In the past few years, you’ve undoubtedly seen more of your Instagram timeline in Reykjavík, Iceland, splashing in ethereal turquoise lagoons or showing off shitty, blurry Northern Lights captures. That’s largely due to the relatively cheap, direct flights offered from cities like Baltimore and New York by the fairly new (and often lamented) Wow Airlines, headquartered in Reykjavík. Nothing’s free on a typically hours-delayed Wow flight, and you have a decent chance of arriving to your destination without your checked luggage. I paid $250 for a direct flight from Baltimore to Iceland, though, which is hard to beat. Add the $44.99 carry-on luggage charge and it was still $100 less than the next cheapest flight available. If you’re fine forgoing comfort for six hours (and don’t need to check a bag), this is an amazing deal.
It’s cheap getting to Iceland, but it’s by no means cheap staying there. I stayed at an Airbnb flat about 40 minutes outside of Keflavik airport, where the hot water smelled like rotting eggs (which we realized was not an uncommon occurrence there). My rental car was an Opel Corsa, and despite it being a low-quality compact car, cost 75 dollars to fill (which I had to do twice in 3.5 days). Stumbling through directions written in Icelandic, I used my debit card at the gas station and ended up with over $400 in temporary authorizations hanging out in my account. Later, a Twitter friend informed me that I should have used a credit card at the station instead.
I arrived on a Friday morning and had a day by myself before my friend Ayanna got there on her more comfortable and expensive Delta flight (with a free drink, in-flight movie and blanket -- but also with an annoying three-hour layover in New York). I booked a Golden Circle tour, which took me to the famous geysers and the Gullfoss waterfalls. I witnessed one of the world’s most active geysers, Strokkur, erupt twice within a few minutes, which was truly extraordinary and unlike anything I’d seen before. The advice from my tour guide: “Don’t look away, it’ll erupt as soon as you do.” People camp out around the outer borders of the geyser area with cameras ready to capture the explosion, sometimes waiting 10 or 20 minutes to see it. The Gullfoss waterfalls were breathtaking, but not even the most amazing waterfall I visited. The great outdoors in Iceland is so visually varied. It’s like four or five of the distant planets from Interstellar. Glaciers, lakes, waterfalls, black sand beaches, volcanoes and peculiar rock formations all join up to create a terrain that is at once wondrous and intimidating.
On Saturday, Ayanna and I went to the Seljalandsfoss waterfalls, which was recommended by my friend Marianna, who’d just left Iceland the day prior to my arrival. Her text: “You NEED to check out this waterfall in Seljalandsfoss. I won’t say anymore, and let you discover the magic yourself!” When we pulled up blasting Cardi B, we immediately saw the astounding height and ferocity of the first waterfall. As we walked along the path to the other waterfalls, we saw what Marianna was talking about. There was a hidden waterfall, which you could climb up towards with the assistance of an anchored chain to help you lift yourself atop the potentially icy rocks. After snagging this view from above, you are then able to walk down and over stepping stones through shallow water, to stand at the bottom of the waterfall, semi-enclosed in the cave-like structure. If you’ve never felt insignificant in the world and would like to, I highly recommend this Icelandic adventure.
From Seljalandsfoss, we headed 45 minutes away to the city of Vík, home of fabled black sand beaches. At Reynisfjara Beach, I felt like a martian. This was the first beautiful beach I’d ever been to where I didn’t want to run straight into the water. There were definitely no beach towels or bikinis in sight. Posted signs actually warn visitors about sneaker waves, or disproportionately large coastal waves that accompany smaller ones, without warning and with sometimes deadly consequences. A handful of tourists have died at this beach after being carried away by a wave that crept up on them. The rock formations at this beach are basalt sea stacks, which look like a bunch of concrete steak fries, arranged with wild yet careful abandon. The rocks on the black sand are perfectly round and smooth, or jet black and shiny. They reminded me of what masseuses use for hot stone therapy, and I took a few with me.
