As much as any place on our tour this year, Iceland definitely ticks a bucket list box. Which is why I’m so bloody irritated that my nose is dripping like a tap, my eyes are weeping like a Victorian heroine and I can’t stop sneezing. Curse you, body! Still, it’s my first proper bout of illness this year and Iceland already looks pretty spectacular, even through a blizzard of tissues.

We landed at Keflavik (I considered starting this post with a rant about the otherwise-well-mannered middle-aged New York gentleman who would NOT keep his elbows inside his seat territory on the plane but that would’ve been a bit of a downer) and arrived without incident. Or should I say that a certain Yankee was lucky to arrive without me stabbing him in the fleshy upper-arm with my pen.

First impression of Iceland was wow.

These are seriously the best toilets I’ve ever seen in an airport. You know how you can spot a fancy toilet by the Dyson hand dryer? Well in Iceland the taps were Dyson and they had a dryer attached to the taps, like so:

I bet this is how Captain Kirk washes and dries his hands.

That’s right – the tap is in the middle and there’s one dryer for each hand. These people are living in whatever comes beyond the first world.

On top of this, the sink was in the cubicle with the toilet and the cubicle was HUGE. This is important because, as a female who has traveled internationally and also likes to use toilets (which is a freakish combination, to be sure), I have frequently been irritated by the fact that there is never enough room in the cubicle for my luggage. You can see the issue here when you’re on your own. Ask a stranger to mind it or just leave it outside and hope you haven’t initiated a bomb scare? Iceland, alone out of all the world’s nations, seems to have recognised and overcome this problem. If I knew who to thank I’d kiss them.

After I finished marvelling at the plumbing we picked up our rental car, handed back a list of real and imaginary scratches that we shouldn’t be held accountable for (always good to plan ahead) and hit the road. Which is to say, Luke drove extremely cautiously on the opposite side to which we are accustomed and I read the map, in between reusing old tissues I found in my pockets and, to all intents and purposes, crying uncontrollably on one side of my face.

Turned out the address we’d been given for our two nights in Reykjavik was, in fact, a half hour drive out of town (and can I just big myself up a little here for being able to spell Reykjavik on the second try without help) and we had no idea how to get there or what the address really meant. Which word was the town? Which word was the street? Why were there two numbers? Why couldn’t we pronounce anything on the map?

We solved this dilemma by stopping at a petrol station and the fellow there sold us $6 sandwiches and gave us a one page, much easier to follow, map and explained where to go. Which led us, through a series of unexpectedly correct choices, to our hotel in a tiny little town somewhere in Iceland. Right now we’re planning  what we’re going to do tomorrow – we’re on a self-drive holiday that allows two nights here so we can explore Reykjavik for a day then we’re off driving around the countryside for 6 days.

And all you’re getting today is a picture of a tap. It was a great tap though, I promise!

That was the plan anyway. I think my travels with Mum have spoiled me somewhat – all the staying in nice hotels, plus until this week we’ve been pretty lucky with the weather. During the drive from Yorkshire across to Cumbria I started feeling like I was suffering from more than just hay fever, with a hot face and sore eyes so we booked into the Britannia Hotel, just down the road from the campsite I’d planned to stay at.

We ate dinner there – the most delicious steak and mushroom pie I think I’ve ever had – and slept in beds that were as soft as clouds… although a great deal more squeaky. The Britannia is a charming pub. 500 years old and obviously extremely popular with walkers.

It’s been interesting to contemplate what it must be like for locals and businesses in an area like Windermere. The place is heaving with tourists. From busloads of kids and the elderly to groups of extremely serious walkers, carrying everything on their backs like snails with their shells. Almost every car space costs money unless it comes with your accommodation. Many cafes charge money to power your laptops and phones. Even campsites have device-charging stations. Traffic is nightmarish in many spots due to the extremely narrow roads and right now it’s a miserable weekday. What happens during August when everyone’s on holidays and the sun is out… I can’t even imagine.

We left the Britannia Tuesday morning, after getting a jump start from one of the staff there (left the lights on… again! Van Failen doesn’t even have a dashboard light to indicate the lights are on) and had to go for a long drive to recharge the battery so we headed to Honiston Pass, where I’d been with Mum a couple of weeks before.

The weather was worse than last time but we got out and went for a walk up the side of the hill to a mine entrance at the top. When we rounded the corner the wind went from ‘annoying’ to ‘gale force’ and I took a few quick photos of the view down the valley before heading back.

Our camping set up.

That afternoon we made it to Baysbrook Farm and set up our campsite. Apple and pork sausages cooked in the saucepan and smothered with tomato relish tasted pretty good outdoors, although having to fight off the extremely confident and curious farm chickens was an unexpected challenge.

The weather got progressively windier and the tarp whipped around a bit during the night. Despite this we could still hear a guy snoring in a tent 20 metres away.

This was the view from our campsite.