Iceland!!!
Photography by Skye Parrott
Before visiting Iceland, all I knew about it was that it looked like outer space. Since this was the full extent of my knowledge about the country, I kept saying it whenever it came up: “I heard Iceland looks like outer space.” People would nod their heads in agreement and I thought it made me sound clever. After visiting, I can say in many ways I was right (about the space thing, not the clever bit) – but not in the ways I expected. Although lceland’s landscape is rugged and otherworldly, remarkably you always have a sense of where you are and what it is, because in many ways it’s exactly as it’s always been, trolls and all.
It only took my family about three-and-a-half hours to fly from Paris to Reykjavik. Our itinerary, organized by luxury travel company Black Tomato, had us spending the night in Reykjavik before catching a plane the following day to Akureyri Airport in the country’s north. We spent the night at Hotel Borg, a historic property in the city center, overlooking the capital’s Parliament building and main square. Tired from traveling and without reservations for the hotel’s well lit (if a bit fancy for our kids) restaurant, we stumbled into the premature dusk. We ate dinner at the closest spot we could find, a local cafe called Icelandic Street Food. They served only soup: two kinds, in a choice of regular bowls or ones made of bread. Our kids are still talking about it.
The next morning, facing ongoing labor strikes, we decided to drive north to the Troll Peninsula rather than fly. I love driving. I especially love driving where I’ve never been before because you learn a lot about a place — its politics and its people — by how they drive, what they drive, how they eat when they’re driving, and what their roads look like. And, despite concerns that the labor strikes might cause gas shortages and road closures there was no reason to risk the airport; Iceland is one of the least populated and most scenically dramatic countries in the world, alongside being the actual safest. It would take four and a half hours and we would circumnavigate about a third of the island.
The four-and-a-half-hour drive took us nearly nine hours to complete — not due to road closures or gas shortages. What we found instead were some of the most spectacular landscapes I have ever seen. Although it was early February, all of the snow that had covered the country just a week prior had melted, strangely (although not so strangely these days). What the thaw revealed was spectacular. For a few miles, hardy, long-haired, wheat-colored grass flowed over everything, creating what appeared to be a deep, wavy sea. Then suddenly, the landscape was dominated by wildly asymmetrical and impossibly porous volcanic boulders which were covered in moss. Fjords gave way to waterfalls, and all around were a vast, seemingly endless array of grassy volcanic mountains. We’ve seen a lot, traveled to a lot of different places, but none of us had ever experienced anything like this.
Our kids had lots of questions about the landscape (mostly our youngest, who has lots of questions about everything). “There are no trees,” she noted. My wife Googled it, learning that the Vikings cut most of them down and the harsh soil makes it tough to grow anything. And then, as my wife continued to Google her many other questions, we almost missed our turn down the long private road that leads to Deplar Farm, one of the best places I've ever stayed.
Tucked away – and by tucked away, I mean completely isolated – in the Fljót Valley of northern Iceland, the 28,000-square-foot, 13-bedroom lodge was what I imagined it would be like to have a really wealthy friend. Sadly, I imagined, he wouldn’t be able to join us during our stay but had given us full run of the place, his attentive staff at our disposal. The property included an indoor-outdoor geothermal pool (with bar, of course); a gym with floor-to-ceiling windows, fully equipped with Rogue Fitness gear; a recording studio; a movie room; and an incredible bunk room for kids featuring a wall of stacked, curtained, double beds that impressed our 16-year-old so thoroughly he didn’t even complain about sharing a room with his two little sisters.
Every stay is curated to accommodate the needs, interests, wants of each guest. What I found that to mean was that staying at the converted sheep farm felt intimate and personal, but never overbearing. The atmosphere was quite relaxed, and while we did go for an incredible horseback ride, like most of the guests we spent the bulk of our time on the property, in slippers. As I watched my daughters joyfully struggle to complete a game of ping-pong, and my son inspected the collection of vinyls, I thought: This is indeed a special place, perfectly executed, impeccably balanced.
