“Iceland is an entirely different country in winter.”
Just then, a funnel-shaped green blaze splashed across the sky: the northern lights.
I sought out Helgi Bararson, Torfus man-of-all-trades, at the front desk.
Cottages at Deplar Farm, in Iceland.Credit:Courtesy of Eleven
We scrolled the glossary, and he shook his head.
The right word did not appear.
So, he made one up:podrmjoll.
The northern lights over Iceland.Courtesy of Eleven
Eighty-six words for snow, and counting.
Iceland is an entirely different country in winter, Siggi Jensson mused.
The weather became treacherous for my next leg.
A drawing of a traditional Icelandic turf house.Courtesy of Torfhús Retreat
Airports shut down, roads closed, and life paused all over Iceland.
I cooled my heels in Reykjavik, adopting the Icelandic motto,petta reddas go with the flow.
My room abutted the spa, a refuge of palpable silence and lavender-scented tranquility.
Inside a Torfhús Retreat guest house.Courtesy of Torfhús Retreat
We always have a plan B, she says.
That night, there was akafaldsbylur a storm that brought 80-mile-per-hour gusts.
What seemed white was actually pink, primrose yellow, lilac, watery green.
Faxi waterfall.Gulli Vals/Getty Images
So, I went for it, emerging lightheaded and euphoric.
There, I met co-owner Lukka Heimisdottir, and a bouncing litter of Icelandic sheepdog puppies.
I munched on licorice Icelands sweet staple and was delirious from the sublime beauty.
Deplar Farm, a luxury guest lodge in Iceland.Courtesy of Eleven
Also, I was lucky for Kristjan and his skillful driving.
Things can go wrong very fast.
Two hundred miles later, we arrived at modern Husafell, to encounter more transcendence.
A pool at Deplar Farm.Courtesy of Eleven
Courtesy of Hotel Husafell
There are 269 glaciers left in Iceland, and they are disappearing quickly.
We were in white-out conditions.
Our driver, Sigrun Sigurdardottir, deflated the rigs 58-inch tires to better navigate atop the glacier.
The northern lights over Deplar Farm cottages.Courtesy of Eleven
He stopped alongside the racing Hvita River and urged me to drink from it.
Soon, I understood why.
We descended into Circle Canyon along a path cut from the snow; my crampons gripped the slick path.
An aerial view of the Husafell Canyon Baths.Courtesy of Hótel Húsafell
I had come to Iceland in February expecting cold and darkness.