The Beauty of Iceland (or, "How Alaska Ruined Yet Another Gorgeous Travel Experience")

I love living in Alaska. I love it all for itself most of the time, no hidden agenda. I mean, just look at it:

(These are all my own photos, by the way, not stock photos of Alaska. See what I mean?)

But I confess I also love -- just a little bit -- the gleam I see in other people's eyes when they ask where I'm from. "Alaska?!?," which is usually followed by some sort of shivering motion or hand-gesturing upward (North) or other expression of incredulity (head-shaking, raised eyebrows, etc.). The further we are from Alaska, the more dramatic the body-language becomes. Turkey was exceptional for this, except the few instances where the listener had never heard of Alaska. See where not learning geography gets you? Missing out on a chance to make someone feel superior about where they live.

I always keep a few of the more dramatic pictures on my phone, usually of winter, to show to non-Alaskans: "Yeah, this is a glacier we ski up to in the winter." "Oh, this? This is our backcountry playground. No, there aren't usually any more ski tracks than those you see there."

But being an Alaskan Who Travels has its downsides, as well. My husband and I have lived here for about fifteen years and have had the good fortune to have also traveled outside quite a bit during that time. Over the years, it has come to our attention that living in Alaska can, sadly, ruin the Outside travel experience.

Time and time again, we have found ourselves in truly beautiful and breathtaking landscapes, observing the stunned expressions on fellow tourists faces, hearing their gasps of awe, ... My husband and I look at each other with a hint of a smile and half-shrug, "Meh."

I mean, we KNOW it's awesome. We KNOW what we're looking at is exceptional and beautiful and vast and stunning.... But we live among exceptional and beautiful and vast and stunning. Every day.

It's possible this has never been more true than our recent trip to Iceland. With a new direct flight from Anchorage putting Iceland within seven hours' reach, it seemed only sensible to extend our layover there to a couple of days for a scouting trip.

As we flew in over the harsh, vast volcanic terrain (the low-lying clouds added a lovely moody and somber air), the similarities to Alaska were immediately obvious: Nothing at all for miles and miles; few roads; brutal and unforgiving landscape. How could humans even THINK of living here?

The next day, we set out for a drive of the Golden Circle. Passing and passed by innumerable tourist buses, we stopped first at Pingvellir, where the earth's tectonic plates are actively shifting apart, deepening the cleft in the earth's crust. Then on to Geysir, with several impressive (you guessed it) geysers, one with the improbable name of "Strokkur" (Seriously, Iceland? You don't even have the sense of humor to put that on a t-shirt or coffee mug?).

 Then finally to the magnificent Gulfoss waterfall, a three-tiered onslaught of water, charging over terrace after terrace before plunging into an equally beautiful gorge, so alien that Ridley Scott used it in the opening sequence of his "Alien" prequel movie, "Prometheus" (where the alien guy disintegrates and falls into the waterfall? yeah, that one).

To get there and back, however, one must drive through hundreds of kilometers of ... nothing. Well, not  "nothing" like Iowa nothing. But even Iowa nothing has corn, at least. And cows, usually. Iceland instead had huge expanses of flat black volcanic lava fields, sprinkled here and there with a smattering of lichen. Near the subterranean hot springs areas, there was enough moisture for prairie grasses to establish a tenuous hold, just enough to keep the Icelandic ponies fat and sassy. And sheep -- if you're gonna live somewhere this cold, you're gonna need some wool.

My husband and I were, in a word, bored. 

Yes, I do know how that sounds, actually. That's precisely my point. It's Alaska's fault. Miles and miles of uninhabited terrain? Have that. Dramatic cliffs and mountains stretching up to the sky? Check. Nearly impossible terrain features, like glaciers? Righty-o.

And there were so many PEOPLE! Tourists, I mean. I suppose Alaska is like that, too, but we just don't go where the tourists go, or at least not when they go there. I suppose if we lived in Iceland, we'd figure that trick out pretty quickly, as well.

I know, I know -- it's hard to feel sorry for us poor Alaskans: Oh, woe is you, having to endure such spectacular natural beauty day after day, so much so that it dims your appreciation for other exotic locales, such as New Zealand, and the Turkish Steppes, and Iceland. Poor poor us.

Fortunately for us, Iceland did have a few features to remind us we weren't still in Alaska: curmudgeonly shopkeepers, overpriced but elegant cuisine, expensive gasoline, ....

Crap. Well, there's no place like home!