Gibraltar itself represents a geographical and political anomaly, a British Overseas Territory situated on the southern tip of the Iberian Peninsula, just across the Strait of Gibraltar from Morocco. As we drove closer, the landscape transformed completely, and soon we could see what defines the entire region: the Rock of Gibraltar towering massively above everything else, its limestone bulk rising over 400 metres above sea level.

First Glimpse: Europa Point and the Southern Edge

Our initial stop was Europa Point, the southernmost tip of Gibraltar, a flat, rocky headland that marks the boundary between the Atlantic Ocean and the Mediterranean Sea. The point gets its name from the mythological figure Europa.

Near Europa Point sits Gorham’s Cave Complex, a cluster of archaeological sites. The complex consists of caves situated at sea level, each containing archaeological and palaeontological deposits spanning over 100,000 years of Neanderthal occupation. In 2016, this site received UNESCO World Heritage status, earning its designation because of the exceptional evidence it holds about how Neanderthals lived. We tried making a spontaneous visit, only to be turned away as the site operates on an extremely restricted access system, with a three-year waiting list to gain entry for serious visitors. The limited access, while unfortunate for us, reflects the delicate nature of these sites, where any uncontrolled traffic would risk disturbing irreplaceable scientific evidence.

The Monkeys on the Mountain: Encounters with Barbary Macaques

As we ventured toward St Michael’s Cave, ascending the winding paths through the Upper Rock Nature Reserve, we began encountering the Rock’s most famous residents: the Barbary macaques. They represent Europe’s only free-living wild monkey population.

Tourists constantly attempted to feed them, despite clear warnings. The animals have learned to exploit this human generosity, demonstrating remarkable problem-solving by unzipping bags and rifling through pockets in search of food.

The Cathedral Beneath the Rock: St Michael’s Cave

The path to St Michael’s Cave climbs steeply on a well-paved road for thirty minutes before reaching the entrance. Several lookout points along the way made the walk up less of a grind.

The cave system itself is a network of interconnected chambers carved over millions of years by rainwater slowly percolating through limestone. Today, the largest chamber functions as a space for hosted concerts, theatrical productions, and opera performances. The cave derives much of its visual drama from its extensive formations of stalactites and stalagmites – mineral-rich water dripping from the ceiling deposits layer upon layer of dissolved rock, gradually building downward from the roof while simultaneously building upward from the floor. Some stalactites hang like pale icicles; others have fused with stalagmites rising to meet them, creating continuous columns of mineral deposit.

The name derives from a similar grotto in Monte Gargano, Italy, where – according to Catholic tradition – the Archangel Michael made an appearance. This connection explains why the cave carries religious significance despite being fundamentally a geological formation rather than a sacred site in the traditional sense.

An installation called “The Awakening,” a light and sound show, transformed the cave into an additional cultural experience. Within this light installation appears an ethereal figure – an angel formed by the projection mapping technology and the natural rock formations.

A Short Stay

Despite the natural and historical richness of what Gibraltar offers, we didn’t linger longer than a few hours. Tourism in Gibraltar often works this way – the territory is small, and its main attractions cluster around the Rock. Many visitors arrive on day trips from southern Spain, explore the key sites, and then depart. We were no different. We faced a 4.5-hour drive toward Granada, leaving Gibraltar behind and transitioning into the landscapes of inland Andalusia.

See more of Gibraltar here

Our private tour guide collected us from the port with an enthusiasm. As we left the port, I spotted something interesting: Morocco’s traffic stop signs read in Arabic script, rather than using the English “STOP” typical in so many other places, which I thought was pretty cool.

Where Two Oceans Meet

Cap Spartel, located approximately 14 kilometres west of Tangier, juts out 326 metres above sea level, a promontory that marks not only the meeting point of the Mediterranean Sea and the Atlantic Ocean, but also the northwestern edge of the African continent. The lighthouse standing sentinel on this rocky point was constructed by Sultan Muhammad IV in 1864, making it one of Morocco’s oldest lighthouses.