The next day, we headed out to the Blue Lagoon, certainly the biggest tourist attraction in Iceland. There are many options for natural hot springs, but this one is huge, beautiful, and worth every penny of our $99 “Comfort” level admission. Walking from the parking lot to the entrance of the spa compound was the coldest three minutes of my life. Once we entered, we received our towels and magnetic wristbands, which allowed us to purchase drinks at the lagoon bar (and provided a first free drink). From inside, we waded into the water, which was a surreal light blue and sporting the slight sexy scent of sulphur, and made our way outside through a half-submerged exit door. The average temperature of the water was about 100 degrees Fahrenheit, and felt amazing on my body as my ears and hands froze. If you are coming to the lagoon, bring your own waterproof case (the bag kind, which you can get on Amazon for super cheap), because you will need one and won’t want to pay 2,900 Kronas ($29 USD) there. Although I had a Lifeproof case, I was still hesitant to dip my new iPhone X all the way in, hence my numb and frozen hands. The bar at the lagoon is pretty good, with selections of wine, beer, slushies, and fruit and veggie juice smoothies. I had two Proseccos, a strawberry sparkling wine and two green juices. Because I didn’t eat that morning and I suffer from AFR like many of my far east brethren and sistren, I was a goner by 1 PM. If you know me, you already know how that story ends. If you don’t know me, I’ll spare you the vomitrocious details.
That night at 9 PM, we were scheduled for a 5-hour Northern Lights tour, but I was dead. Ayanna went solo and was able to use long exposure on her professional camera to capture the itty-bittiest bit of green and pink swirling in the night sky, which she said was pitch black to her naked eye.
We left on Monday. Had I stayed a minute longer, I may have had to file for bankruptcy upon my return. Just kidding, but this is the only island I’ve ever been to without the utter cheapness of everything making you feel like foreign royalty. It makes sense, after talking to some friends, because Iceland has to import everything. Most likely, none of the ingredients on my $27 chicken kabob platter originated in Iceland.
This was an amazing trip for the gorgeous natural landscapes alone. Had I been ballsy enough to be more of a spendthrift, I would have indulged in the lamb, arctic char, gourmet hot dogs, seafood soups and more. For the short amount of time I spent in Iceland, it made a strong impact on my experiences as a traveler and world citizen. Getting out of your comfort zone by way of travel is one of the more enjoyable keys to personal growth -- and when you have views like the ones in Iceland, even frigid temperatures can’t stop your experience from shining.
Dana’s Travel Diary: Celebrating 29 with Escargot, Camels and Canals
For my twenty-ninth birthday, I really wanted to go to Morocco. A big item on my bucket list was to visit Chefchouen, the Moroccan city where all the houses and buildings are painted varied shades of blue. So, when I began browsing flights months in advance, I was disappointed to see that not only was it a few hours away from the nearest major airport at Tangier, but roundtrip tickets there were just shy of a grand, at best.
After tinkering with my flight search, I found a way to go to Morocco and two other countries as well, for less than a ticket to Tangier and back. I would fly from Baltimore to Paris via Wow Air (who caused me much heartache on this trip, but more on that later). I’d stay two days in Paris, fly to Marrakech for four days, then fly to Amsterdam for two more days, and back to Baltimore from there. Altogether, the flights cost about $750 (without checked bags and seat upgrades). All three airlines in my itinerary were budget and semi-crappy: Wow, Ryanair, and Transavia. Full disclosure: I did not sit in one comfy seat during my entire time in the air for this trip, nor was I offered a single complimentary beverage (even water). But I was able to visit three countries for three-quarters of the price it would’ve cost to just visit one (although the downside is that Chefchouen, the blue city, was too far away from Marrakech to justify a visit there during my four-day stay. I read that Marrakech, however, had the heaviest concentration of things to do for tourists out of all the major cities in Morocco).
We (my ex-boyfriend/friend/travel partner and I) took an overnight flight on a Monday to get to Paris through Reykjavik, Iceland. Our flights were delayed almost two hours, and although they held the connecting flights in Iceland so that we didn’t miss it, they took off without our luggage. This resulted in me only having two weather-inappropriate pairs of shoes and no heavy winter coat in the wet, slushy Paris snow.
Our suitcase got to us at nearly midnight on our last night in Paris. I shed tears in the airport before leaving, defeated – this was the first time my belongings had been lost in the travel abyss and I had severe separation anxiety. We spent our whole Wednesday at the Louvre checking to make sure our phones had service, because Wow Airlines was supposed to call us in the morning. They didn’t. We enjoyed the Louvre, though, which is really the size of eight or ten regular museums, full of all the finest art.
I ended up going to the Moulin Rouge in a kimono, jeans, sneakers and a North Face parka. It wasn’t so bad. It was dark and we were seated in the corner with our own bottle of champagne. The show was mostly what I expected: plenty of nipples and corny European Showgirl choreography. What I didn’t expect was the brilliance of the smaller, in-between acts. Like, I’m talking mind-blowing strength and talent, doing crazy things. I almost cried at one point because I was so overwhelmed by this woman freely spinning around inside a huge hula hoop, balancing on its inner edge.
