Ice, Fire, Puffin Crumpets, and Pints

Been wanting to go to Iceland for a long time, as it’s so close to the UK and is supposed to be amazing. However, it did take until the New Year to come to fruition due to the fact that it costs somewhere in the region of a billion pounds.

Okay, that’s harsh. It wasn’t actually that expensive for three nights in a hotel and a flight from Edinburgh airport, it’s more … when you get there. Speaking of which, my friend and I were traveling up from Newcastle to Edinburgh on the train the night before, and catching the 6am flight. An opportunity, we both agreed, to visit several Edinburgh pubs and have a delicious meal in Dishoom Indian restaurant. Whilst I thoroughly enjoyed this, and cannot recommend it enough, I would probably recommend getting more than two hours sleep a little more highly.

No matter, for, after not making enough of an effort with the American Express reward of access to the first class lounge that my friend let me use (sorry – I enjoyed the yoghurt and juice though), we were afforded the option of sleeping on the plane. It not being a private jet, I slept against the window, and subsequently, my arm. When I awoke, I appeared to have trapped a nerve, and couldn’t feel half my hand. Annoying, but I wasn’t going to let it ruin the trip. In fact, I still can’t feel it now as I type this two months later, and should probably go to the doctor, but that’s not relevant.

We touched down in a very nice-looking airport, where night had already befallen due to the miniscule amount of daylight Iceland receives in the winter. There were some Antony Gormley-esque statues outside, and the exterior of the whole building looked somewhat like a modern art gallery. We went to investigate the price of a coach to Reykjavik, as the international airport is not actually located at the capital. Two tickets were somewhere in the region of a billion pounds, so we instead decided to get the peasant bus. Its existence was clear on signs in the airport, but following these signs just led to nowhere, and you ended up at the coach stop again. A quick google search informed us that this is by design, and that the peasant bus will remain elusive to tourists for all time. So we paid up.

The coach journey to Reykjavik revealed Iceland to be exactly that. Vast quantities of clear snow for miles, and not a tree in sight. This is apparently because the early settlers took it upon themselves to chop them all down, and they’ve never really returned. When we finally entered civilisation, we passed a modern art gallery that looked a bit like an airport. What else might this strange, upside-down country have to offer?

Well, despite being incredibly sleep-deprived, we decided to cram as much as we could into the first day. First on the list was a baked good. Now, one thing I was not looking forward to in this country was the food. Tales of fermented shark, sheeps’ heads, whale and dried fish, did not sound very appealing. But lest we not forget that Iceland was once occupied by Denmark, and whereas a Viking may be fond of a sheep’s head or two, the Danes do love themselves a pastry. And by God they were good. I had a chilli cheese twist and a raspberry braid and knew instantly I wasn’t going to find something this good anywhere else.

I decided it was paramount that we thank God for this discovery, and so headed up the road to Hallgrímskirkja, the famous neo-Gothic church that overlooks the city. I must confess this pilgrimage was hampered by a sheer inability to successfully traverse the terrain. In the UK (and I believe the majority of the Western world) we have grit, meaning rock salt that is scattered everywhere to absorb the ice and snow. In Iceland, they have grit, meaning they aren’t a bunch of pussies and can walk on this terrain easily. Our foreign status was poorly disguised, but we did make it to the church without any fatalities.

It's an impressive building. I’m not usually a fan of more modern architecture for churches, being a Catholic raised in the remnants of Henry VIII’s England, but I will admire real architectural beauty, and this had that. I’m not an architect, and it isn’t the same style, but it reminded me of Paddy’s wigwam in Liverpool, a rare British Catholic Church that is fairly impressive. The view from the top, over Reykjavik, was equally as impressive, even if the height was a deliberate move to outshine the country’s Catholic cathedral. I practically fell out the window as well when the bell sounded. Time for a drink.

Wandering about the city, there were loads of nice-looking bars, and we came across one of the nicest bars I’ve ever been to. It was a former bookshop, old-fashioned style with levels and ladders, like something out of ‘Beauty and the Beast,’ except that they’d built a bar into it, opted to keep the books, and got themselves a house band. The band weren’t about this early, but a drop of Einstock was, which we sipped with a lovely view of ‘Bastard Brew and Food’ (presumably named after the price).

