Tapped Out in Iceland

After clubbing in Reykjavik, rest up in Landmannalaugar, the Icelandic highlands region known for its volcanic rock formations and natural hot springs. (Tyler Stableford - Getty Images)

On one particularly unforgiving stretch of rocky road, we came upon a small Volkswagen stopped in the middle of a path. A young couple sat inside, looking as if they were at a crossroads, either in their relationship or on their journey to Landmannalaugar. I was betting on the latter: He wanted to continue and she wanted to turn around. Krista rolled down her window.

"Are you two okay?" Krista asked.

"We're fine," the girl said from the driver's seat. Waving at us to drive on, she looked as if she was about to cry.

Two hours later, I was losing it myself.

"I don't know if I can keep this up much longer," I said.

Krista began to ignore my complaining, which gave me the silence to concentrate on the hypothesis I'd been toying with the previous day. I'd skipped out on eating the rotten shark, and I hadn't dived into the pool of green slime. I thought: Maybe this was the trial by fire I was looking for. Maybe this was my ultimate sobriety test. I popped in the Heartless Bastards again, took a deep breath and committed myself to the long haul.

At a point when the land of Mordor couldn't seem more impenetrable, off in the distance a sprinkle of yellow dusted the side of a hill. The same thing happened in green, orange, rose -- a rainbow range of rhyolite hills started to appear out of nowhere.

We rounded a mountain and came upon a green valley, with campers and tents strewn across. Heads and naked shoulders could vaguely be seen within the far-off phantasms of rising steam.

Krista and I needed to get back to Reykjavik the same night to meet up with a friend, so we could only stay a few hours. We didn't waste any time: We put on our bathing suits in the car, threw on our jackets, grabbed our supplies and raced toward the hot springs before the mountain's freezing shadow had the chance to latch onto our bare legs.

At last, the plunge.

The perfection of the water temperature came from two different sources -- one volcanically hot stream and one glacially cold. It was a joining of the waters' two temperatures, not a cancellation of them -- that was what perfection felt like. That was what Iceland felt like. And as I sank my shoulders further down, watching the steam rise from the surface, I imagined the country's fault lines cutting right through me. This was where the two sides fit: fire and ice, earth and water, North America and Eurasia.

It felt great making peace with the duality of the Icelandic experience, detoxifying as it was intoxicating. It made so much sense that Krista and I decided to share a single can of beer while we gently flowed to the other side of the springs.

New York writer Tommy Nguyen last wrote for Travel on EasyCruise.