors.  Icelandic weather can be harsh, so Icelanders long relied on their neighbors to survive.  Now, they have tight-knit communities.  You can be alone in Iceland, but it’s hard to feel lonely.

 

Grjotagja Cave (featured in Game of Thrones).  It's a thermal pool a little too hot for swimming.

The Ring Road was the place to practice Icelandic living.  Alison and I swam in thermal pools, shaking off jet lag and muscle soreness.  We hiked over tawny hills, tussocky fields, black-sand beaches, and around glacial lakes.  We ate fish caught fresh with sweet potato fries and fresh bread.  We spelunked into a thermal cave that had no guard rails or warning signs.  We beheld football-stadium-sized craters caused by magma bubbles that popped.  And we watched reindeer roam freely. 

 

Alison kept us moving along Iceland's alien landscape.

We also drank watery beer.  The alcohol percentage of Icelandic beer hovers around 2.25%, far below the standard 4–5%.  Good for hydrating, bad for getting drunk.  Upon arriving in Keflavik airport, we hit the Duty-Free Store and stocked up on actual alcohol at a discount.  Alcohol is expensive in Iceland, so don’t miss the opportunity upon arriving.

 

I love Icelandic shrubbery.  These are lupines about to bloom in Reykjavik.

After all the nature and hydration the Ring Road provided, we returned to Detroit refreshed, wiser, and ready for more.  Alison flew to New York City for a music festival.  I drove to a conference in northern Michigan and started planning my next trip.  Traveling makes me better.  It helps me fall in love with the world a little more.  Other activities a woman of my age is expected to do, like online dating and lurking in bars, do not.  They make me feel like less, and I'm worth more.

Lambies!  Delicious...

So, put a ring on it or hit Iceland’s Ring Road?  The choice is easy.  It’s time to feel like more--engaged to life and in love with the world.  Whether recently divorced, ready to marry an adventurous sweetheart, or simply, joyfully single, Iceland's roads hold the escape and natural adventure we need.  It's only a plane ticket and a stop by the Duty Free away.  Just remember to take Helga's parking brake off first.

Cheers,

The Super Spinster

Alison and I at Jokulsarlon glacial lake. That is a glacier behind us.