The Reykjavík Grapevine

I like Yoko Ono. In fact, I like Yoko Ono far more than I’ve ever liked John Lennon.

“For how many gin and tonics could you get ice from this glacier?” asks one co-traveller as our group of hikers makes its way towards Sólheimajökull, an outlet glacier in Southern Iceland.

One PM and it’s a sea of silver heads on the Gullfoss and Geyser Express Tour as international pensioners claim seats.

The equinox is almost upon us, and a big ol’ nine-month night will soon overtake our days. Temperatures are rapidly dropping and the snow will soon fall.

There is something elemental that happens when you face an unbridled ocean. It’s something so primal; it affects the very core of our DNA.

I can’t say that I ever intended to, of all things, go horseback riding here in Iceland. I tried riding a horse once when I was eight. I screamed a lot. I might have been sick. I didn’t like it.

Puffin Express brings you to the forefront of puffin life with their daily rides out to Akurey Island, which is just a short distance from Reykjavík Harbour.

Leaving Ísafjörður on July 17, the Aurora, a 60-foot sloop yacht that has travelled around the world four times in competition, will embark on a true Viking journey of natural discovery.

It is June, and I’m eating lunch on a large slab of ice with my axe sticking out of a slight incline nearby. In an alternate universe, say, my summers past, I would be contemplating the strength of SPF I should use on a trip to the beach, not wielding a sharp tool while crossing a frozen landscape.

When you take the most bad-ass of vehicles and combine it with a little off-road driving, you, in turn, become the bad-ass you have always dreamt of being. Steven Seagal, step aside.

Elding tours located in the old harbour of Reykjavík claim a staggering 95% sighting guarantee. If you’re one of the unfortunate 5% then you’re generously offered another tour for free. Lucky for me, and a few dozen others, we saw a whole lot of blubber – both on board and in the ocean of course.

The handsome, looming monstrosity of Mount Esja emerges from the sea, and sits, keeping watch over Reykjavík. It is a very good mountain to admire from afar, like a secret crush whose house you just “happen” to drive by. Then comes the actual first experience, in person (yes, in person!) of talking to the crush: the sweaty palms, the avoidance of eye contact, the dry mouth, all the usual signs of studied familiarity, yet unknowing expectancy.

This particular tour is very convenient for folks who don't know their way around Reykjavík, as the good people of the Reykjavík Activity Center pick you up right at your front door, given that you let them know where you’re staying. That seems easy enough. For this Grapevine reporter, it wasn’t. I like to sleep in. Thus, my activity tour started with a lot of wild flailing for clothes and some desperate running out the door.

One thing that hits you once you get acquainted with Reykjavík's cityscape is the abundance of big-wheeled, so-called called “Super Jeeps”.

Ahoy there! Grapevine clambered on board the Ísafold for an afternoon of whale watching and deep sea fishing.

Silfra ranks among the top diving sites in the world I’ve been told frequently, and after floating in the water for an hour I understood quite well what the fuss is about. The water is so crystal clear that the visibility can be up to 100 metres.

It is an overcast, cold day when I arrive at the BSÍ bus terminal and board the mini bus along with 11 others for the early Sunday morning guided tour of Landmannalaugar and the “Saga Valley”. The forecast is for a warm, sunny day, but despite all evidence to the contrary, our driver Sævar is optimistic, proclaiming his faith in Iceland’s temperamental weather gods.

Kayaking in Hvalfjörður fjord is yet another fine way to discover the profound beauty of Iceland’s landscape.

The first thing that strikes you about the fish is just how bright and healthy-looking they seem to be

There were five of them up on the Mýrdalsjökull glacier: a journalist, a photographer, and three former sergeants from the Danish army who by some strange cosmic coincidence were all named Christian