I was in a room with four naked men.
This isn’t as exciting as one would assume it could be. In reality, they were, much like myself, snuggly wrapped in towels that tucked into themselves. Upper legs flashed when people moved. We stood around, taking turns jumping into the shower with its tempered, frosted glass. Someone would walk in and slide the door close. Their towel would go up over the top. The water would go on and the smell of sulfur would float and spread, filling the room.
After everyone showered, we went back into the sauna.
On the day I arrived in Iceland, we decided to hit up our first geothermal pool. Excitedly, we practically ran to the nearest pool. When we got to the door, we saw it was closed.
Distraught, broken, we forced ourselves to calm down and consider our options.
MZ and C pointed out that the guest house they were staying at had a sauna. Lazily, a few people went home. The rest of us climbed the hills of Reykjavik to Our Place, a guest house that had a sauna.
It was mid afternoon and twilight. As we walked, we watched the sun begin to set. When we got there, we sat around while the sauna heated before trundling ourselves off downstairs to the sauna room.
The boys went in, stripped, toweled themselves, and walked into the sauna. After they yelled that it was safe, I went in, stripped, toweled myself and opened the door to the sauna.
I was simultaneously hit by a fistful of hot, dry air and the image of four of my friends, towels wrapped around their waists, lined up like hens on a fence.
Not knowing what else to do, I laughed.