Now, I am of course exaggerating when I say everything’s a billion pounds, but it is expensive. People told me, before I went, that it’s “a tenner a pint.” Well, people say that in this country too, but I find it usually translates as circa £7.90. This was a tenner. And not even that, it technically wasn’t even served in pints, but two-thirds. However, Einstock was one of the nicest beers I’d ever sipped, and so was happy to keep drinking it, even though a few rounds cost a billion pounds.

For the evening, as a pair of food enthusiasts, we had booked a tasting menu restaurant, Skál (Icelandic for cheers). This was one of the few things on the trip that cost a billion pounds there, but also costs a billion pounds anywhere else, so it is actually good value (something confirmed by our tour guide the next day). This was one of the nicest meals I’ve ever had, with scallops, fish, delicious veg, steak tartare, lamb, and a delicious white chocolate mousse to name a few courses. I forgot to take pictures of them all, including the best one (the lamb), and can’t remember the details exactly, but here are some samples (not to mention the delicious wine pairing):

Fitting that the sign on the door of the restaurant said “Food, Wine, Drinks, More Food, More Wine, More Drinks,” as this is pretty much the philosophy by which I live my life. And the reason I woke up the next morning with no memory. Although before I blacked out I do remember returning to the bookshop bar and watching the house band perform Bohemian Rhapsody, which I’d never seen live before and was pretty impressive. Going to blame my subsequent behaviour on the consumption of the Icelandic spirit Brennivín, also known, I’m reading just now, as “Black Death.”

We were awoken by the sound of a Techno concert in the small hours, which turned out to be a construction site located outside the hotel room window.

Time to getup anyway, however, as we had booked “The Golden Circle” today, a tour round Iceland’s most beautiful natural wonders. No, I didn’t book the blue lagoon because I’m not paying a billion pounds for a swim. Yes, I know there’s a bar and I know it’s really warm. But the hotel had a spa, and from my jacuzzi I was able to order a glass of wine using a QR code, so the joke’s on you.

En route to the Golden circle, we acquired some more baked goods, this time a bagel with a delicious sauce and a cruller that was fashioned by the Gods themselves. On the bus, a fellow passenger stated “just to check this is going to blue lagoon yeah?” causing me to shit myself. Other passengers also shit themselves I think, as there was much murmuring. The driver kindly explained this was a tourist pick-up bus, to which the passenger next to me stated “going to the airport yeah?” All our fears were relieved, thankfully, when we arrived at our destination: another bus stop with multiple buses.

As we waited, a big Icelandic fella said he was looking for a “Matthew Short?” Having heard this joke multiple times as a child I obliged, and he then said “ahhhhhh I’m just kidding Matthew Long” looking very pleased with himself. Now, that is funny because it’s an Icelandic tour guide saying it, not a British schoolkid. It is also pretty impressive, I think, when people make language-based jokes in a language that is not their own.

Sven was the guy’s name (although I don’t think I’m spelling that right) and he was really canny. He was chatting away as we headed towards our first destination on the Golden circle tour, which was a big depot in the middle of an industrial site. It turned out that Sven had forgotten his phone and his lucky Yoda hat. After that, the master was at work, showing us mountains, fields, and Kentucky Friend Chickens, with a personal anecdote for each. We then arrived at the Þingvellir National Park, where two continental tectonic plates meet, with a vast valley in between, and a huge wall alongside. We admired this, and then asked the tour guide which bit he was talking about when he said the wall from Game of Thrones was filmed here. He kindly pointed out the huge wall alongside.

Back to the coach on time (for fear of being forced to sing Icelandic songs as punishment), we then headed to the next stop. The roads, by the way, are insane. This Polish guy who was driving the bus did some of the most impressive manoeuvring I’ve ever seen. I simply cannot comprehend the talent of people who drive big vehicles in such terrain. Anyhow, we arrived at the Geysir geothermal area, but before we went to see the geysers, we were to learn about the geezers, i.e. the blokes who used to participate in traditional Icelandic wrestling. Sven took great pleasure in telling us how on an earlier tour a Korean guy had volunteered, and Sven had picked him up and “hurled him to the ground.” I didn’t volunteer.