Near the lighthouse, a simple sign warned us not to feed the wild boars. The warning carried more historical weight than might first appear. The Barbary wild boar subspecies (Sus scrofa algira) inhabits the forested regions of North Africa, from Morocco through Algeria and Tunisia. An ironic thing is that Islam is the largest religion in Morocco, and they don’t eat pork, so whenever a boar is caught, they may be exported for sale elsewhere.

First Time Riding A Camel

Next, our guide arranged a camel ride on the beach as part of the day’s itinerary. While none of us explicitly asked for it, the camel ride was included in the tour package. The experience proved physically uncomfortable in ways I hadn’t anticipated. The animals had no traditional saddles, leaving my legs to dangle awkwardly while the camel’s gait sent jolts through my body with each step. At one point, the camel began walking the wrong way, and the handler slapped it on the head to correct its behaviour. This moment made me think about how these camels might not be treated well, and how we should avoid supporting such tourist activities next time.

The ride lasted approximately twenty minutes, though it felt considerably longer. The animal moved in jerky, unpredictable motions that kept me gripping tightly to avoid slipping sideways. When the time came to dismount, the camel lowered its head first, extending its front legs flat against the sand before tucking in its rear legs – a movement that made me feel as though we might flip forward over the animal’s neck. The whole experience left me tired despite sitting and with mixed feelings about the ethics of animal treatment in these settings.​

A Cave Made of Legends

The Hercules Caves hold a peculiar place between geology, mythology, and human labour. According to Greek legend, Hercules himself rested within these caves during the eleventh of his twelve labours, and some stories claim that he split the rock to create the Strait of Gibraltar. The cave’s opening to the sea has been carved into the unmistakable silhouette of the African continent, a feature believed to have been shaped by the Phoenicians in ancient times.

Yet the full story of the caves involves human hands as much as it does myth. Berber people quarried stone from the cave walls to craft millstones, and evidence of Neolithic occupation has been discovered within.

Obligatory Arranged Shopping Trip

Our guide’s next destinations were shopping stops, presented with an assurance that we weren’t obligated to purchase anything. Yet the dynamic felt awkward nonetheless. First came a rug shop, where a sales representative explained that hand-made rugs represented an investment, increasing in value over time with use. The pitch was not aggressive, but persistent. We remained sceptical – not only did we lack knowledge to evaluate what makes a rug worthy of its asking price, but the traditional designs on display clashed entirely with our home’s existing décor. It’s also not financially responsible to make a decision on a four-digit purchase within 15 minutes. We left empty-handed. The next destination though, a spice shop, proved more appealing.

The air hung with the mingled aromas of cumin, cinnamon, turmeric, and dozens of other powders and seeds. The vendor offered argan oil, a product for which Morocco is renowned. Argan trees grow nowhere else on Earth, thriving only in the arid and semi-arid regions of southwestern Morocco. We did end up selecting a few spice mixes and bottles of Argan oil to take home.

The Medina and Its Contradictions

Our guide seemed to possess a social network spanning the entire city. As we navigated the historical medina – that dense quarter of narrow alleyways where markets had operated for centuries – people would recognize him, calling out greetings. He’d pause to chat with shopkeepers and acquaintances, his connections evident in every interaction. The medina itself, however, told a different story about time and commerce. Once the true market of Tangier, it remains a marketplace physically, with shops lining the maze of streets. Yet the merchandise had largely shifted: where artisans once crafted goods by hand, now seems less likely.

The architecture retained its character – whitewashed walls, narrow passages designed for foot traffic, the occasional glimpse of a private courtyard, but the economic reality had transformed entirely. Another observation is that, despite French being an official language of Morocco, I heard it seldomly spoken. People spoke to each other in Arabic, and then English to the tourists. I didn’t even need to speak French at all, despite being comfortable enough in it to navigate around.