The snowy weather was just as inconvenient as it was beautiful – it meant the Eiffel Tower was closed. It also meant we had to cancel a bicycle tour we’d scheduled through AirBnb Experiences (which has a bunch of fun, unique activities like the beekeeping experience I did in L.A.). It also meant that any walking we had to do was through cold, icy slush. Also, for some reason, Parisians don’t pick up dog poop.
Overall, Paris was effortlessly charming, even with the semi-nasty weather. We visited the Museum of Modern Art and the shops and Ferris wheel at Champs-Elysees. Also, I ate beaucoup escargot. They were delicious, but I made the mistake of Googling what the snails look like before they are cooked.
We left Paris on Thursday night, arriving in Marrakech close to midnight. We were greeted outside by a man in a hooded cloak, holding up a sign for us. It had been raining there for five days, which the driver said was very unusual. He dropped us at the outer edge of a tall, clay-colored wall that wrapped around an entire mega-village. We were met there by another man in another hooded cloak, who took our luggage and led us through a series of narrow alleys, passing heaps of rubbles, a few stray cats, and one lone food stand still firing up kabobs, before reaching an inconspicuous door marked by the number 31. This was the Riad Star, whose claim to fame was that it once housed the iconic Josephine Baker. The décor was clean and Moroccan, with Josephine paraphernalia throughout.
In the daylight, the medina (the area inside the walls, where we were staying) was a brand new beast. Shops, called souks, popped up seemingly out of the thin air of the night. Herbs, oils, scarves, purses, shoes, tapestries, and more were being sold in small stalls on both sides of the alleys we’d navigated upon our arrival. Dried fruits, marinated olives, and fresh cuts of local animals were on display in other stalls. My favorite pleasure was the fresh-squeezed pomegranate juice, a deep, rich violet color, a tangy and pure taste. For 15 dirhams, the equivalent of $1.50, I couldn’t get the smallest bottle of Pom in the U.S. Haggling is pretty much mandatory in the souks. The shop owners will charm you, and try to get as much money as possible from you. Their thirst for tourist dollars is palpable. Once you buy something, they’ll ask what else you like and pass you to their homies. The network of shops is pretty repetitive, so it definitely feels like shop owners rely heavily on references from friends and family members. For example, if you buy argan oil from one souk, and mention you want a scarf, they’ll walk you to one of dozens (if not hundreds) of spots to get a scarf, because they know that scarf guy.
Our single most irritating experience in Marrakech was on the first day, when we foolishly tried to use Apple Maps (versus the map on the app created by our riad’s owner, a British woman who introduced us to hot water bottles) to navigate the medina. It was momentarily a real life nightmare, walking for minutes, taking turn after turn, only to pass the same old man posted up on the same corner. Some of the Moroccan natives look out for people just like us, semi-frantic faces buried in smartphones, clearly walking the wrong way. They will always offer to guide you, and they will always expect – or demand – money. We did this once or twice and justified it in our heads – we were in their country and on their turf, had no idea where we were going, and wouldn’t have made it without their help. But once, an old man bombarded us with navigation help without us agreeing that we needed it, and demanded 300 dirhams. We said we didn’t have any money and a little boy nearby chimed in and said that we did, and pointed to where we had it. The little boy even cursed at me when we left. It was hard to storm off, because we still didn’t know where we were going. But from that point on, we walked through the medina with more purpose and more skillfully brushed off the many people that tried to jump in front of us and fake-graciously walk us to our next destination.
Aside from “Where are you going?” the next most common question we got was “Do you want to get high?” We didn’t actually indulge in Morocco’s famed hashish until escaping the maze of the medina, when the waiter at a tall rooftop bar slipped some into our hookah. We don’t think we got high, but we appreciated the gesture.
The food in Marrakech tasted extremely local. The meals we had in the riad were definitely made with ingredients from the shops right outside – one of the more common dishes was lamb tagine, stewed lamb in a curry type of sauce with vegetables.
Outside the walls of the medina, things were a little less hectic, with much less interaction and pressure at shops. We visited Le Jardin Majorelle and the YSL Museum, both of which were not far outside of the medina. From a shopping area not far from the Jardin, we took a taxi to an area where you can ride camels, La Palmeraie. We were given royal blue headscarves and tunics to wear on a 30-minute ride through a grassy area with tall palm trees, kids playing soccer, and herds of goats.
