Being 30 is rad as @$%#!: Jökulsárlón

A common theme as of late is the sun busting out every time we're getting ready to get on the bus and leave. That being the case we managed to get in some campsite barefoot frisbee tossing (the first barefoot weather, woo!) prior to hiking back out to the mini iceberg lagoon, and then scampered back to get on our bus.

There were only four of us on the massive machine to Jökulsárlón and as we pulled in to the famous lagoon full of wildly metallic, glacial, semi-opaque, icy blue icebergs, the driver offered to stash our bags on the bus headed to Höfn, our ultimate destination of the day. Score! Also, to pronounce Höfn, start with an 'h, and then sort of inhale / hiccup, and kind of peter out with an n. This will come in handy when we reach Myvatn, which is pronounced roughly 'me-vah (trail off)... n...?'

Anyway. Jökulsárlón is essentially a glacial lake formed from a receding glacier. It used to calve ice chunks directly into the ocean but has at his point backed far enough away from the ocean to create a huge lagoon filled with icebergs that eventually float to the ocean via an icy channel. Though the ice falling into the lake is impressively and massively old the lake is not, only forming in the mid 1900's when the our lovely planet started getting warmer and warmer for mysterious reasons.

Jökulsárlón glacier lagoon

The lagoon is magnificent. It's located only a few hundred meters from the coast, and the sheer volume and speed of which the water ebbs in and out is outrageous. We sat and watched Zodiacs skim around the lake, pushing icebergs out of the way for the bigger amphibious busboats that sardined tourists on.

It's something like 18 square kilometers, and drains through a narrow inlet /river to the coast. The coast itself is bizarre- a splash of icebergs splay across the beach in various states of opaqueness, slowly being eroded by the tides. Here, the prodigiously rough seas actually look inviting, as sun beams down and illuminates the long beach that slowly blends into obscurity.

Seal friend in the lagoon

Zodiac pushing icebergs

River from the lagoon to the ocean

Oceanside

After a few hours, the bus arrived, and we made our way towards Höfn. This alleged happening town was zombie-apocalypse quiet for a Saturday night. We had been pretty excited to reach a real 'town' with promised grocery store and amenities, but there was no one on the streets, only a few restaurants, strangely quiet, open to a hushed public. Everything else was shut. Frustrated with lack of food options (we had been promised amazing langoustine and paprika soup!), we bought some fries from some kids with hip haircuts and headed back to the campsite.

A special face for Höfn (but a killer view!)

Also overheard was a man from Rekjavik lamenting that he was stuck there for the weekend: 'if there was a hell, it would be right here! Not this restaurant, this restaurant is great, but Höfn! Except next week, when there is the langoustine festival. Then people will be running around naked!!' As we shivered and dreamt of comfy sleeping bags, it's as hard to imagine a crowd of skinny dipping lobster festival goers...

Here's some random Höfn views... We're headed out on the 8am bus in the morning!