The Northern Lights, and friendship in Iceland

It's on nearly every single person's bucket list, so that ups the wow factor exponentially. And having seen them myself, I have no doubt whatsoever that this night, here in Iceland, in the small little town of Skógar was one of the most magical nights of my life.

Let me confess something: when I planned to go to Iceland, I planned my entire trip around these babies. And I literally mean my entire trip. I booked my flight and car rental around the magic date of March 17, 2013.

The significance of March 17 is that it is the date of the spring equinox, and aurora activity is highest around the equinoxes - spring and autumn, so if you ever want to see aurora, mark September and March down in your calendar. That the year also happened to be 2013 was the most amazing coincidence ever, since this year is the peak of the sun's 11-year cycle and solar activity is at a high.

A little bit nuts to go to all that trouble to see the lights, but it was so worth it.



Sunset in the Icelandic March lasts really long. Like, three hours long, so that by 8.30PM we could still see the sun on the horizon.

When I say 'we', I mean my friends Josh and Amanda from Utah and Jonna from Finland - and what made this moment all the more incredible was that not 12 hours ago, we had been complete and utter strangers. I'd met Josh on the Couchsurfing Reykjavík forum, which is a great place to meet like-minded travellers - I was looking for people to share my car rental with, and Josh messaged me saying he'd be up to a road trip.

So it was only that morning that we had just met, and I embarked on a road trip with three strangers who would, in five days and four nights of the most incredible and intense experiences I have ever had in my entire life, turn out to be some of my closest friends.



The story of how quickly this friendship started is a story for another post, because here I want to talk about the Northern Lights and the magic of that night.

It was cold, and windy, and absolutely freezing. It was, by all accounts, a completely miserable night - blistering winds, I was wearing gloves made of Icelandic sheep wool and my hands were still cold, and I couldn't even feel my ears on the side of my head anymore - except for two things.

The sound of Skógafoss roaring in the background of where we had parked, and the aurora dancing in the sky overhead.

It started just as the sun set. We'd just checked into the hotel we were staying in for the night, and we were discussing the possibility of seeing Lights that night when the owner overheard us and told us that we were guaranteed to see them that night (I swear the excitement was almost tangible, that's how crazy we were).



First, a hint, the faintest trace of green. Barely there, barely visible. And then streaks growing stronger, each light coming from across the silhouette of the mountain behind us. Us, standing in the cold, the winds blowing at our faces and me shivering under my three layers of coats, shaking with cold but unexplainably happy with the most ridiculous smile you've ever seen.

And then came the music. Oh, the music.

Believe me when I tell you that there is nothing more magical than listening to Sigur Rós (I recommend Hoppípolla for full 'glorious life' effect) while the aurora is dancing over your head. Icelandic music is something special - just like the land of the country from whence it come, it's ethereal and evokes emotion in people that you never knew you were capable of.

The raw strength, the unabashed honesty, the emotional and glorious splendour.




We stayed out there for three hours that night, watching the lights dance and feeling our fingers go numb with cold.

I later found out on the aurora forecast that this had been a level five aurora. FIVE. That's 'high' activity, and the locals told us that it was also the strongest aurora they'd seen all season (damn girl, you lucky!) which was just the best thing. Sometimes it was even so bright that you could have read by the light.

The south Iceland night, the aurora, the roaring waterfall. It was intoxicating and intense, and it all felt so unreal. But it was real, and it was nature in her rawest form, and it was beautiful, and for one tiny fraction of a moment I think I understood what it is like to love something with so much of your heart that you can't hold it in and all you want to do is sing, dance, cry, burst out of this tiny human shell.



There comes a point in every person's life, whether you know it or not, when you realise that the very act of being alive is something that we should be grateful for. Because although life has its fair share of downs and times when it seems this hell is never going to end, there are the spectacular ups - sometimes so spectacular that you don't even think thoughts like "I don't want this to end" because it's draws you in so deeply that you can't think about anything other than "I am here, right now." And being here, right now, puts the sort of honest smile on your face for which we have to be thankful just for being there, in that very spot in all of time and space.

Sometimes, even with a bunch of strangers you met off the internet. Unexpected people.

It's moments like these that take your breath away.