Discovering the Icelandic Hot Pot

Checking in at the pool, I show my Reykjavik City Card and am given a soft rubber bracelet with a sensor built in and given directions to the locker rooms. I’m greeted on my way by a full body sign reminding me that I must properly clean my hair, underarms, swim trunk area and my feet before entering the pools. I’m assured that if I have any questions, I can ask the shower attendant.

I get to the entrance to the men’s locker room and am prompted by a multilingual sign directing me to take my shoes off before entering so I don’t track snow melt and street dirt into the locker room. After that, I step into a very typical looking locker room except instead of padlocks, each locker has a sensor shaped like the sensor on my bracelet. Again, the signage indicates to me that I may choose any unoccupied locker by activating the sensor with my bracelet. I pick a locker and giggle to myself a little at how cool the mechanism is.

I disrobe completely and wear my shorts to the showers. I’m surprised to see the shower attendant set up at a workspace right next to the showers and he professionally (I wasn’t creeped out) monitors each pool goer to make sure each cleans thoroughly with either the soap provided from convenient dispensers or their own soaps and shampoos. Two younger boys are stopped just before running out because they haven’t cleaned their feet.

I wash myself thoroughly, reluctant to drop my shorts at first but braving the watchful eye of the attendant because I know I’d be far more embarrassed if I was called back for not cleaning well enough. Finally, satisfied that I won’t face the imagined wrath of the perfectly pleasant shower attendant, I walk out to the final indoor area before I will have to brave the cold.

I take stock of my situation: snow falls outside and is carried horizontally by the wind. A time and temp display across the length of the lap pool reads -7C (~20F)... I look at the nearest hot pot, about 30m from the door and assess the bare foot prints in the lightly accumulating snow. Half are spread far apart- a sure sign of a sprinter, half are closely spaced as if someone were on a leisurely stroll. Madness!

I take a moment to ponder my own sanity level and determine 30m is too far for me as I am, dripping and slightly chilled already after the shower. Luckily, there is another option! A mere 5 steps from the door is the shallow, kid-friendly and, most importantly, heated rock pool. I gird my loins (which at this point have retreated to just below my lungs in anticipation of the cold) and open the door.

The snow isn’t falling in flakes, but in crystals, and I am accosted by the cold and the speeding sandblast of ice crystals as I shuffle and scramble the few steps to sanctuary. My system reboots for an instant as I dip one foot into the 100 degree (F, obviously) water and am hit simultaneously with too much heat and too much cold. Thankfully, the inertia pulls me deeper into the pool as my brain shorts out so that by the time I have my wits about me, I am submerged up to my neck in heavenly, all enveloping warmth!

From there, things become easier. Bolstered by the heat of the rock pool, I am eventually ready to brave the 30 meters to the first hot pot. I rise and walk slowly like the terminator, with perfect posture and an air of indifference, both simple mental totems against the cold and fear of being judged weak by the locals. Steam rises off me, a barrier of warmth melting the ice crystals before they can sting my skin. I am like the god of steamed lobster...

Until 5 meters from the hot pot!

My aloofness fades suddenly as the chill suddenly retakes me! In an instant I realize I will die of hypothermia if I don’t start shuffling quickly! With years of fear of running by the pool drilled into me, I call upon my penguin ancestors and speed waddle the final distance before dipping into the sweet salvation of a 39 degree C hot pot.

Over the next hour, I leisurely bask among the locals in the four progressively hotter pools until I feel I’ve finally found some sort of temporary serenity and then I walk back, slowly, to the locker room... I am a grizzled veteran of comfort!

The process of leaving is as simple as can be, I throw my shorts into a dryer while I change and, when fully dressed, I go to reclaim my shoes. I’ve built up quite an appetite and I consider the vending machine fare for a moment before I recall the hot dog stand just outside! My mouth waters at the thought of an Icelandic hot dog with everything on it but I’m stopped abruptly by the turnstile at the exit.

But, lucky me, signage wins again! I learn that I must feed my little bracelet into the machine to be allowed egress. Though I’ve grown quite fond of it over our time of shared adversity, I reluctantly send it away to be with its people. I then push past the green lit turnstile and step out into the night in search of meat, bread, onions cooked two ways and a series of sweet and savory sauces!