We wake on another frigid morning and fall all over each other in our tiny cabin (I’m sure if you owned it, you’d call it ‘quaint’ or ‘charming’). I somehow succeed in showering even though the shower virtually stoops over the bed. We take off, and stop at a nearby gas station for breakfast. In buying another supply of Skyrr, we probably smash all tourist records for Skyrr purchases on a short vacation, but at least our son is eating something healthy.
We stop at Deildartunguhver, Europe’s biggest hot spring. It’s impressive and we stand close to the water and get soaked. Instead of taking the fast road back to Reykjavik, a hotel employee from Hraunsnef has convinced us to take the slow (bad) road back to get a taste of the interior.By now we’re less intimidated by these awful roads (or just plain stupid) and we make agonizingly slow progress. The scenery is not quite as magnificent as he has promised, but that’s mainly because we’ve seen so many incredible sights already. We do stop a few times but the freezing air goes right through us and each time we race back to the car. As we get further, we see signs posted that this road, or part of it, will be closed the following day for a motor rally, which gives me a combined sense of triumph and lunacy. When we get close to Pingvellir, the road improves at last, and our son gets the chance for one more session of climbing and exploring, at, you guessed it, some spot on the side of the road.
From there it’s a straight run through to Keflavik. We do a final, fun supermarket visit, stocking up with all sorts of tasty (or not) goods that seem a great idea at the time but which we know in our hearts will sit in some cupboard at home for months to come and then be thrown out. We drop the car – no problem – and the airport is as easy (and nice) as we expect. And so we head home after a wonderful trip, full of memorable sights and experiences, and probably more important, a great bonding time between the three of us.