Our first full day in Reykjavik also looked like the best weather we’d have. A very mild 7C, overcast, a touch of drizzle, but some sun poking through – it beat the following days’ forecast of 100% rain all day.

So after waking early, getting the boys through breakfast (complimentary Cornflakes), packing our day bags, and getting out – we felt a little pressure to make the most of the day, but weren’t quite sure how.

We started by meandering down to the sea, and walking along to the Sun Voyager statue, by Jón Gunnar Árnason, meant to represent a boat on a voyage to undiscovered territory. The stainless steel reflected the silvery sky and blue water, and against the snowy hills behind, their caps obscured by low cloud, it all came together like magic. This was our voyage into the unknown, a first trip since the beginning of the pandemic, and a first with two kids.

Out of the harbour we saw a boat leaving, possibly a whale watching tour. Whale watching was on our todo list, and thinking about it, that’s not something we’d want to do in rough weather and driving rain. We set off along the coast to find a booking office, purchased tickets for a 1pm boat ride, and then marched back to our apartment to get suitable clothing – thermals? Wet weathers? Hats and gloves? Let’s just take it all. Then we marched back to the harbour, putting both boys in the buggy, one sitting on the other’s lap, which they oddly enjoyed.

Of course we needn’t have rushed, there was plenty of time. We had lunch in the harbour at a coffee shop called Rost, where our open sandwich lunch of smoked salmon and smoked lamb, came almost immediately. The boys shared a slice of sourdough with peanut butter, bananas and cinnamon, then argued over their dinosaurs.

All aboard

We boarded our boat Andrea. Kids under 6 need to wear a life jacket at all times. Right, that’ll be fun. For the first hour of the journey we attempted to wrestle them into fluorescent oversized orange floatation devices. There were screams, undoing of zips, and discarded life jackets. This was not going well.

We eventually found a truce – they would stay below deck, where they wouldn’t need to wear one, and where it was warmer, where they could still see the ocean. Although of course they were dressed in thermals and jumpers, so everyone began to overheat.

Outbound the boat was fighting against the current, crashing through waves and rocking, side to side and up and down. Now today the sea was calm, but the to-and-fro began to nauseate – and looking at Conway’s face I feared he might be getting seasick. As it turned out, it was only Samantha who was feeling worse for wear, and Conway perked up as soon as he had a chocolate muffin. Forrest cheered up once his zealous battle against the torturous orange life jacket was in the past.

As we left the shores of Iceland, the snowy hills disappeared, and the boat was flanked by flying fulmars. Our captain was using birds to try and spot the whales. Recent trips had seen humpbacks, dolphins and a minke whale. The boat kept on going, but by 3 hours in the commentary on this trip talked about “patience” and “luck”, it was clear this journey was turning up nothing. And then the sea was plunged into mist, where any chance of spotting something dropped to almost zero.

Almost zero. Our captain had a call on the radio, a nearby boat had seen a humpback, and we were rushing to their side. Samantha stayed downstairs with boys, trying to control them both, help them see the whale, and stay in control of her stomach. I rushed to the front of the boat, outside, finding a gap by the railings, one arm holding on tightly, the other trying to control the camera. I braced the cold wind, I didn’t have time to put my jumper back on, and hoped to see something, better still to get a photo.

Then there it was, at 11 o’clock, the dorsal fin of a humpback whale, rising slightly above the waterline, a hiss of the whale breathing, and then gone again. The whale was circling, unusual behaviour we were told, and we were lucky to watch it for a while. Here in Iceland they’re only feeding, they are not breeding or trying to impress females, so no whale is going to be breaching, our expectations were properly set.

Many more times the dorsal fin rose up and out of the water, and for just a couple of moments, if you looked in the right place, you could catch sight of its head peeking out, then diving again, the bumpy snout just about visible. As short and surprising as each glimpse was, it was exhilarating.

Back downstairs, I found that the boys had seen it too, “I saw its head daddy”, Conway said. And Forrest motioned that he’d seen a whale too. Mummy was doing ok, but needed to rest for the boat ride back. It was a relief that this wasn’t all for nothing. The boat ride back was smoother, travelling with the waves, and the boys entertained themselves, marching around the lower deck of the boat with fliers on their heads pretending to be narwhals or rolling them up and pretending they were telescopes.

Back on land, we picked up supplies from a Bonus supermarket, cooked pasta and got the boys to sleep, and we promptly fell asleep too. They were tired, and our step count read 14,000, that’s a lot for little legs.

Museums in the rain →