A winter soak in Sky Lagoon, an Icelandic hotspring
Our plane landed with a sputter in the cold and dark early morning. I could finally unclench my jaw and release Jeremys hand devoid of color. It was bad enough that I had been suffering some of the worst food poisoning of my life, but in the last 20 minutes of our flight the unpredictable Icelandic winds batted us around in the sky like a cat with a toy.
The plane parked on the runway, the doors opened, and we shuffled down a flight of stairs into the darkness. Couples clung to each other as flurries danced amongst orange incandescent lights. Others shifted from side to side holding their arms tightly against their bodies, vapors billowed from the sides of their masks and crystalized. Two buses cruised down the tarmac to take us to the arrivals gate.
If you ever want to feel what it feels like to be held hostage amongst utter chaos, fly into Iceland at 6am.
3 plane-fulls of exhausted travelers converged on baggage claim and stood idly for thirty minutes before the carousel started moving. We waited another twenty minutes for our luggage to finally show up.
As more of us finally found our bags, we shuffled around looking for the non-existent line for customs. Not only was there a lack of signage indicating where to line up, but there weren’t even any airport workers to process our passports and let us into the country.
The line bunched in places, clogged walkways, and folded in on itself like a giant game of Nokia snake. When it felt like we had all been abandoned, stuck in the airport with no exit, a few customs agents finally appeared and began ushering people toward the booths. Forty five minutes later, and we were through the doors and outside in the cold.
Jeremy checked his email looking for directions on how to pick up our car. The rental company was supposedly down the street from the airport. He hoisted his bag onto his shoulders with a grunt and started walking away from the doors.
I protested, panicked that my thin leggings and sweater were not up to the task of keeping me warm, but ultimately followed, dragging my rolling luggage through the snow, the wheels clogging immediately, and rocking from side to side. The lights were off and the windows were dark at rental company. Our reservation wasn’t for another hour, and my stomach tightened when I realized we’d have to stand in the cold and wait, hoping they would come.
I opened my suitcase and pulled out my heavy jacket and pulled it around me. I kicked off my shoes, and pulled my snow pants over my leggings one foot at a time, trying to balance on the balls of my feet. The hour passed slowly. We looked up into the night, searching for signs of morning light, but it was still as black as it was when we landed. We paced back and forth, watching bus after bus arrive at the other rental car companies that were open. We saw several groups of tourists offboard, enter, and drive away with their cars. We finally called the number in our confirmation email and I reached a man. I told him we booked one of his cars and were here and he said they forgot about us and were sending someone from the Reykjavik office to come check us in. They said it would be another thirty minutes. More pacing in the snow.
Thirty minutes later, a car pulled into our empty lot. A man in a yellow snow jacket met us at the door and lead us inside as he turned on the lights. He booted up his computer and searched for our reservation.
”We’re so sorry for the mixup.” He said looking at his screen. “I have approval from my boss to upgrade your car to our Subaru Crosstrek.” Jeremy and I smiled at each other. It was the car we wanted to book all along but it was unavailable on the website. Ten minutes later and we were finally in the car, driving toward Reykjavik just as the sky was shifting to a deep plumb.
We drove directly to Sky Lagoon, a high end hot spring bath located just south of downtown Reykjavik. The parking lot was nearly empty when we arrived but filled up in the 20 minutes. Jeremy napped as we waited for our our appointment window.
At 8 a.m on the dot, Jeremy and I pulled our suits and towels out of our luggage and walked toward the entrance, which was shaped like it was carved out of the hillside. The façade was adorned in a chevron-like pattern. The doors were recessed and black, giving it an appearance of a cave.
Inside, we approached a long counter with a friendly staff. They checked us in, handed us digital wrist bands, and directed us toward the men and women’s locker rooms to change.
The lockers stacked floor to ceiling and were made from a light wood. A grey slate stone tiled the floors, collecting puddles in places. I found a closed bathroom to struggle into my brand new bathing suit and found an available locker, to stuff my clothes and shoes inside. The locker light chirped and turned red as I touched it with my bracelet.
Down the hall, I heard the familiar sound of water slapping the floor. Several women, both naked and in swim suits showered in individual stalls before leaving for the lagoon. I sighed, and found an empty stall relieved to see privacy doors. I twisted my hair up into a tight bun high up on my head, and washed my body with the soap mounted to the wall. Outside the locker room, stairs led down into a pool with steam rising from the surface.
I waded in and pushed beyond the door leading to outside. A brisk air hit my face as I walked through the door. I could barely make out shapes of others through the dense steam. I walked slowly, feeling the rough surface under my feet and scanning every figure, until I found the familiar outline I was looking for. Jeremy stood against a rock wall in the first alcove, hair slicked back. We met and began slowly wading through the narrow channel protected by twenty foot rock walls on either side. The channels let out into an open space, and beyond that, people gathered along the edge to look out into the sea.
The sky overhead was the color of forget me knots. The sun had risen bashfully just above the horizon and we saw Iceland for the first time while sitting in the water up to our necks, enjoying the dual sensations of warm hot springs and cold arctic winds.
The steam, carried by the wind, danced on the surface and rushed toward us and spilled over the edge of the pool and evaporated above the rocks below like dry ice.
After a time, we followed others who drifted toward a building built into the rocks. Our ticket included a special seven-step experience called “the ritual”. It was designed to use the natural forces of hot and cold to rejuvenate the body. From a warm lagoon, we first dunked into a frigid glacial bath. Most people scream upon entering and only stay in for a few seconds, but the immediate relief of entering the warmth of the sauna promised to sooth and awaken a deeper connection with ones self.
The first sauna was a dry heat sauna. The door opened to a large room with tiered seating made of honey colored wood. In the center, a fire smoked and burned inside a column, and beyond that, a wall sized window looked out into the Icelandic ocean. It was the reason why I chose the extra cost of “the ritual”. I needed to sit and sooth and look out into that view.
Within minutes my suit was dry and my lungs begged for moisture. Jeremy sat bent over with his eyes closed, enjoying the heat on his body. I moved on into the next room, a room with an open ceiling which showered me in a light cold mist. I felt invigorated and ready to return to the heat. I traveled back and forth between heat and chilling mist several times until I finally gave up on the heat and just sat and enjoyed the mist room.
I waited until Jeremy was ready to move on for the next steps, which included rubbing a salt scrub all over our arms and legs and heading into a steam sauna.
The steam sauna room was much smaller, and nearly impossible to see how many were inside. I sat, trying not to burn my feet and my legs on the hot stone. The steam invaded my nostrils and my chest. My lungs burned with every inhale in a pain that was both awful and deeply healing. The longer we stayed, the more our sweat mingled with the salt scrub to become oily and slide off our arms.
The final step of “The Ritual” was to shower off all the oils and salt scrub, which left my skin feeling soft and hydrated.
We returned back to the lagoon to sip a drink from the outdoor bar in the lagoon. Our wrist guards chirped once more as we paid for our drinks and waded over to a rocky alcove.
After an hour, we were fully relaxed and headed back to the locker rooms to get dressed. Before we left, we knoshed on a charcuterie board and had a few more drinks. By then, the morning was over and we were ready to drive into Reykjavik to find our airbnb and something to eat.
Our visit to Sky Lagoon was the perfect beginning to an Icelandic adventure.