Magical Iceland
The steam of a cup of noodles fogs my glasses as I stand on the balcony and I wait and wait for a glimpse of the northern lights. I know I’m in Iceland, but I’m not entirely sure of where I am, part of me feels in outer space and the other part, doesn’t care. The cold September air takes my breath away, and any hint of cold dissipates by the sting of the hot cup of spicy noodles that I insist on holding even if they are too hot and even if they are searing my tongue, my hands,…