Meal Expectations Unfulfilled

Our guide led us to a Moroccan restaurant that catered entirely to cruise ship passengers and tourists, which assured us of safety in food hygiene, but a sign that the food wouldn’t be very good. As we sat down, we scanned the dining room and observed an absolute absence of locals. The meal opened with bread and mezze – a selection of eggplant, peppers, and tomatoes prepared simply but flavourfully. The first course confounded us: a puff pastry topped with powdered sugar and cinnamon arrived before the main dishes. This, we learned, was pastilla, a Moroccan speciality. Pastilla represents the sweet-savory fusion at the heart of Moroccan cuisine. It contained some meat wrapped in dough, but curiously topped with powdered sugar and cinnamon, creating a flavour profile we associated with dessert.

The main course consisted of chicken skewers with couscous, alongside beef stew and chicken stew (likely from a tagine, the traditional conical cooking vessel that permeates Moroccan cuisine). However, the dishes lacked adequate seasoning. The meat was tender enough, but without sufficient salt to draw out the spices’ potential, the meal felt somewhat muted.

The mint tea that concluded the meal redeemed the experience somewhat – hot, refreshing, infused with fresh mint leaves that had clearly come from somewhere nearby.

Returning Across the Strait

The ferry crossing back to Tarifa marked a transition from Morocco to Spain, from the medina’s complexity to European order.

Once we’d settled into our accommodation in Tarifa, we ventured to the hotel’s restaurant for seafood paella – a dish brimming with the flavours that a proper stock can provide, the broth enriched by the essence of shrimp, mussels, and fish. After a day navigating tours, negotiations, and sensory overload, the simple pleasure of excellent seafood felt like a proper ending, though ironically not a Moroccan meal.

Our time in Tangier offered cool highlights – the lighthouse, the legendary caves, and the medina’s winding streets. But the day also presented contradictions that made it memorable in unexpected ways. The camel ride proved far more uncomfortable than expected. The shopping stops tested our patience and skepticism. The restaurant catered so entirely to tourists that locals seemed relegated to a different Tangier altogether. Yet we’d glimpsed not merely the postcard version of a destination, but some of the friction inherent in modern tourism – the tension between preservation and commerce, between authentic space and commercialized experience.

You can view the photo album here

How Water Built a “Castle”

We learned from our guide that each terrace is a natural bowl of travertine, a limestone deposited when hot, calcium-carbonate spring water loses carbon dioxide and solidifies. Over millennia the process stacked basin upon basin, producing a 200-metre cliff that gleams as if it has never known a footprint.

UNESCO recognised both the geology and the adjacent Greco-Roman spa of Hierapolis in 1988, ensuring stricter water-flow management so the terraces retain their snowy coat.

Ruins with Stories in Stone

At the hilltop the ground levels into the ruins of Hierapolis, founded by the Attalid kings in the second century BCE.

The theatre dominates the skyline. We hiked up to the top an watched the sunset.

The city sits atop the Pamukkale fault zone, a geologically active area responsible for both the mineral-rich hot springs and the site’s seismic instability. Major earthquakes are recorded in 17 CE under Tiberius and again, even more devastatingly, in 60 CE under Nero. The city was rebuilt with Roman imperial funds, but the threat of further destruction always loomed. Additional earthquakes in the 14th and 17th centuries CE led to significant structural collapse and abandonment by the surviving population.

Within the ruins, stray animals call it home. Among the stray cats and dogs, a turtle stands out, a pet-trade species now ranked among the world’s most invasive reptiles.

The Myth of Cerberus

South-east of the stage lies the Ploutonion, once famed as “Pluto’s Gate”. Ancient writers described sacrificial bulls collapsing here while priests emerged unharmed. Modern gas probes explain the trick: a fissure still vents carbon dioxide strong enough to reach lethal concentrations near the ground.

From the viewing deck we could see the statue of Pluto and Cerberus guarding the gate to hell.

The Bare-Foot Gauntlet

The guide offered us two options to go back into town: 1) to take the bus back, or 2) walk down the terrace – reluctantly, I opted for the second option.

Visitors must walk the slope barefoot, a rule that protects the fragile crust but punishes one’s soles like walking on Lego.

