TLDR: Jump to pictures

This was a while ago now, but I wanted to share my first (and only, so far) solo travel! I went to Iceland in September 2017 after spontaneously buying a plane ticket that April.

I had always wanted to see more of the world, a thirst that I hope will never be quenched, and I was tired of waiting for others to be ready to travel with me. So when I saw tickets to Reykjavik were under $500 right at the beginning of northern lights season and before it got too cold, I jumped at the chance to explore a new place.

I think my parents and a few friends were nervous about me going alone, but everyone was extremely supportive (other than the one random REI worker who asked “don’t you have friends?” when I told him why I was buying hiking boots) and I set out to do as much research as I could in the five months I had to plan.

Everything I read told me the best way to see the country was to rent a car and drive the ring road, or stay in Reykjavik for a night and form a group with other travelers to split the driving and costs. Well, I wasn’t old enough at 22 to affordably rent a car, and I’m nowhere near brave enough to trust that meeting strangers with the same travel plans would work out. So I settled for sleeping in Reykjavik every night and taking bus tours north and east to see more of the island.

I was also really excited to sign up for a hiking expedition up the Fimmvörðuháls volcano, a small part of the well-known Laugavegur trail, snorkeling in the Silfra fissure, and riding Icelandic horses. I went a little tour-crazy and packed a lot into my six-day trip, leaving only my first and last day to explore Reykjavik.

Finally, the day arrived! I was all packed, I had gotten my Global Entry known traveler number for easier customs processing, and I had even learned a little Icelandic to learn more about my destination. Brendan dropped me off at RDU, and my adventure began!

I landed at Keflavik Airport at around 10pm UTC and took the bus into Reykjavik after grabbing some airplane bottles of Icelandic liquor and licorice candy from the duty free store. I checked the map beforehand to know that my hostel was only half a mile from the bus station, an easy walk, even with my luggage. I hadn’t considered that the bus station would be outside of downtown Reykjavik, without any signs pointing anywhere or streetlights at 11pm. On top of that, my phone’s compass couldn’t get a lock and I ended up crossing the same street four times trying to figure out which direction I was facing!

Eventually, I picked a path and stuck to it, hoping my phone would catch up before I got terribly lost. I started following a paved path that reminded me of the greenway system back home, and luckily the street my hostel was on intersected the greenway! I checked in to my bunk in a 32-person room, grateful for the girl who pointed me to an empty bed before I accidentally woke anyone up, and promptly passed out.

The next day I packed my daypack and headed for downtown Reykjavik with dual goals of sightseeing and buying groceries at Bonus, one of the discount grocery stores. I wasn’t feeling 100%, but I figured it was leftover airplane air drying out my lungs and pressed on, quickly realizing that my hostel was the cheapest around because it was the farthest away from almost anything! It was divided from the main part of the city by a major road with a few crosswalks, but I could see the iconic church Hallgrimskirkja in the distance and made it my north star.

I wandered around Reykjavik’s colorful streets for most of the day, stopping for one of Iceland’s famous hot dogs, or pylsur, from Bæjarins Beztu Pylsur. I’m not a huge fan of hot dogs in the States, but Iceland’s treat is made of a mix of lamb, pork, and beef, and smothered two types of onions and a special sauce called remolaði. Delicious!

Midday, I realized that I needed a water bottle for my hike the next day, and started scrambling around all of the shops to try and find one. I had no luck at Bonus, though I did pick up some sliced smoked lamb, cheese, and whole-grain bread for lunches for the rest of the week and Skyr for breakfast.

My roommate in high school, Abby, brought Skyr back from break in 2010, and we were both eager to try fancy Icelandic yogurt. Abby took one bite and called it quits, doing whatever she could to get the taste out of her mouth as I hesitantly tried some. Skyr doesn’t taste bad, maybe slightly more sour than greek yogurt, but the texture coats your mouth with an odd type of chalkiness.

I was prepared to suffer through the texture for a high-protein, fairly cheap, authentic breakfast when two sweet Irish girls staying in my hostel told me the secret: sugar. After adding a teaspoon of sugar to Skyr (especially vanilla sugar if available), I couldn’t get enough! Mary Poppins was totally right.

Day 2 of my adventure had me up at the crack of dawn to start my hiking tour, hoping that the tiny water bottle I managed to find at a bookstore would be enough for the day. Our guides pulled up in the biggest van I’ve ever seen, with tires almost as tall as I am! We drove about three hours to the entrance of Þórsmörk where the guides let about a quarter of the air out of the van’s tires before continuing on, off-roading, to the trailhead.

We crossed streams so wide and deep that the van felt like a boat in stormy waters, definitely worse than any airplane turbulence I’ve ever felt. When we finally reached the beginning of the hike, the morning sunshine had given away to cloudy cover, cooling the highlands off to nearly 65 F. After a brief safety lesson, we began the ascent!

We came upon the first landmark, the Cat’s Spine, after about fifteen minutes of climbing up the twists and turns of the rocky terrain. There are some neat videos on youtube that show what it’s like, a narrow rock balance beam with a sheer drop of about ten feet on either side. The path opens back up after about fifteen feet, no more than ten steps total (or hops from rock to rock). It’s exhilarating and beautiful and dangerous, Iceland’s wilderness in a nutshell.

We hiked another few miles, slowly winding up the side of the volcano before breaking for lunch. I tried as much as I could to conserve water but the air was brisk and the panic started setting in as my throat dried out. My heart pounded and I couldn’t take more than a few steps without pausing for a break. I started to get worried looks from the other hikers, and tears started welling up as I fell behind. I was sure I was going to die on this volcano.

