The next morning, nothing could hold Jürgen back – he had to go to Braud & Co.! Barely on his feet, he dashed off to the bakery, and even from afar, the aroma of freshly baked bread, sweet pastries, and cinnamon rolls filled the air. With bags overflowing, we sat down at the foot of Hallgrímskirkja, savoring the warm cinnamon rolls, and Jürgen could barely hold back his tears: He was incredibly grateful that he had made it all the way to Reykjavík, that he was able to experience this moment, and that his willpower had carried him right here.
Refreshed, we continued our stroll along the colorful Rainbow Street and made a detour to the town hall. There, we admired the large model of Iceland and recognized familiar mountains, valleys, and gorges. When we spotted Höllenheidi, we couldn’t help but laugh – we had planned to tackle that very peak on our first day in Iceland. A bit naive, perhaps, but maybe just the kind of courage you need for a trip like this.
Then we move on. We leave the city and drive to Grindavík, the site of the last volcanic eruption. The black lava flows that carved their way across the streets leave us speechless. Sharp-edged, menacing, yet fascinating, the solidified mass lies there, with Grindavík behind it—a ghost town so deserted and eerie, where nature has already reclaimed most of the land: many streets are torn open and have sunk by up to a meter. A picture of transience and the power of the earth.
From Grindavík, we make a detour to the Blue Lagoon, but only as spectators. It seems surreal to see the crowds there, while we’ve developed a great love for wild swimming spots. Our drive takes us to Hveragerði, a valley known for its hot springs and hot river. At the campsite, a young man tells us that a big festival for Icelandic mythical creatures is taking place, with the locals dressing up. We hike a bit and find a river with a hot waterfall. Two women are bathing beneath it, laughing – a hidden gem, apparently known only to Icelanders. All around, the mountain slopes steam, white clouds rise from the ground, and the air smells of sulfur. It’s as if dwarves are busily working deep underground. For us, this is a magical place where nature and myth intertwine effortlessly. And as we stand there, we feel it clearly: our journey is changing direction. The path now leads us east, and the return journey begins. It’s a strange feeling, yet we are grateful to be able to experience the beauty of Iceland anew each day in the here and now.
