Iceland: The snow must go on

Sierra Brown/Staff

Sierra Brown/Staff

Sierra Brown/Staff

Sierra Brown/Staff

Sierra Brown/Staff

Sierra Brown/Staff

Sierra Brown/Staff

Sierra Brown/Staff

Sierra Brown/Staff

Sierra Brown/Staff

Sierra Brown/Senior Staff

Mark Twain (allegedly) once wrote “The coldest winter I ever spent was a summer in San Francisco.”

Unlike our city across the bay, Icelandic temperatures in the early months of summer range from a brisk 39 degrees Fahrenheit to a cozy 50 degrees, on a sunny day. Those temperatures paired with 40 mph wind speeds and frequently overcast days equal your not-so-typical summer vacation. Needless to say, I didn’t visit Iceland for the weather. I traveled to the arctic island for its massive waterfalls, active volcanoes, iceberg beaches, and creamy fish stew. I visited to see the furry Icelandic ponies and herds of sheep grazing the tundra under a sun that circles the sky for 22 hours a day. In a land where the 300,000 inhabitants (many of which descended from vikings) traditionally believe in elves, trolls, and ghosts, it’s difficult not to consider the place a magical “summer” wonderland.

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