One of the other hikers, John, was nice enough to slow down and walk behind the others with me, as I tried hard not to outright sob and reminded myself to breathe. Finally, we made it to a large, flat plateau, a welcome break for my exhausted legs but worse for my lungs as a bitterly cold wind picked up. From there, we could see glaciers on both sides, with the peak of the volcano close enough to touch in the distance. We stopped for a break, close to 3 miles through the 4 mile hike, at the edge of the plateau with a breathtaking view down to Þórsmörk Valley, green and lush as rays of sun burst through the clouds and I started to believe again that maybe — hopefully — everything would be alright.

Then, I looked down.

A few hikers, going the other direction, were climbing up from the valley like mountain goats, using a rope attached to the cliff wall for balance. The other side of the valley was the same, with a few more hikers going down before starting the climb back up. I was defeated. I knew I couldn’t go any further, and I told one of the two guides that I didn’t mind waiting here but there was no way I’d be able to make that last mile. She looked at me pityingly, but quietly made sure the other guide would feel comfortable doing the last bit by himself. He announced to the group that anyone who wished had the option to go back down to the trailhead now. One other woman joined me and our guide on what felt like my walk of shame. Going down proved to be much easier, without the stress of whether or not I’d live on my mind.

We sat by the bathrooms at the start of the trail, and I drank as much water as I could while we waited for the rest of the group to come back down. John made sure I was alright, but I was embarassed. I was relieved to be dropped back off at my hostel, knowing I’d never have to face anyone from that day ever again. It was the first real time that my body told me that I have limits. Since then, I’ve learned to listen to myself more, bring enough water, and take it slow at the beginning instead of rushing in headfirst. Maybe one day I’ll go back and conquer that mountain.

Luckily, my third day in Iceland was less eventful. I hopped on a tour bus going west, and we stopped at two astounding waterfalls, Seljaslandsfoss and Skogafoss, the Eyjafjallajökull glacier, the black sand beaches of Vik, and Jökulsárlón glacier lagoon. I started to feel spoiled by the perfect scenery surrounding me wherever I looked, and the planned itinerary of the tour. I took a few pictures at each location, stopped to enjoy the moment, and then had another fifteen to thirty minutes before the guides herded us all back onto the bus. The sheep that dotted the landscape roamed more freely than we did.

The highlight of the day was a boat tour around the glacier lagoon, the wind whipping through my thin hat and rain jacket (I’ve since learned to pack better). We even had an adventure after the boat I was on hit an iceberg and we had to abandon ship by hopping from one boat to another.

On the way home, we stopped at the famous black sand beach Reynisfjara just in time to watch the sunset. I relaxed by the basalt columns, far away from the crashing waves and already missed the bunk bed that I’d come to call home.

Day 4, much like day 3, was mostly spent on a tour bus — going north this time to the Snæfellsnes Peninsula. We saw seals gallavanting around Ytri Beach, walked around the washed-up shipwrecks on Djúpalónssandur Beach, and gazed off the cliffs near Arnarstapi, which made me feel more like I was in Ireland than Iceland. We also stopped by Kirkjufell, or “the mountain shaped like an arrowhead” to Game of Thrones fans.

Before heading back to Reykjavik, we descended into the depths of Vatnshellir Cave, made up of three levels of lava tubes. Each level came with its own slippery spiral staircase, a temperature drop, and myths of the trolls that supposedly lived there.

When we reached the end of the last tunnel, before going back up to the surface, the guide had everyone turn off their flashlights and stand as still as possible to experience true darkness. He said it was the kind that your eyes would never adjust to, and I believed him after a minute of my eyes trying to tune in and finding no relief. Water dripped down from the ceiling, plinking and counting down the seconds of blindness until we turned the lights back on.

I saved the best for my last full day. The morning took me back to Þórsmörk National Park, where I donned a dry suit and snorkel and let the frigid waters of Silfra, the fissure between the North American and Eurasian continental plates, numb my hands and face as I gazed into the depths. The rift was teeming with aquatic plant life, but there were no fish to be seen. My group was the first of the morning, before our fins kicked up any silt and the water was crystal clear. The current pulled us along gently through to a small lake where we climbed out and walked back to the beginning of the fissure for some delicious hot chocolate and cookies.

In the afternoon, I journeyed to Laxness Horse Farm for the opportunity to ride an Icelandic horse, which just so happen to be perfectly sized for my shorter stature. The guide asked our horse riding experience before assigning us a horse. Mine was an old fellow named Thunder, and I was told he’d been doing these tours for nearly ten years! We began the tour and I quickly discovered that Thunder had no intention of listening to me. He knew where he was going and he was going to take his time getting there. Every now and then, the guides would see Thunder and me falling behind and click at him with their tongues to get him to speed up some. I was too busy trying to stay in the saddle to care much about the speed!

I had one last morning in Reykjavik before heading back to the states, and I wandered around the flea market looking for Lopi sweaters for myself and Brendan. Breakfast was another pylsur, and I finally got up the courage to try ordering in stuttering Icelandic! I stopped for one last bowl of lamb soup before heading to the airport, happy with the thought that Brendan would be there to take me home.

I’ll go back to Iceland one day (probably with Brendan in tow) and do the Ring Road the right way! Maybe I’ll even see the Northern Lights.