freaks in the mist
Mar. 20th, 2002 03:00 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
cpostrophe Wednesday, 13 Mar 2002 - 4:15 pm
more photos
There's something about wading in water that almost forces life into slow motion. Arms and legs flow through salt-thick liquid at half-speed and rushing anywhere seems pointless. We're hanging out at the Blue Lagoon, a hot spring with water that shines in an unearthly shade of blue. It's raining today, and the droplets impacting with the 100 degree lagoon surface covers us all with an ethereal fog. I see Spriggan wading slowly ahead of me, his full-body tattoo is a dark contrast against the pale mist, and another tourist glides past with a favorable comment that makes us all smile.
We take our time exploring the spring, reaching between rocks to pull out handfuls of pale blue-grey clay that we smear on our faces with the vague idea that they're supposed to be therapeutic. We seek out the superheated sections and dare each other to see who can stand there the longest. We take pictures, joke around, and all agree that we have to come back here as often as we can.
Not surprisingly, we miss the first bus back to Reykjavik. Our tardiness with public transportation has become a running theme for the trip, but this time, we're in no rush. I buy a deck of cards and play solitaire while trading travel stories. Playing solitaire by hand is odd at first, and spriggan needs to consult his PDA to verify that I have the correct number of rows. I don't get the neat little card cascade whenever I win a game, but I do get to cheat whenever I want, and I'd say that's a fair trade.
more photos
There's something about wading in water that almost forces life into slow motion. Arms and legs flow through salt-thick liquid at half-speed and rushing anywhere seems pointless. We're hanging out at the Blue Lagoon, a hot spring with water that shines in an unearthly shade of blue. It's raining today, and the droplets impacting with the 100 degree lagoon surface covers us all with an ethereal fog. I see Spriggan wading slowly ahead of me, his full-body tattoo is a dark contrast against the pale mist, and another tourist glides past with a favorable comment that makes us all smile.
We take our time exploring the spring, reaching between rocks to pull out handfuls of pale blue-grey clay that we smear on our faces with the vague idea that they're supposed to be therapeutic. We seek out the superheated sections and dare each other to see who can stand there the longest. We take pictures, joke around, and all agree that we have to come back here as often as we can.
Not surprisingly, we miss the first bus back to Reykjavik. Our tardiness with public transportation has become a running theme for the trip, but this time, we're in no rush. I buy a deck of cards and play solitaire while trading travel stories. Playing solitaire by hand is odd at first, and spriggan needs to consult his PDA to verify that I have the correct number of rows. I don't get the neat little card cascade whenever I win a game, but I do get to cheat whenever I want, and I'd say that's a fair trade.