Along with heli-skiing (which Deplar Farm is specifically built for), the big draw at the time of year we visited was, of course, the Northern Lights. Upon our arrival, the staff told us they would knock on our doors (in the middle of the night if necessary), if/when they made an appearance. We didn’t have to wait long. Almost as soon as the sky went dark, we were called outside to watch the ethereal green show that appeared after dinner, as though on command, both nights we spent at the property. On the second night we watched them from the geothermal pool, steam pouring up into the lit up sky.
After three days, it was time to move on to Torfhus Retreat, with its pared down, but well tuned and more accessible viking aesthetic.
Founded by Siggi Jensson, a local, and his Swiss partner Alex Hoop, the 50-hectare site, perfectly situated within the country’s Golden Circle, invites guests to both escape and explore. We did some of the obvious exploring – Gullfoss Falls, just one of the truly insane waterfalls that dot Iceland ; Geysir, the first recorded European geyser, from which the word derives; and Thingvellir National Park, the only place in the world where the Tectonic Plates are exposed, allowing you to drive from the North American plate, across a valley, to Europe. We also did some less expected things, like visit the Icelandic Seal Center, a tiny museum in the northern town of Hvammstangi, which houses fishing gear and a few stuffed seal (we were happy to support a local attraction, but the children were hoping for live ones); and one of Iceland’s numerous hot springs, which felt like entering a small town’s public pool, with lockers and hot dogs at the concession stand, except the water was steaming and smelled lightly of sulfur.
At Torfus, there are two kinds of cabins: Torfbaer, and Torfhus (which give the property its name). The one-bedroom, 300 square-foot Torfbaer cabins are individual units, with geothermically heated basalt stone pools shared between three cabins. Each of the larger, two-bedroom Torfhus units has its own. My wife and I shared a Torfhus with our two daughters, while our 16-year-old son lived out a wild Viking boy fantasy (who knew) in a Torfbaer of his own.
Crafted from local stone, lined in reclaimed oak, and sitting under a living turf roof, both cottage styles felt equal parts magic, rustic, and refined. Notably, the entire facility is also powered hydroelectrically and geothermally (no plastic bottles allowed). And everything on the property, including all building materials and furniture, are either locally sourced or reclaimed. Anything that requires fabrication is done by hand, often utilizing traditional practices.
The full intent of the owner’s vision came into focus over dinner, where we experienced one of the most enchanting, dinner-theater-like food experiences of our lives: We were served locally farmed meat and fish seasoned with regionally grown fruits and herbs, presented on oversized stone and wood platters. As the chef set our plates on fire, I watched the sleepy eyes of all three children come to life with amazement and maybe a little terror. Once we finished our nattmall (a local stew) the chefs presented our desserts, which came shaped like eggs, smashing one onto each of our plates to reveal the deliciousness concealed inside. As we stumbled outside, we were again greeted by the eerie glow of the Northern Lights, dancing across the sky.
After three days, it was, again, time to say goodbye. Driving to the airport (only 90 minutes away), we asked our kids what they thought about Iceland. Unanimously, they revealed that it was their favorite trip they’d ever taken.
Reflecting upon it myself, I was reminded of a piece Agnes Calard wrote for the New Yorker. It’s made the rounds, because it’s an intentionally oppositional hot take on travel. She essentially characterized travel as a form of locomotion, mindlessly wandering from one acclaimed, Insta-worthy site to another. For some, sure, this may be the case. And while this trip didn’t produce an ideological intrapersonal change within me (because that’s not how change happens), it did provide us all with a definitively clearer understanding of various geological activity, which facilitates a sharper understanding of who we are and our roles here on Earth. This, in turn, will further compel me to not buy that plastic wrapped whatever and, instead, wait just a bit longer, or walk a bit further to refill my water bottle. Because reading about shifting tectonic plates is a completely different experience than standing on top of them. Viewing the Northern Lights, in real time, is a wholly incomparable experience to viewing the astral phenomenon on the screen of a friend’s phone. Seeing first hand that the Earth is alive, and that it’s lovely and magnificent and impossible, is life-changing in and of itself. And I, along with my kids, would all be better served by learning how to properly care for a thing like that, which we have, via travel.