Iceland is an island named Island.

We grew up in a time when thermonuclear was imminent. We'd seen pictures of mushroom clouds. We'd hear of Mutually Assured Destruction (MAD) as the operating principle that kept us safe. (As long as the Soviet Union knew that we weren't afraid to destroy the world, they'd not launch an attack. And this is what we'd imagine the world would look like after such a war, a time when, we were told, the living would envy the dead.
We found this apocalyptic landscape on the southwestern tip of Iceland where we spent the last two days of our travels. We went to the Blue Lagoon.
Both a day spa and a hotel (called The Clinic), the Blue Lagoon (in Icelandic, Bláa lónið) provides warm (40C), rich blue water, supersaturated with silica salts.
People come to the waters to relax and to be healed. It's not uncommon for people flying to or from Europe to arrange a stop-over in Iceland. They get off the plane, get on a bus, travel to the Blue Lagoon, spend a few hours and quite a few krónur (Iceland's currency), get back on a bus, return to the airport, and continue their journey.
Let me quote from the Blue Lagoon'sofficial story:

The seawater originates 2000 meter/6562 ft beneath the ground where it is heated by earth’s natural forces. At this depth the temperature is 240°C/464°F and the pressure is 36 times the pressure on the earth’s surface. The geothermal seawater comes into contact with cooling magmatic intrusions and captures the earth’s minerals, resulting in
this unique natural source known for its healing power and actives.
...

The Lava surrounding the Blue Lagoon was formed in 1226 and is called Evil Lava because it is rough and difficult to cross due to its porous surface.

Evil Lava, indeed. The landscape is fierce. Hardy moss and lichens manage to find nutrients in the lava rock and endure the harsh winters. This picture is a view from our room. A nearby geothermal power station produces electricity from the superheated waters. Steam rises in the chilly air. (We were promised a warm day of 18C, but the low clouds hung around most of the time, keeping the temps in the low teens.)
In addition to electricity, the power plant produces steam that runs in large pipes across the lava fields. It's too difficul to dig into the rock to bury the pipes.

The Clinic is a single-story building with 15 rooms, a small dining room, conference rooms, several private rooms for massage and other treatments, and its own pool of the aforementioned blue water. The guest rooms are excellent examples of Nordic simple elegance with the beds, closets, and cupboards made of jatoba wood. (Iceland was deforested in the 17th and 18th centuries, so most wood is imported.) The bathroom and shower included several unfamiliar features, as is typical of European fixtures, but we managed to figure out the essentials. As an added amenity for intimacy, there is a Cat-5 network port in the headboard of the bed.
We arrived in early evening and missed dinner at the Clinic. It was a short and pleasant walk to the main spa. The path curls around several blue pools and between massive piles of lava rock that had been pushed aside by the ambitious developers.
Dinner was very nice. Sandra had arctic char. I had trout. Both looked and tasted like salmon. With dessert and coffee, the meal came to 12,500 ISK. about 100 bucks 'merican. (The Icelandic krónur is worth $0.0078.) After a leisurely stroll back to our digs, we went into the water.
Of course, the first thing that you notice is the warmth, followed quickly by the rich smell of the silica salt. The water is about four feet deep. The bottom of the pool is smoothed lava rock covered with a slippery layer of silica salt that's anywhere from just a coating to several inches. They call it mud, so we'll go with that term. It's very slick and yet will stay on your skin easily. It's not always the kindest material to hair and can stay in your ears for several days if you're foolish enough to put it in there in the first place.
We had the pool to ourselves for an hour. We could float around, feeling the warmth of the water, the chill of the air, the weightlessness. With low clouds, the light was diffuse. There was no sense of time or direction.In the soft sensual bath, we drifted. Troubles floated away. Thoughts became quiet.
We couldn't wait to get out there.
Doesn't make much sense, does it? With all the turbulence back home, why would we want to cut short a serene time in an exotic location. As best as I can figure, we'd had such a good time in Finland, good times with each other, thinking and not thinking about our lives past and future, sketching out several next steps that might refocused us and bring a renewed balance and direction. We have a life of many blessings and were eager to re-engage.
But not quite yet. We'd bought low-cost tickets and we learned from the airline that it would be prohibitively expensive to change our flight.

Instead, we enjoyed our breakfast at the breakfast table and then took a bus in to Reykavik.
As we traveled east toward the capital, we saw more plants and, eventually, more houses and people. By the time we reached the city, there were trees.
The bus station was on the outer edge of the city. We walked first to Hallgrimskirkja, a featured church that was undergoing repairs and covered with scaffolding and plastic. It was a five-minute walk to downtown, a busy and energic weave of small streets packed with artist shops, restaurants, and upscale stores selling furs and Rolex watches. We had a nice lunch seated with an unhappy American couple on one side and an unhappy Icelandic couple on the other. These weren't typical. The locals were pleasant, eager to help, and the tourists, mostly young and healthy, seemed either to be on their way to or from backpacking on the glaciers.
We had a nice walk back to the bus station where I learned that I'd goofed and picked up a bus schedule from a different bus company. It would be another three hours before our bus would take us back to the Blue Lagoon. We grumbled for a bit and then found a tour bus that would show us the sights of the city. It's a beautiful city, one that works hard.
On the bus ride back, I overhead a child talking with his parents. It sounded as though they were speaking Finnish.
"Soumalainen?"
I asked. The father nodded. Before he could speak much more, however, I explained that I only spoke a few words of Finnish. We chatted the rest of the way in English.
Back at the clinic, we had a light dinner and another dip in the pool. The clouds briefly lifted from the horizon around 11PM, letting sunshine stream across the Evil Lava.
Our bus would pick us up shortly in the early afternoon on Sunday. I concluded our European dining experience with a lunch of a hot dog, Pringles®, and a Coke®. Icelanders say with some pride that they make good hot dogs. I agree. Hot Dog Annie's doesn't have to worry, but it was a good hot dog.
Our plane's departure was delayed because they were waiting for a tourist group from Denmark; this was the last flight to Boston for the day and I presume that the airline didn't want to have to put the tourists in a hotel unti the next day.
The plane was full. We carefully put our package of Iittala glassware in the overhead bin. We were seated near a family with many children, all of whom were happy, eager to talk with their parents about this thing or that. Meanwhile, the woman behind Sandra was kicking the seatback.
We were about 20 minutes late getting to Boston. The signs said that the city of Boston was glad to have us here, but the customs officials were bored and humorless, mall cops with guns. We knew that we were back in the States when, after we'd wove our way through the rope lines from baggage claim to the final customs station, we had to wait for one official to tell us which line was empty. "OK, you can go to line six now," he said.
Outside the terminal, we watched with amazement as an airport worker gathered up the luggage carts, tied them with bungee cords, and drove this long train back into the building. There was
real talent at work back here in the U. S.of A.