We chose each step carefully, hunting for the smoothest stripes between ridges. The descent stretched only a few hundred metres, yet the stinging pressure made it feel closer to half an hour, each step a tactical decision rather than a stroll.

A Welcome Shift in Flavour

Once we all made it down, our guide took us to a restaurant that happened to be run by Chinese immigrants in Turkey. We slid chopsticks through shrimp fried noodles, a flavour more reminescent of home, something welcome especially by now I was slowly getting tired of Turkish food.

Hot Air Balloons

As we prepared to depart the next morning, we looked back to see hot air balloons launching into the morning sky.

See more of Pamukkale / Hierapolis here

Rábida: Brackish Lagoons and Flamingos

Our morning began before breakfast with a nature walk on Rábida Island, known for its deep red volcanic sands and its brackish lagoon. The lagoon is home to a small population of American flamingos, one of the Galápagos “Big 15” species. Our guides told us the odds of seeing them were low, so we considered ourselves fortunate to catch several wading gracefully in the shallows.

Among them was a juvenile with distinctive blue legs – a telltale sign of its age. We also got a good look at their black-tipped wings, which I never even knew existed. Flamingos, surprisingly strong fliers, most likely reached the Galápagos from mainland South America. One interesting fact the guides pointed out was how what looks like their knees are actually their ankles. They get their pink colour from their diet.

As we circled the lagoon, we passed a dead seal partially buried in the sand. It wasn’t clear what caused its death, but we didn’t speculate, but it was a stark reminder of the harsh realities of nature.

We returned to the ship for breakfast after our walk. One of the passengers had a health scare that morning; he collapsed on the ground as we were observing the flamingos due to low blood sugar. Thankfully, he recovered quickly. He was lucky that it didn’t happen when we were on more rugged terrain.

Glass-Bottom Boat Ride

After breakfast, we boarded a glass-bottom boat to observe marine life without getting wet. While it sounded ideal in theory, the reality proved less comfortable. The rocking of the boat while staring down made it easy to feel seasick.

Still, we managed to spot a vague silhouette of a shark, and a massive school of fish.

A sea turtle also came to say hi to us

Bartolomé: Snorkelling and Penguins

After lunch, we visited Bartolomé Island, a small but geologically striking islet famous for its towering volcanic spire, known as Pinnacle Rock. We began with a snorkelling session around the base of it.

After several days in the water, I started feeling more at ease, whereas before I never felt comfortable in the water, and this made the session much more enjoyable. We started to swim around the rock. The underwater scenery was rich with life: bright schools of fish, the occasional shark.

As I swam around the rock, I was busy looking around in the water, until I was suddenly startled by a sea lion sleeping near the surface. At first I panicked, but the sea lion paid us no mind. As it swam away, other snorkelers followed it.

Eventually we made it around the rock, and spotted some Galápagos penguins – another member of the “Big 15.” They stayed onshore this time, and we observed them resting on the rocks. It would have been school to swim in the water with them, but they didn’t jump in.

Later we found out that one snorkeller returned with rashes after being unknowingly stung by jellyfish (apparently from a few days ago, but didn’t the rashes didn’t appear immediately). None of us had realized jellyfish were in the water.

Volcanic Landscapes and Iconic Views

Later in the day, we hiked to the summit of Bartolomé to take in its famous view – the one often featured in postcards of the Galápagos. The trail was constructed with a special local hardwood known for its resistance to salt and corrosion. The path included many stairs, which made some hesitate, but was no problem for me. Funny thing is that the guide was panting harder than I was.

As we walked up, the black lava fields and stark, dry terrain stood in contrast to the more vegetated islands. Bartolomé is relatively barren, and is considered a geologically young island, having emerged from volcanic activity only a few hundred thousand years ago. Unlike older islands that have had time to accumulate soil and vegetation, Bartolomé’s surface is still largely exposed lava, ash, and tuff. Because it hasn’t developed significant plant cover or topsoil, its ecosystem remains in an early stage of ecological succession, providing a glimpse into what the earliest phases of island formation look like in the Galápagos.

