When we walked out of Keflavik Airport, we were almost literally blown over by the freezing, biting wind. And with this wind came the chilling realisation that I was in Iceland, the furthest I’ve ever been, and can ever possibly be, from home.
Objectively speaking, Reykjavik isn’t a particularly attractive, or historic city. But when you visit, you are quickly reminded of the fact that it is the people that gives a place its character.
Packed with a young, eccentric population with quirky taste, Icelanders filled their capital with well-designed stores, interesting cafes, idealistic, Yoko Ono-esque graffiti and public art, and pastel coloured houses to brighten the dreary weather of their country.
We found ourselves braving the freezing, windy Iceland weather just to wander aimlessly through the streets, delighted by colours and peace-loving messages written over buildings, in parking lots, on rubbish bins; or window-shopping our way through the hip and impossibly expensive shops in Reykjavik, drinking copious volumes of coffee in cafes filled with fashionable, be-spectacled young people quietly chatting to each other or tapping away at their MacBooks alone.
We met a tour guide, a French man, who came to Reykjavik 5 times before deciding to settle here for life. After a few days of chilling (or rather - freezing) in Reykjavik, I was beginning to see the human warmth he saw in this isolated, but endlessly delightful place on earth that kept drawing him back, time after time.
xx
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