We left Marrakech for Amsterdam on Monday night, taking us back to Euros from dirhams. We stayed at the American Hotel, which was called the Hampshire Hotel when I made my reservation on Expedia. I don’t think I would have chosen a hotel in Amsterdam called the American Hotel, but it was actually pretty nice. I’d already read online that hotels were generally smoke-free, and although weed is very, very decriminalized, it is still technically illegal to walk around outside hitting a doobie. However, EVERYONE walking around outside was indeed hitting a doobie.
Coffeeshops (not “coffee shops” or cafes) are the places where weed is sold, and typically, there is a designated (and properly ventilated) space for smoking it as well. We visited several, the two prevailing in my memory being Boerejongens and Green House. Boerejongens was set up like a lab, and definitely had some of the best weed of all the shops we visited. Upstairs, the smoking room was like a small glass chamber with four to six chairs. Everyone was stoned in their respective languages, some silent and stuck, some chatty and giggling. Green House had much more space, and really good smoothies to sip on while smoking. Apparently, it is a favorite of Rihanna, whose pictures are framed all over the walls by the cash register. We also visited a bar, where weed was not sold, but was welcomed to be smoked. Signs on the wall clearly stated NO TOBACCO. Amsterdam is not tobacco-friendly. One of the best things about Amsterdam, in my opinion, is that I hardly saw anyone smoking cigarettes or drinking liquor, even in the bars. Everyone was good with weed, and maybe a hot chocolate on the side. It was extremely relieving to be able to walk around with weed in my purse, not having to worry about the dangers of civilian or police confrontation. Seriously, everyone in Amsterdam is high. It’s a wonderful place.
Another thing we tried in Amsterdam was truffles from the smartshops (basically the stores where psychedelics are sold, legally). I personally didn’t have much success with them, but my travel partner seemed to really enjoy his trip. We also visited the Red Light District (very briefly, en route to our hotel) where we saw prostitutes in windows. The first one we saw banged on the glass in distress as a group of eight to ten men walked past. It was kind of sad. The next thing we did was pay 2 Euros to go inside a booth for two minutes of a peep show. We saw boobs, then her shift was over, and a couple entered. The viewer shut off when the blow job started, and so we left. We’d seen enough to get the idea. We left Amsterdam on Thursday morning, ready to return to the lung punch of Backwoods.
This birthday trip was my first visit to both Europe and to Africa, and my first time being amongst so many French-speakers (in both France and Marrakech). Initially, I was concerned about this language barrier, because my French accent has always sucked badly. We found that English was abundant everywhere. It’s kind of wack that Americans can be such cultural buffoons and refuse to learn any other languages and still be accommodated, but “Bonjour,” “Comment ca vas” and “Merci” took us a long way. Bonus: we also learned “Shukraan,” which is “Thank you” in Arabic. Mostly, the places we visit are accustomed to Americans coming through, and want our money. If it means speaking to us in English because they know we will only know English, they will do that. An American traveling abroad is likely to be in a much better financial situation than a person native to that country, working at a restaurant or shop in their hometown. Americans are dumb. The guys who worked at our riad knew three or four languages – because they have to be able to communicate with the worldwide travelers that come through and pay their bills. I cannot say how appreciative I am of the hospitality I receive when traveling to other countries. I always imagine situations in reverse: a person traveling to the U.S., not knowing much English. They’ll have an awful time getting through our Customs, or trying to order food or coffee at a busy place.
Celebrating 29 in these three places was really the best gift I could have given myself. Beyond visiting the landmarks and eating famous foreign foods, I got to walk and breathe and smoke in other parts of the world, observing trees and clouds and the stars at night. I got to hear the traffic, see the road signs, and eavesdrop on conversations I couldn’t understand. I got to stop for French fries, sit and people watch on a sidewalk I might never step foot upon again. I splashed through puddles of rainwater from clouds covering cities full of faces I’ve never seen. I smiled at babies who will grow up and never remember me. Travel is the best expense I can justify in my adult life. I’ll end this with one last random thought I have: people who ask you “Is that safe?” when you tell them about your travel plans, clearly don’t travel. People travel to every destination every day. Anything unsafe can happen anywhere. You have to hold yourself to a high standard of common sense, no matter where you are or what you’re doing.