Lava tubes scar the landscape – formed when the outer crust of a lava flow solidifies while the molten core continues to move. When the lava drains away, it leaves behind hollow tunnels. The ropey textures we saw on the ground were from lava flows, which cool into smooth, undulating surfaces.

The summit offers a sweeping view of Pinnacle Rock and the surrounding islets. From this vantage point, we could also see the contrast between the barren lava terrain of Bartolomé and the greener neighbouring islands like Santiago. The turquoise waters outlined the curves of the coastline, and we could spot sea birds gliding in the air currents.

After the hike, we took a short boat ride along the shoreline and spotted several more Galápagos penguins perched on the rocks. These curious birds seemed unfazed by our presence, occasionally flapping their wings or hopping between stones. We got to see a closer view compared to snorkeling.

Evening Science and Stargazing

Those who had opted out of the climb spent time with the ship’s naturalists collecting seawater samples. After dinner, they showed us the samples under a microscope. Even in just 3 mL of seawater, we saw fish eggs, miniscule shrimp-like creatures, and other microorganisms. Then I wondered how many of them I ingested from accidentally drinking the seawater while snorkeling.

Later that night, the skies cleared and we joined the guides on the top deck for a stargazing session. Thanks to our equatorial position, we could see both northern and southern constellations. The guide used a powerful laser pointer to trace the outlines of Scorpio, Libra, the Southern Cross, and even Ursa Major. They pointed out bright stars and planets like Antares, Alpha Centauri, and Beta Centauri. The clarity of the sky, with minimal light pollution, made the session feel so much richer than at a planetarium. This day was so much more than just wildlife. It combined also geology, and scientific curiosity.

See the photo albums to explore more of Rábida and Bartolomé.

Even in peak summer in the southern hemisphere, January in Antarctica still experiences freezing temperatures with wind chill, and we needed to dress accordingly. In addition to layering up, they provided each guest a pair of boots and a lifejacket to use for the cruise that would be used for the landings. The expedition staff would call us by group for us to board Zodiacs (a brand of rugged, inflatable boats), to take us from the ship to the shore. We were warned that landings could happen on rocky beaches with water up to the knees.

Red Rock Ridge: Adelie Penguin Colony

As we waited in anticipation of the first landing, I chatted with a friendly crew member who was visiting the shore with us about the ship like its power systems, tech stuff, and later it turned out that the fellow was actually the captain himself – I couldn’t tell since he was bundled up. He was with his wife, who took time off to join him on this particular voyage. We met them several times later on the cruise and they were both very nice people to talk to.

The expedition staff had chosen a rocky shore for us to make the wet landing. We stepped off the Zodiac into water that went about up to our shins, and they helped us out of the water. This was it, we finally made it.

The mountainous landscape challenged our preconceptions of Antarctica; instead of flat ice shelves, jagged peaks and volcanic rock rose before us, their exposed rock faces contrasting starkly against the white snow and ice. In some places, the ground was a mix of snow, rocks, and mossy patches of hardy lichen—the only vegetation capable of surviving in this extreme climate. Surprisingly, it wasn’t cold – the air temperature hovered around freezing, but without any wind chill.

The key highlight of this landing was the chance to observe an Adelie penguin colony. Adelie penguins are most southerly distributed penguin species, perfectly adapted to Antarctica’s extreme conditions. Their distinctive white eye-ring against black head feathers gives them a distinctive “tuxedo with goggles” appearance. The penguins showed curious interest in their human visitors, keeping a respectful distance while clearly observing us. We arrived during their breeding season, so we saw a mixture of adults and newly hatched chicks.

Contrary to popular animated depictions, penguins don’t simply slide everywhere. They use their feet to push themselves along when belly-flopping across the ice, and they genuinely waddle when walking.

