If going to Iceland is an adventure, visiting its highlands, which are mostly an uninhabitable volcanic desert, elevates the idea of adventures to a whole new level. On this fall morning, we set off on the infamous gravel road F35.
When there could be any kind of weather all in one day, meeting such a group of men in bright orange could be comforting. A short exchange of words with one of them even made me giddy. It goes like this:
He: "Where are you from?"
Me: "Los Angeles... Where are you from?"
He: "Iceland." He then went on to say "I'm a sheep farmer."
I knew almost nothing about people of this land and their life. As I searched for words to respond, he then turned around and disappeared quickly with his horses in his last sentence: "Say hello to Obama!"
Finally waking up from the clip-clop of horses, I muttered into the cold air "oh, thanks, I will pass it onto him!"