Sleep is for the week.
The weekend, however, is for partying 72 hours straight with the world's most beautiful people. Just a short plane ride away from the East Coast is a place where you can ride a superjeep through lava fields, swim in steaming volcanic pools, and knock back drinks called Black Death-all in a land where the sun never sets.
I was last in Iceland this past winter. Drinking shots at 4 a.m. with five people I'd met about 20 minutes before, I was struck by how kind Icelanders are, considering everything they do is extreme, even relaxation: There's nothing like a public hot tub in 30-degree weather to soothe aching muscles after an afternoon of horseback riding on lava fields.
Iceland is on a rift in the universe. The geological line dividing North America from Europe cuts diagonally across the island; as the continental plates pull apart and reveal the earth's gooey underbelly, volcanoes pop up along the crack, punctuated by hot springs where high-pressure steam finds its way to the surface.
On this geographic soufflé landed the only people tough enough to handle it: the Vikings. Starting in 874, a bunch of Norwegians dissatisfied with their homeland's chaotic government settled the narrow, fertile perimeter of the island, establishing an enlightened republic. This utopia was crushed in 1262 by the invading Norwegian army, relegating the original Icelanders into a serflike existence. The Danes took over in the 1500s, but they were just as bad as the Norwegians.
Until the mid-1800s, Iceland was a pretty lousy place: Even if your Danish overlord didn't torch your hovel, you were constantly at risk of suffocating from the sulfurous gases emitted by the periodic volcanic eruptions. Fortunately, since then the island has undergone a renaissance: Iceland is once more a democracy, with a 100 percent literacy rate, enough technology to handle the periodic eruptions, a cultural output that belies its population (about equal to that of Providence, Rhode Island) and-an obvious sign of sophistication-only one enclosed shopping mall.
Nature Unleashed
On my last trip to Iceland, I had three items on my to-do list: the Golden Circle, the Blue Lagoon, and Reykjavik proper.
The Golden Circle, an easy daytrip by superjeep from Reykjavik, includes three stunning natural wonders, each within a two-hour drive of the capital: Gullfoss, Geysir, and Thingvellir. Gullfoss is a huge waterfall with a perpetual rainbow hovering above it; Geysir (source of the word geyser) is a high-pressure hot spring that shoots 50 feet into the air every 10 minutes. Thingvellir, though less active than the first two, is the most dramatic of the trio: It's the actual line separating Europe from America, a series of rifts in the earth along which Iceland is growing. (It's also the site of the ancient Viking parliament-complete with a crystal-blue lake surrounded by lava fields.)
Intrepid adventurers rejoice: These aren't wimpy, crowded tourist traps with security fences and mile-long lines. Icelanders seem to trust people not to do silly things like jump into molten lava. In most cases, there's nothing but a warning sign between you and Mother Nature. So walk right up to the edge of the waterfall, and when the geyser shoots up, stand back. At Gullfoss, some rather nasty winds stole my camera case-and I watched, bemused, as it disappeared into the cascade.
The Blue Lagoon, halfway between Reykjavik and the international airport at Keflavik, is more than a hyperactive hot spring-it's a surreal experience, a spa where I plunged into a pool of geothermally heated 100-degree waters and steam so thick I couldn't see more than a foot in front of me. As the thick white mud squidged between my toes, I lost the rest of my surroundings and felt nothing but cold, blue, hot, white bliss.
Wine, Women, and Stöng
Reykjavik is a genteel city whose downtown streets are studded with shops and galleries, including those of arguably the world's best goldsmiths. It's a great place for strolling and whiling away your time in coffeeshops; my favorite is Uncle Tom's, in a dark-wood basement with windows peering out onto the shopping streets of Laugavegur and Skolavordustigur above.
Weekend summer nights in Reykjavik literally never end. After dinner on a Friday, Icelanders hang out with friends before heading out on the town around midnight-when the sun dips below the horizon, only to come back less than two hours later. By 1 a.m., the entire population of the country seems to be out on the streets of the capital.
Start your evening (or rather, morning) at Rex, a classy restaurant that turns into a bar for Iceland's jetsetters at night. Maybe you'll catch a glimpse of a former Miss Iceland, like I did; maybe you won't be able to tell, especially after Bjarni, Iceland's best bartender, pours you a flaming shot. (Blow it out and drink immediately for the best effect.)
After finding both your head and wallet a little lighter (expect Manhattan-style prices-$5 beers and $9 mixed drinks), you have a wealth of choices in the wee hours. My pick: Gaukur à Stöng, a corner pub that doubles as Iceland's top small live-music venue. Or stumble into Astro, the city's hottest club, just across the street from Rex. In fact, all of Reykjavik's venues are at most a 15-minute walk from one another.
Farther Afield
Reykjavik's nice enough, but the rest of the island is dazzling. I didn't venture too far on this long weekend, but if you find time for the 50-minute flight from the domestic airport in downtown Reykjavik up to Akureyri, the major town in the north country, you'll be able to head for the unmissable tongue-twister of Jökulsárglúfur-a hiker's paradise where birch forests abut a 300-foot canyon dotted with a series of violent waterfalls. Squatting in the southeast of Iceland is the vast Vatnajokull glacier, with volcanoes bubbling under its thick icy crust; Höfn, a town teetering on its edge, has snowmobile-wielding tour operators offering to conquer its bulk.
Just outside of Reykjavik is the seaport of Hafnarfjordur. Natives say the town is ruled by elves, and zoning laws forbid the building of roads through their dwellings. You can get a map from a local mystic and go elf-hunting, but the little people don't seem to like that much; the one time I tried it a few years ago, my watch mysteriously reset, and a strong wind nearly blew me into the harbor. The less magically minded may want to check out Hafnarfjordur's Viking-themed restaurant or the annual Viking festival, held every year in late June.