Please don’t ask to explain the science behind geysers. They are remarkable, erupting hot springs in volcanic areas, and we were lucky enough to witness a tripler.

Before the next stop, Sven said that as there were only six of us on his bus and that we’d been so punctual, that he would take us to an extra stop that isn’t usually included, a nearby field with some friendly Icelandic horses, and we could meet them and feed them. He said this wouldn’t usually be an option in a big group, as it gets too much, but as we were only a small number, it would be fine. This was a lovely gesture, and it was nice. It was just us six, him, the horses, and the bus of about 100 other tourists that arrived at the same time. But no matter, I did still manage to meet and feed a horse, and here I am looking very pleased about it:

Equally as impressive as the geysers was the third stop on the tour, the Gullfoss waterfall, the view of which we have Sigríður Tómasdóttir to thank. She was an Icelandic environmentalist who walked all the way to Reykjavik on foot several times to ensure its preservation. It looks majestic all the time by all accounts, but it looked particularly so in the snow. Add a nearby café selling whisky hot chocolates (circa 1 billion pounds), and what’s not to like?

We had wondered, thinking of something to do on the third day, if we might attend an Icelandic football match, as Sven had been talking about football on the bus. As he dropped us off, we asked him, and he kindly told us to go to the English pub. “Nooo” we said, we meant an actual live match, in the Icelandic league. He said he wasn’t sure. My friend pointed out quite accurately that, like the Irish, the Icelandic have crap football teams because they don’t support them; they all support Man United. Although their national team did knock England out of the Euros in 2016, Sven did remind us. But we won’t dwell on that.

More drinks were required, and a decision was made (not by me) to sample some local cuisine. Now, in the Icelandic bar (where you go for Icleandic cuisine), there were lots of questionable things on the menu, but I just ordered lamb (it is technically local – they’re overrun with sheep). My friend, however, insisted on ordering a puffin crumpet, astounded that something so ludicrous was available. Especially as in our country, chef Gordon Ramsey got into a spot of bother for barbecuing a puffin that attacked him.

I was honestly expecting a Tesco’s own style crumpet with a puffin sat atop it, but what it actually was was more of a pancake, with a nice dressing and this incredibly gamey, delicious meat, which I’m sorry to say (especially to all the people’s mams who have gasped when hearing this), I would have again in a heartbeat.

We then opted for the shark. These sharks, some of which have been around since Henry VIII was downgrading the Catholic churches of England, are apparently poisonous, and so the Viking fellas get them, cut off their heads, and bury them in their own urine for months. This apparently renders them edible. They are then served on cocktail sticks with shot of the aforementioned Black Death and an apparent cod-based substance that I’m afraid I can only describe as akin to a sock you may find under a teenage boy’s bed. To be perfectly honest, though, the shark itself … was alright.

After some more drinks, and some fruitless conversations with more Man United fans, we decided to then sample the “unofficial” food of Iceland, a hot dog from the hot dog stand. Famously ordered (incorrectly – look it up) by Bill Clinton on his visit, these are made with lamb instead of … well, whatever a hot dog is made of, and are quite simply one of the most delicious things I’ve ever had. We went for one, we returned for four each. At some point as well we did run into a fan of Icelandic football, who kindly informed us the season runs in the summer due to the weather. Still no excuse for supporting Man United.

On the final day we breakfasted on two lovely toasties and coffees (billion pounds) but only really had more hot dogs and beers, due to the weather rendering the northern lights unavailable on a potential tour, and the price rendering me unavailable for the potential tour. So we played darts with Spanish lad in the English pub and watched the football, and realised that, despite no northern lights, we really had been lucky. Honestly, one of the best trips I’ve ever been on.

Another good night on the Einstocks meant we slept in for the bus to the airport. I’m not even going to begin to try and explain how much the taxi was.

Skál!