With some hours to kill before our afternoon flight back to Heathrow, we decided to head to the Blue Lagoon for our last hoorah in Iceland. Nothing like Brooke Shields’ Blue Lagoon, this BL is a huge geothermal pool, nestled in between rocks and a power station. Seeing snaps of it, I thought “That doesn’t look too relaxing” but their website and overhearing snippets of conversation a few nights earlier (“The Blue Lagoon? AMAZING! You HAVE to go there”) led me to believe otherwise.
I was chipper and happy and high on cat-patting love for the whole time we were in Iceland, but something seemed to shift on Friday morning. Was it the knowledge that I would soon be leaving my new favourite place? I think it was… Regardless, by the time we bid farewell to the Reykjavik town square and made it to the Blue Lagoon, my mood was…. a little on the dark side. How could this be???
Stepping off a crowded bus in a crowded car park, then lugging our bags along a bustling superhighway of people in between blackened, moss-covered rocks, then into a foyer with about 80,000 people standing around, my earlier thoughts of relaxation (or lack thereof) were slowly readdressed…
Rich and I were given security bracelets for locker access and went our separate ways to get attired in our swimming costumes (no grassy glades here – sayonara open-air nudity).
After wandering through changerooms in search of a spare locker, through countless nekkid ladies in the process of robing and disrobing, my mood got darker and darker. How am I supposed to relax and become at one with nature if I can’t even get into my bathers?
The floor was wet. My feet got clammier and dirtier. Yuck. Clammy feet is a horrible sensation. And clammy is a pretty horrific adjective. Up there with moist. Bleck.
I finally found a free locker, got changed, and ventured out to the pool.
What greeted me was a little like this scene from Arrested Development:
Only instead of hot ham water, the pool was like warm, milky, human soup.
Nevertheless, in I got. The water was warm, yes. It was relaxing too. But they had a bar in the middle of the pool. With a queue 20 people deep, lining up for beer. And icecream. Yes. People were eating magnums IN THE POOL!!! Eating a sandwich in an isolated, outdoor river is one thing, but eating a chocolate icecream in a public swimming pool? It was like someone had mentioned gas. I felt repulsed.
After about 20 minutes I got out and went back to the cold, clammy-floored changeroom, wiped the silica from my skin, got back into my jeans and teesh, and headed to the cafe to wait for Rich. We had a salad and a beer (at a table. NOT in the water), my mood lifted, we got back on the bus, and before we knew it, Iceland was a mere speck on the earth below us.
I think if we’d been to the Blue Lagoon any other day, I would have loved it. But the thought of leaving Iceland, and my ever increasing hangriness, were not the combinations of mood with which to visit…
Next time Blue Lagoon, I will embrace your weird milky texture and indulge in the human soup. So watery. But with a smack of human to it.