'We come from the land of the ice and snow. From the midnight sun, where the hot springs flow...' Led Zeppelin's lyrics had been stuck in my head since we landed in Reykjavik. It was close to midnight by the time we were reunited with our luggage - and still light outside. With a two hour drive between us and our beds for the night, the sensible thing would have been to sleep: we had already made plans to climb a dormant volcano in the morning. But I'm not sensible, nor could I bring myself to close my eyes on the impressive landscape unfurling before me. The road twisted and turned, each scene wilder than the one before, and framed perfectly by the van's window, in the eerie not-quite-darkness. When we came to a stop for wild horses to cross the road in front of us, I wondered if I had dozed off. Most of the trip felt like some kind of parallel dreamworld: Sliding down a grass-covered volcano in a pair of waterproof trousers was an exhilarating experience - but it didn't end there. We visited majestic waterfalls that had carved their way through rocks and earth, leaving behind impressive gorges, now adorned with moss and surrounded by lush green foliage. Their spray casting rainbows between craggy overhanging rocks and pools of icy cold water. Water. Most definitely the theme of the trip. We stood, awestruck as boiling-hot geysers spontaneously squirted fountains of sulfurous water into the sky. We pondered the gargantuan glaciers and their trickles of meltwater: tiny droplets, finally free from the large bodies of ice that once encapsulated them, now meandering along with great haste. Exhausted from all the hiking and light-induced not-quite-being-able-to-get-to-bed-early-enough-ing, we sought out some lesser-known geothermally heated swimming pools. The unadulterated, naturally heated waters soothed our aching muscles almost as much as the wide-open, unspoiled views soothed our minds. The highlight for me was our expedition to ‘Home Island’ aka Heimaey. At 13.4 square kilometers, it is home to 4,500 people and an estimated eight million puffins. We climbed into a tiny airplane to make the 4 nautical mile journey south of the mainland. Due to the number of us and the lack of seats(!) I was ushered into the cockpit alongside the pilot, for what was the shortest yet most memorable flight I’ve ever taken. On arrival, we were met by Sigurður, who gave us a brief summary of the Island's history. He animatedly told us how the volcanic eruption of '73 had threatened to destroy the islanders’ only source of income. A fascinating tale of triumph: the locals relentlessly sprayed seawater at the molten lava, successfully stopping it short of the harbor and thus protecting their livelihoods as fishermen. We proceeded to a wooden jetty, where after a brief exchange of hand gestures and enthusiastic nodding, boarded a small boat. As we made our way out of 'civilization' I looked up. I could barely see the cliff face for puffins. For once, I thought, a place where another species outnumber us humans. For quite some time we skirted along, parallel to the cliffs. Suddenly, and without saying a word, the captain took us into a small cave. As he turned the boat, the engine cut out. We bobbed up and down until the wake dissipated, facing out towards the ocean, the view framed by the jagged edges of the cave. I glanced over to gauge the captain's expression. And then? He took out a tenor saxophone. Yes, that bearded islander, whose name I'll never know, filled that small cave with the sweet and sultry tones of the saxophone. A fellow saxophonist myself, I took great delight in this impromptu performance. It was the last thing any of us were expecting. We continued towards the harbor, lost in our own thoughts. Until Charlotte, a member of our group, let out a disgruntled moan. We looked over to see her wiping a large and slimy dollop from her forehead, a look of dismay on her face. She’d been pooped on. By a puffin. Charlotte Tuffin. We burst into laughter at the sheer ridiculousness of it. Needless to say, I’ll never forget that trip to Iceland.