Like many before me, I saw Reykjavik through a sheet of persistent drizzle. The Icelanders do not even bother with umbrellas, going about their daily business oblivious to the wet. Miraculously, they still look immaculate, hair tidier than I can ever get mine. I can only assume that the Icelanders have evolved to possess hair which repels water.
Reykjavik would barely pass for a large town in England. Damp and tinged with an ethereal white-blue light, is still has a strange charm. The houses are mostly of metal and brightly coloured, a successful attempt to bring a cheery contrast to all the vast white sky. The dripping of water on leaves and clattering of rain on their metal roofs are two sounds which will bring me back to this city. The gardens have hopeful picnic benches, flowers and moss-covered lava stones. All very beautiful.
Leftover marigolds are everywhere, lingering in temperatures which barely reach double figures. The peripheries of the city are alight with the beautiful autumn colours.
This photo sums up my day in Reykjavik perfectly
And the highlight of the day? Possibly chancing across a lovely old cemetary full of twisted trees, metal fences and flowers.
We ended the day at Perlan, climbing a wooded hillside to the water reserves at the top. My inner child awoke again at the spacious undergrowth, asking to be crawled into. I only half resisted and crouched in a little glade with springy earth and trees instead.
View from Perlan. The smoke in the bottom left is from is from a hot spring
On the walk back to the hotel, I noticed that despite the rain I hadn't put my hood up or registered whether it was raining or not. Perhaps after just a day here I have already started metamorphosising into an Icelander.
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