Despite their adorable behaviour, the colony had a strong, unmistakable odour. The birds live amid their own waste, referred to as guano, which accumulates in their breeding areas. This guano is so pungent that one expedition staff member remarked, “if you get it on your clothes, you may as well just burn them.” Their guano stained the snow and the penguins themselves with orange patches. The term “guano” comes from the Quechua language of Peru and was originally used to describe the excrement of seabirds, bats, and seals that was collected for use as fertilizer due to its high nitrogen content.

Antarctic skuas patrolled the skies above the penguin colony, providing a glimpse into Antarctica’s harsh food chain. These large, gull-like birds are relentless predators, known for their aggressive tactics in hunting penguin eggs and chicks. With their powerful build and hooked bills, skuas can dive-bomb distracted penguin parents and snatch their vulnerable offspring in seconds. They also practice kleptoparasitism – stealing food from other birds – and will scavenge from carcasses when available. They’re are important components of the Antarctic ecosystem, though their predatory nature often earns them an unfair villainous reputation among visitors sympathetic to the penguins.

When we returned to the ship, we followed biosecurity measures to protect Antarctica’s fragile ecosystem, by washing our boots in a cleaning fluid to prevent the transfer of contaminants between landing sites.

Stonington Island: Traces of Human History

Our second landing brought us to Stonington Island, where the continent’s sparse human history became evident through abandoned research stations.

Despite Antarctica’s remote location and harsh conditions, humans have maintained a presence here for scientific purposes since the early 20th century.

Stonington Island houses two historic research bases: East Base (American, established 1939) and Base E (British, established 1946). These stations served as important outposts for early scientific exploration in Antarctica, supporting research in geology, meteorology, and biology.

Despite its remoteness, Stonington Island was not devoid of life. A few penguins slid across the ice while a solitary seal lounged in the distance. Penguins always seem to walk single file, and the ones in the back like to wait until their “leader” makes the first move.

Witnessing a piece of ice calve from the nearby ice shelf was another highlight. A massive chunk broke off, crashing into the water and creating a wave large enough to flip over before settling into its new position.

Reflections

Our expedition to Antarctica provided rare insights into one of Earth’s last truly wild places, especially having the opportunity to cross the Antartic Circle. After returning from the entire cruise, I had followed the cruise company’s ship tracker, and I haven’t seen it cross the Antarctic Circle on its other voyages so far, which made the experience more special, and that the crew was serious that they said how rare it was go sail this far south.

Each experience today deepened our appreciation for this extraordinary continent. As temporary visitors to this frozen realm, we left with only photographs and memories. We eagerly awaited the adventures to follow in the next few days.

At the time we went, Iceland was one of the few countries in the world that allowed vaccinated foreign visitors. All that was needed was proof of vaccination – not even a pre-entry COVID test. The fact that most people were vaccinated meant that most people were not wearing masks in the city, but this was before even the Delta variant – it seems like so long ago now.

I had been itching to go travel somewhere since the pandemic began, and this was a very welcome nudge towards normalcy. Flying with Icelandair was the same as before: the seat and leg room is pretty comfortable, but there’s no food included with the airfare. The only difference is the extra bureacracy related to COVID, which increased how long it took each person to get through immigration, resulting in long lines after the plane. It didn’t help that we arrived so early in the morning that the food places weren’t even open yet and we had to wait in line while hungry. Eventually, we picked up the rental car and drove into Reykjavik for breakfast. We took the day easy by just exploring Reykjavik on foot, and took a nap in the afternoon when the jet lag caught up to us.

That night, we had probably the most memorable meal we’ve ever had at Tapas Barinn. The great thing about tapas is that as tourists, we get to try a little bit of everything as opposed to ordering entrées.

I even got to try some Flóki single malt whiskey. The smokiness from the whiskey actually comes from the barley smoked using sheep dung, a traditional cooking method. I also got to try some more brennivin like my last trip to Iceland – it’s essentially a grain alcohol (40%) and flavoured with caraway seeds, which gives it a sweeter flavour than something like vodka.

I had visited Iceland a couple years ago, but it was in the winter where there was only 4 hours of light per day, and even then the sky looked like dusk.

