J.K. LOLing

On a blustery afternoon (actually, it was surprisingly calm), Caitlin took me on an adventure throughout the frosted expanses just a few miles outside of Reykjavík. I will admit now that I hold absolutely no discretion when choosing photographs to share, so while many of these images may be "unnecessary," "excessive," or even "uninteresting" (bite your tongue!), I refuse to be restricted by the potentially critical whims of my dedicated audience (this is when I say "hello" to my Mom again).



Here's the pipeline that brings warm, toasty water to the fine people of the greater Reykjavík areas.











Due to the ebbs and flows of Iceland's fjords in the winter, the thin frozen sheet of water present at high tides delicately settles in flaky layers during low tides.























Here's another example of the ice flakes. The rivers are just littered with these giant slabs of ice that curiously materialize out of nowhere, adding another plausible piece to the many mythical stories engulfed in Icelandic folklore.





Leaving the upper snowy mountains, Caitlin took me to a far more secluded and remarkable locale.



Beyond the driveway of a small and delightful farmhouse lies this secret fjord...completely isolated and equipped with a quintessential Icelandic luxury.



Out, far and away from the city awaits this beautiful hotpot...constantly brimming with steaming geothermal water, and safely sheltered in a nest of fjords and basalt beach.



The hotpot, endlessly supplied with this bubbling geothermal heat, needs a few modifications before plunging one's pink and frail body into earth's natural broiler. I was in charge of dumping out some of the scalding water, while Caitlin filled the pot with chilly water from the fjord. With the temperature stabilized we were free to enjoy what is easily one of the most picturesque sites I have ever had the pleasure of encountering.