Kevin’s Note: I took notes and tapped out ideas and phrases as things were happening but got behind on the actual writing and collating of photos for certain days. The summary of our trip to the Blue Lagoon is unfortunately especially cursory. But I like to think this is because I was so relaxed from bopping along in the warm “bathtub” waters of the preeminent tourist geothermal bathing site in Iceland… and possibly the world.
As part of our TravellingFit package, we opted for the Golden Circle tour on Sunday instead of the Blue Lagoon excursion. Consequently, we booked our own trip to the BL for our free day today, Friday, August 19, 2016. I had gotten us tickets via viator.com and foolishly hemmed and hawed on the booking long enough to miss out on the 10% off coupon they had offered. There’s a lesson to be learned there — when opportunity presents itself, and you can get a discount on opportunity, what are you waiting for? The internet meme acronym might be BTFT — Book the freakin’ thing! (Ahem, some may choose to use a slightly, um, more colorful metaphor for the words here. “Book the freakin’ THANG!” after all has a bit more joie de vivre!).
Our pickup was scheduled for 8 AM and as was the case with the airport transfer, we were first taken to a depot to transfer to another bus for our destination. Not a lot of information or signage during this — I don’t know if Icelanders are just inherently aware of how to do things, possessing some sort of Viking lizard brain that enables them to instinctively know what to do in queues, traveling, or situations wherein one needs to get from Point A to Point B, but as a snarky American traveler, I was left a bit befuddled. Oh, who am I kidding? My modus operandi is befuddled.
Regardless, we checked in with the bus tour desk and got sent out to the first bus of the day headed to the Blue Lagoon. It was about a 45 minute ride there and my jetlagged, insomniac, post-17.5 hour tour self dozed in and out of consciousness. But I was awake as we saw the steam plumage. Plumage? Vapors? Whatever the right term, it felt like the Earth itself was springing leaks of steam… and I suppose in some way that is what was happening.
The resort itself has a Disney-ified vibe, which isn’t a bad thing for this Mickey Mouse Club kid. From the parking lot, there’s a large welcome sign (de rigeur photo op) and then a long path carved amongst the black volcanic rocks. It builds anticipation and excitement for the main attraction.
Inside the visitors center, by bringing our own towels, we saved ourselves 15 euros apiece. Why the prices were in Euros versus ISK Icelandic Króna I don’t honestly know. A quick explanation from the ticket taker followed — there’s changing rooms, showers, and then we should head out into the lagoon. The locker rooms were a maze of sci-fi sheen, white hallways that wouldn’t have been out of place in certain parts of George Lucas’ THX-1138. No photos from there thank you very much… this is runkevinrun.com not runkevinrun.xxx. The lockers themselves opened and locked with our issued RFID wristbands; With a flick of the wrist we could purchase drinks, massages, face masks, etc. Magic bands, indeed.
Meeting up with Mom in the lagoon foyer, we walked through the electronic eye doors, scanning our wristbands for entrance. The doors parted and we walked out into the chilly 60 degree weather… and then into the 100 degree lagoon itself.
It’s not a swimming pool. It’s not a bathtub. But it’s a mineral rich hot spring, a geothermal bathing hole that has pockets of warmer and cooler water due solely to the flow of water from the earth’s core. The closest thing I’d done to this previously was when I once floated in the Dead Sea. But here, Mom and I bobbed along, me trying to snap photos with my iPhone without it dipping into the water, taking in the sights and sounds of the whole surreal experience. It really did feel like something out of Logan’s Run or The Island — all sorts of people lounging in the water, sipping drinks from the floating bar, scrubbing complimentary silica facial cream on faces to rejuevenate and revitalize the skin and soul. I’m really glad I went but there was an odd feeling of my being out of place, like I was an interloper in a society not my own.
But when in Rome… or in this case, the Blue Lagoon… here’s me slathering the silica on my face. It was like caulking my skin — now I know what bathroom tile must feel like when its installed. The white stuff caked on and hardened and 5-10 minutes later I washed it off in the Blue Lagoon itself. Did I feel younger? Did I look it? I’m honestly not sure. But I had a weird, wonderful and fun experience so that’s really the end result.
We waddled through the water to the bar. Warnings of dehydration had us consider a bottle of water but cheapness prevailed, I was awfully tempted by this. I mean, try the blue stuff, it’s delicious! Don’t believe me? Ask the fishes!
But then I realized it was the same old Krap.
Before calling it a day, we did grab a refreshingly pounding massage courtesy of the waterfall at lagoon edge.
We were only there about two hours but we felt like we had gotten our money’s worth. We split up and went to our respective showers. Everyone warned us to make sure and use the complimentary conditioner as without it the minerals of the lagoon water would turn our hair to straw for weeks. I backtracked my way out of the taupe maze of uniform lockers and eventually made my way back to the front reception.
Sitting outside, I waited for mom.
And waited.
And waited.
