Travel: The Edges Of Twilight

You haven't lived until you've ridden a snowmobile on an active volcano. Iceland gave Benny Doyle such an opportunity.

Our guide says that we can only go out for an hour so if the thing blows we can outrun the lava. I've never felt so alive.

The temperature has dropped into minus territory and I'm rugged up like the Michelin Man, trying to squeeze a racing helmet down over my head.

Our husky Icelandic guide notices that I'm struggling and gives it a little tap on top which does the trick. We're about to go snowmobiling on Mýrdalsjökull, a glacier that rests expectedly on an active volcano named Katla. Scientists have stated that the cavity should erupt every 40 to 80 years; the last recorded eruption was in 1918. Our guide says that we can only go out for an hour so if the thing blows we can outrun the lava. I've never felt so alive.

This is Iceland. It's a country that stirs something inside you and causes you to breathe deeper, gaze longer and think just a little bit more.

BLUE LAGOON ETIQUETTE: BEST PRACTICES

NUDE UP IN THE LOCKER ROOMS
Nothing says, 'I'm iffy on you locals' like covering yourself with a towel when you're getting changed. Let it hang out, relax and enjoy the welcoming nods from the regulars.

SCRUB YO'SELF
And while you're standing around just as God made you, have a shower and scrub yourself down. This will make sure the lagoon remains as clean and hygienic as possible.

MINIMAL MOTION IN THE OCEAN
Well, geothermal spa – but you get it. Your mad bomb dives might score you perfect tens at your backyard pool parties but here they'll win you no friends.

GET DIRTY
That soft stuff beneath your toes is silica mud, and it exfoliates, brings out inner glow and does all sorts of other things you read about on lady products. Smear that gear on.

CLOSE YOUR EYES
You are swimming in an open-air lagoon in Iceland surrounded by molten rock – it doesn't get much more relaxing, so soak it up and enjoy.

Most things you experience here are so unique you can't completely compute them, and even in reflection it's hard to put yourself back in that moment and acknowledge the magnitude and scope that came with whatever you were doing. Like speeding at 60 clicks across a volcano; gazing at the crevasse between the Eurasian and North American tectonic plates; watching icebergs break off a glacier. It's a country that makes you feel as small and insignificant as you are in the massive scheme of it all.

Because there's culture shock. Like when you visit a foreign destination and can't read a train map, or you point at a menu and end up with pig's ear stew. Then there's Iceland. At many points on the trip it doesn't even seem like we're on Earth. The remote Nordic island spits, steams and bubbles, filling us with childlike curiosity as an elaborate science experiment plays out all around. And outside of Reykjavik, the horizon is generally devoid of trees, with moss quickly replacing grass and minimal fauna to be seen. Far from seeming cold, however, all this comes across as cinematic and inspiring.

From the moment we depart London and begin chasing the spring sun north around the Earth's curvature, the trip immediately feels like something extraordinary and about as far removed from a standard 'weekend break' as could be. At one point I'm lying in the back of a people mover as it powers down a single lane road and all that surrounds us is hardened black lava. The desolation seems to roll into the infinite. Tool plays on the stereo and the prog metal whirs with the same intensity; it sounds like it was written for the moment. I remember reading an article about the making of Bjork's Post, and how she sourced a long microphone cord so she could sing out to the ocean. It all makes complete sense.

Basing ourselves out of Reykjavik City Hostel isn't so much a smart decision as the only choice on our backpacking budget. But it gives us a central base to explore the city and surrounding areas, and provides us with a social environment where we can share stories and pick up handy tips on where to eat and what to check out around the place. During our four days in Iceland I see more water cascade over cliff edges than I ever have in my life. I eat lobster soup and freshly caught flounder that practically dissolves in my mouth. I even manage to learn a bit about the country's Viking heritage, which the Icelandic people are immensely proud of.

The sun doesn't disappear the entire time we're here. The closest we come to darkness is between the hours of 11pm and 3am, when a perpetual dusk settles over our heads. When we appear from Pravda, one of the prize clubs in Reykjavik on Sunday morning at 4am, the sun is belting down like it's noon. It makes the street meat hot dog just a little harder to digest, but it's pretty unique nonetheless.

And no trip to Iceland is complete without a visit to the Blue Lagoon, the iconic geothermal spa situated in the country's south-west tip. It's on the way to the airport, making it the perfect final stop for any holiday in the north, and the experience is medicinal, extracting the last of the Jägermeister from our pores to see us leaving totally refreshed and invigorated.