Featured Image: Jack Clayton
They say that when the all-conquering Alexander the Great looked upon the breadth of his domain, he wept. They say he did this because he knew, deep in his heart, that there were no more worlds left to conquer; a bittersweet sense that he’d achieved everything he wanted to and, in doing so, stripped his life of purpose. Historians are still to clarify whether Alexander the Great was listening to the sad, sad, sounds of Death Cab For Cutie at the time but that’s a mostly irrelevant discussion which we’ll save for another time.
Staring down at the epic Skógafoss waterfall, on a beautiful June day in Iceland, I’m hit by something bordering on what ATG, as he was probably known to his mates, must have felt. It’s, by my estimation, the millionth jaw-dropping, heart-melting, waterfall we’ve seen on our four-day Icelandic road trip and, well, quite frankly I’m emotionally and physically spent.
“It’s addictive Iceland”
Moments before we got to it, my pal Tom had spotted the waterfall as a point of interest on Google Maps. Eyes tired from the relentless beauty of this mad, spectacular, place I nearly went full Brenda from Bristol (“You’re joking? Not another one”). Instead, with my head pressed against the window in a borderline nap state I said “Naaah. Let’s skip this one. I’ve got waterfall fatigue.”
Of course, I was wrong. As soon as we could see it from the road, we knew. We all knew. Iceland does this to you. It’s a laughably nice place to be in, whether you’re in a hire car or out on foot it makes you want to savour every moment like no other place I’ve been to.