<font color="#333333">On 23rd August 2025, I travelled to Hvolsvöllur.</font> <font color="#333333">Hvolsvöllur, a compact town nestled where rolling farmland meets the edge of the highlands. It's the kind of place you could traverse in a quick stroll, but its size belies its role as a vital stop for travelers venturing into Iceland's interior. I didn't linger long, yet even a brief wander uncovered its understated appeal: a cluster of red-roofed buildings, a cozy café with a view of distant mountains, and the faint hum of conversation from locals pausing to chat, all hinting at the adventures that awaited beyond its borders.</font> <font color="#333333">First stop: Seljalandsfoss, just a short drive away. This one is a trickster of a waterfall. While it's "only" 60 meters tall (same as Skógafoss), what makes it unforgettable is the path that loops behind it. I stepped into the mist; the water thundering inches from my shoulder and looked out through the curtain of falling water at the green hills beyond. It's a disorienting, magical feeling, like standing inside a rainbow. Like Gullfoss and Skógafoss, it had that same raw, unapologetic power, but this time, I got to be in it, not just in front of it.</font> I lingered longer than I should have, running my hand under a stray stream of water and grinning at the absurdity of being dry one second, soaked the next. Next up: Skógafoss. As I rounded a bend, the waterfall hit me like a revelation. It plummets 60 meters over a cliff, its white spray exploding into the air and catching the sunlight to paint rainbows that seem to hover mid-air. The force of it is staggering, you can hear the roar from minutes away, and when you stand at its base, the mist soaks your hair and clothes, a cool counter to the afternoon sun. I climbed the wooden steps that wind up the cliffside beside it, pausing at each landing to look back: the falls crashing, the valley stretching out below, and the ocean glinting in the distance. Even as I walked away, I found myself glancing over my shoulder, as if afraid it might vanish if I stopped watching. Reluctantly, I pulled myself away, but Hvolsvöllur's magic lingered: two waterfalls, each unforgettable, each a reminder of Iceland's ability to surprise.