This time, travelling there in the summer, I didn’t see the night sky the entire time I was there. I could more clearly see and appreciate the nature around me, like the endless fields of moss growing on the rocks, and sheep freely roaming the fields.

It is thought that the Icelandic sheep were introduced to Iceland by the Viking settlers. Farmers allow them to freely roam around in the summer months, and as winter comes, they round them all back up again.

Like my previous trip to Iceland, we travelled along the Ring Road to see the waterfalls, and the volcanic beaches.

This is what the view at Seljalandsfoss looks like in the summer versus the view I saw in the winter. I had no idea Iceland could be so green. In the summer, people can even walk behind the waterfall, between the rock and the falls itself, but in the winter, the trail is closed because of ice.

Skógafoss looks about the same between summer and winter, except the vegetation is greener in summer.

A kitty even came out to hang out with us! As we were walking, the cat just walked up to us and stopped, expecting pets as a payment to pass through. After that, off it went.

Unlike travelling to Iceland in the winter, there were no restrictions (4WD) to drive up to Dyrhólaey in the summer. As we drove up, I could see why. The road was a set of steep switchbacks on gravel roads that were only a little more than two cars width – and there were no guardrails.

From the top, one can see the endless mountains, or watch the waves crash against the beaches of volanic sand.

The next day, we took a Superjeep tour to see ice caves on an active volcano known as Katla. The reason why it’s called Superjeep is because it can deflate its tires (for icy roads), and inflate them back up again depending on the terrain, but otherwise it looks like your typical Ford Excursion but with big tires.

The ice caves were located a ways in from the glacier. In summer, a lot of the ice had melted, revealing the volanic sand and rock underneath.

Only just now as I was writing this, did I realize we were travelling on a literal volcano, but I suppose it’s safe.

As we headed up the volcano, the lush, green vegetation quickly disappeared, revealing a rocky landscape with a mix of ice and black volcanic rock. Grey clouds covered the sky and it began to rain.

Eventually, the tour guide parked the truck, and we began our volcano hike. He brought his ice pick with him and used it several times to cut steps in the ice.

Despite the summer season, the temperature still felt like a mild winter. But it still meant the ice caves would not be as fully developed as in the winter season, and this could clearly be seen when comparing the ice caves from this trip versus the previous one. In fact, the winter ice cave was really more of a tunnel, while the picture of the summer ice cave was taken from the end of the cave with the camera pointing out.

The ice on top of the volcanic rock looked so alien that several movies used this place as a location for another planet. Rogue One was filmed in the area for the opening scene where young Jyn Erso hides from the stormtroopers. The movie doesn’t show the whole cave, but the similiarity is clear. If the movie had shown the whole cave, one would see why people call it the “Yoda Cave”.

It was nice staying in the cave for a bit as a brief respite from the rain. We made the mistake of wearing jeans for a multi-hour hike in the rain, and our wet clothes just made us even colder. We also got the chance to chat a bit with others on the tour. We met an orthodonist who practised in Greece by the name of Thanos (I wonder if he was aware of the MCU), and another who claimed to be a “voodoo priestess”, whatever that means.

The next morning, the plan was whale and puffin watching. It turned out to be an incredibly bad idea because I apparently get seasick, and didn’t get to see a lot. Even those who did see whales could really only see a small fin barely capturable on camera. Only a small percentage of people get to see the whale flying out of the water and crashing back down. Good thing the puffin watching was on a separate tour so I got to recover from the seasickness, but we decided not to go and instead gave the tickets away to another group that we overheard looking for tickets to the same tour.

Instead, we went to go get some Icelandic hotdogs for lunch. The key things that set it apart are the condiments, and the sausage. In addition to ketchup, and sweet mustard, they also add “remoulade”, similar to mayo with added herbs. The sausage uses lamb, as opposed to chicken/pork/beef.

Next, we headed to the Reykjanes Peninsula and the Blue Lagoon. We reached the tip of the peninsula and stood on the cliff watching the waves crash against the shore. If there was such a thing as the end of the earth, this was it. Despite strong gusts of wind, thousands of birds nested on the side of the cliff. From far away they look like white specks, but one can see them clearly with a good set of binoculars.

