My experience of travel to various places has taught me that one should always include a "slack day" in one's travel plans. There are a number of good reasons for having a day with few or no activities planned: you can re-visit someplace you really enjoyed, you can switch around if something is closed or too crowded, you have a cushion in case someone doesn't feel good or is simply too tired, and you've got a day to just hang out in another country. Sometimes that's the most enjoyable part of a trip.
Friday was our slack day. We got swabs stuck up our noses to make sure we'd be allowed to fly home, then got lunch at a conveyor-belt sushi restaurant on the waterfront. It was pretty good — in the same league as sush in Seattle, which was better than any I've had on the East Coast but not as good as in Japan. Evidently nose-swabbing gave us an appetite because we put away a lot of sushi, mostly salmon and tuna.
One aspect of "globalization" which has been consistently disappointing to me is the remarkable lack of culinary crossovers. Iceland is a country where people eat a lot of fish, sushi is a Japanese method of preparing fish, so why didn't I see any codfish sushi? Why don't the taco trucks in Philadelphia have cheesesteak tacos? Why don't po-boy places in New Orleans serve banh mi sandwiches?
I appreciate authenticity — but I'm also aware that most authentic cuisines are a mass of borrowing and hybridization. In this era of creeping global monoculture, it's odd that food lags behind. I think we're missing some potentially good dishes.
Anyway, the sushi was good. After lunch we got our swimsuits and drove down to the Nautholsvik Geothermal Beach, which is a public park at the south end of Reykjavik, just past the municipal airport and Reykjavik University (not to be confused with the University of Iceland, which is on the other side of the airport).
Like the much bigger, much fancier, and much more famous Blue Lagoon spa, Nautholsvik is not a natural geothermal spring. It's the hot water outflow from a geothermal heating system — which means the water temperature can be monitored and controlled to avoid boiling the patrons. Natural springs don't have thermostats.
Sir William Jackson Hooker described the "boiling springs" of Iceland in his day: "I rode, however, one morning, to the hot spring, where I found a tent pitched, and as many Icelandic women and girls as it could possibly hold, sheltering themselves in it from the weather. They had come with their linen, which was brought on horses from the town, to the hot spring, where all the clothes of the people, for many miles round, are washed. Some of them had a few little miserable potatoes, not so large as a full-sized walnut, which they were cooking in the spring for their dinner, and which they offered me. I had carried with me some eider-ducks' eggs, for the purpose of trying how long it would take to boil them hard, and I found they required ten minutes, whilst lying in a part of the water where the thermometer rose to 200°."
You get a sense of what a high-trust society Iceland has in places like the Nautholsvik locker room. There are no lockers, and certainly no locks. Just plastic baskets to stash your clothes — and keys, and wallet, and phone — in while you soak in the hot pool.
The water's about 100 degrees Fahrenheit, very pleasant on a day when the air temperature didn't get above 50. There is a sheltered cove with a sandy beach where crazy people like my science advisor can go and dip themselves in life-threatening cold seawater before retreating up the slope to the hot water of the pool. I didn't indulge in any such foolishness.
Perhaps it was an artifact of the time of day, mid-afternoon, but we were definitely in the "prime demographic" for the Nautholsvik geothermal pool — middle-aged and older adults. After we'd been there about an hour some teenagers arrived, but they were still in the minority when we left. Maybe teens don't feel as much of a need to soak their joints in hot water.
Relaxed almost to a comatose state, we showered off and then had dinner at what may be my favorite restaurant in Iceland: Islenski Barinn. It has local food like fish pie (more like a cross between shepherd's pie and chowder), dung-smoked salmon on brown bread, excellent crepes, and local beer. The decor looks unchanged since Iceland's independence, and it is considerably less expensive than Dill.
After some more strolling about, we finished up our last full day in Reykjavik with a glass of wine at one of the downtown hotels, and then to bed.
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