And just when I was about to ask somebody at reception to go check on her, mom appeared, showered and ready to go, but looking like she just had completed a U-Turn challenge on the Amazing Race, I wasn’t far off. Like me, she found the locker room to be a sterile labyrinth of white and kept getting turned around and given bad directions to the exit. Instead of the exit exit, people must have thought she wanted the exit to the lagoon — odd as she was in street clothes but never underestimate the power of assumptions by other people when getting directions.
Back in Reykjavik, we wound up at a kebab place for an intended lighter lunch, the evening’s carbo load group dinner looming large on our calendar. Our pita sandwiches were surprisingly great, albeit the service was what I now view as somewhat typical of
Icelandic restaurants. It was slow and not necessarily rude but ambivalent and inattentive. If you aren’t in a hurry and want to linger, lounge, and nurse your drink, it’s probably ideal. But as fuzzy Americans always, and perhaps not always rightly, looking to go-go-go, it can be a bit… Or maybe a lot… Frustrating.
Though I was tempted to hit the Viking museum, I instead opted for one final bit of running in the afternoon. I just needed to move my legs — after the prior day’s long bus ride, and despite the soothing waters of the Blue Lagoon, physically and psychologically I just need to hit the road. It’s an unhealthy addiction to a healthy thing … albeit some know-it-alls will claim running is terrible for you… I don’t know. Running is like eggs — some say good, some say bad. Some say butter is better than margarine, whilst others say the opposite. Do what works for you I say. And running usually works for me.
To nutritionally prepare for the marathon on the morrow, the TravellingFit tam headed to the Reykjavik Restaurant no more than 100 yards from our hotel. A seafood buffet was on the menu. It was quite a spread… Although for my money the couscous was the star of the evening.
I chatted with my fellow travelers and enjoyed a few funny moments with 6-year-old Isaac. His dad was running his first marathon ever; his mum and sister and he were all slated to do the 3km fun run. A fellow American, 25-year-old Malia, was running her first marathon in 4 years and said she wasn’t sure how she’d do (Kevin’s Postscript Note: she as being charmingly humble and sandbagging us I suspected at dinner; her official time after the race of 3:30 bore this out). Julian was supporting his wife Chris; she recently did the Dopey Challenge in Walt Disney World where she won her age group in the 10k, half, and marathon distances. Anoop was running a marathon and Priya was there to cheer him on. And those folks were just at my table!
Mari Mar, TravellingFit’s Chief as her race day shirt would say, introduced some of these stories, including Phil, who at 66 she described so wonderfully as our “wisest marathoner.” (Kevin’s Post Script Note – After the race Phil said his legs gave him trouble in the early teens but he muddled through — typical Aussie modesty — he crushed it with a terrific 4 and change hour time!).
And speaking of typical, Mari-Mar made every effort to make the event special and memorable for each and every member of the TravellingFit crew, no matter what distance they were running, no matter whoever they were there cheering on. There was definitely a nervous energy, as the dawning realization that when the sun next rose we’d have to run our respective races. Nineteen were running the full marathon, I think seven were doing the half, five the 10k and three of the family were tackling the 3k run. And the always important cheer squad included three people to clap and ring cowbells along the course, including my Mom.
In case it’s not clear, across the board, the TravellingFit folks were delightful and fun.
As for the food — I did something I’m not sure if I’m proud of albeit I’m not “not-proud” of either. I ate whale. And I know that’s tantamount to eating bald eagle or tiger or any number of things I shouldn’t eat. But it was there and it felt like if I wanted to see what Icelandic food might’ve been or might still be like, I should avail myself of it. It wasn’t as if my NOT eating it would have brought George and Gracie Whale back to life. Poor rationalization I know but it’s all I’ve got.
It was a very chewy raw fish, not unlike some forms of sushi I’ve had over the years. Whether that was a particular type of fish or just poorly prepared sliced sushi I, not sure but I can say definitively that dousing the whale in enough sauce and it was perfectly edible. But that may be true of most things — put enough sauce on it and I could probably eat my boot a la Charlie Chaplin. Perhaps that’s not the foodie way but at times the sauces are the best way to stomach things. I know one should never do anything different before a race so chewing down on whale for the first time ever might not have been the smartest decisions… For any number of reasons… but if I followed that advice, would I ever do anything? I kinda ALWAYS seem to be heading into s race.
Besides, I would never order whale otherwise. It just seemed like the thing to do,. Again, I’m well aware this probably makes me an awful person and negates any chance I may have in signing aboard a Sea Shepherd ship. But I also am aware I think I would have regretted it if I DIDN’T eat the whale. What’s the internet meme and inspirational college dorm cat poster that sees resurgence now and again?
You don’t regret the things you do, you regret the things you don’t do.
Speaking of which, Isaac showed me a photo his mum took of him facing the picked over fish carcass on the buffet line. Jealous of such a great moment captured, I convinced him to join me for a pic on the way out of the restaurant. Here then is the Reykjavik Fish Face-Off photo I would later post on Facebook.
As is often the case, I had trouble sleeping the night before the race. I run quite a bit and people ask if it ever gets any easier. It doesn’t. One should always respect he distances being undertaken and not take for granted the privilege time, energy, and life has afforded to enable you to toe the starting line.
Tomorrow, I run 42.195 kilometers in Reykjavik.