Next, we went for a relaxing soak at the Blue Lagoon, a man-made spa fed by water used by a nearby geothermal plant.

The water forms a milky blue colour from the high silica mud, and is supposedly good for the skin. They even sell super overpriced skincare products at the gift shop.

The area is beautiful with all the steam slowly rising from the hot springs with the light cool breeze. It would have felt like a whipping biting wind if not for the hot spring. You just submerge yourself until you feel not too hot and not too cold, and then relax with their cleansing silica face masks and a drink.

After leaving Blue Lagoon, we’d learned there was an active eruption happening at the nearby Fagradalsfjall volcano, and was happening slow enough such that it was OK to go see it.

A short walk from the parking lot led us to the lava flow. The trail continued upstream of the lava flow to the mouth of the volcano.

There were warnings for people to not walk too close to the lava flow because of risks of toxic fumes, but many did it anyway (as did we). Many curious hikers threw rocks on it just to find out that the lava flow had already hardened, even though there were still visible fumes coming out.

The hike turned out to be really long, and we weren’t really prepared to do a multi-hour hike at 20:00 in the cold, wind, and rain. As we reluctantly turned around, we saw people pointing the other and when we looked, we managed to catch a glimpse of the volcano spewing lava from afar. It makes sense now why people call it the “land of ice and fire”

It was surprising to see how watery the lava looked. I expected molten rock to be more viscous. The lava just spewed out in a splash. I felt super lucky to have seen such a sight.

As we walked back, I noticed these hexagonal patterns in the ground. Maybe this is how basalt columns form? From what I’ve read, under certain conditions, the cooling magma can cool in a way that forms these hexagonal shapes.

By the time we reached the parking lot, we were wet and cold (seemed to be a recurring theme by this point). Luckily there was a food truck at the parking lot selling hot soup.

The next morning before heading out to the Golden Circle, we started the day off with a nice brunch at Sandholt.

The unexpected star of the breakfast was the bread. As an amateur baker myself, this is the bread I aspire to make – it’s soft, light and airy with a crisp crust.

Next step along the Golden Circle was Geysir. The geothermal heat creates pressure underground causing the water to explode upward every few minutes. The entire area is filled with geothermal pools, some of which are so hot they’re bubbling from the heat and pressure.

It’s cool just to just stand in anticipation of the eruption. From looking at it, there’s no indication that it’s going to explode at all, and then it just does. At one point, the wind carried the water toward us and got us all wet, but luckily by the time the water hits the ground, it’s cooled down.

From the Geysir, we drove to Gullfoss. Unlike other waterfalls, this one has a unique feature where the water does a zig zag before hitting the bottom.

There were attempts in the past to build a hydroelectric plant here, but those efforts have not succeeded, and since then, the waterfall is now under government protection.

The last destination of the Golden Circle was Kerið crater. It’s believed that the crater formed through volcanic activity. Once the magma chamber emptied, it collapsed, forming the crater. The accumulation of water is not formed by rainfall, but is actually ground water.

On our last day before we left, we got the chance to try more Icelandic dishes. This time we had some lamb soup, dried fish, fermented shark, and some Einstök white ale, a local craft brew.

It’s not often that I would rave about soup, but I liked it so much I’ve been trying to recreate the flavour at home. It’s savoury soup with vegetables, lamb, and herbs/spices. I can’t say I was a huge fan of the dried fish and fermented shark though. The dried fish is served with butter and its flavour reminds me of super tough beef jerky with a light fish flavour, while the fermented shark has a texture of a ham with a soury tang. Perhaps it’s an acquired taste. The beer was great though.

That’s pretty much it for Iceland. We got the chance to try all sorts of local delicacies, and see a piece of nature we wouldn’t normally see in our part of the world. At the airport duty free, I even got to pick up some Brennivin, and a bottle of the Flóki sheep dung whiskey!

See more pictures of my trip to Iceland here