Northern Lights

January 5, 2025

Thursday night’s itinerary was simple: see the Northern Lights. But in Reykjavík, Iceland, seeing them is never guaranteed. You need the right conditions, winter’s long nights, and a clear sky. Luckily, my study abroad class had both on an icy December night.
 

Our bus driver took us deep into the middle of nowhere, far from the city’s light pollution. We drove in what seemed to be circles while our tour guide tracked the forecast, searching for signs of the elusive aurora. Pressed against the windows, we watched the sky, our breaths fogging up the glass. My roommate and I had one goal. We wanted to leave Iceland with memories of the Northern Lights. We crossed our fingers, hoping and praying that luck would be on our side.
 

An hour and a half passed. Then, finally, a report came in. The lights had been spotted. The bus roared to life, speeding toward an unknown destination. When we arrived, we tumbled out into the snow, craning our necks toward the sky.
 

There it was. A faint, delicate streak of green stretched across the horizon, shimmering as if frozen in time. It was not quite what I expected, but it was still more than I could have asked for. Continuing to look around, I felt like I had stepped into a planetarium. The stars were sharper than I had ever seen. And as I continued to slowly spin around and take in the stars, I was stilled at the Big Dipper hanging over the snowy mountains. The Big Dipper is my favorite constellation (also the only one I know other than the Little Dipper) and always the first thing I look for in the night sky. Nothing could have prepared me for the way it glowed in the Icelandic night.
 

After some time, the Northern Lights began to fade, dissolving back into the darkness. Back on the bus, we were faced with a difficult decision. We could return to the hotel for a warm bed and a full night’s sleep, or we could stay out, chasing the aurora even further into the wilderness. Half the group, including our professors and tour guide, chose to get a full night of rest. The remainder of us, determined and slightly delirious, stayed behind.
 

Time crawled. The minute hand on the clock dragged. We passed the time with games like Mafia and Two Truths and a Lie, trying to shake off the anticipation. Then, the words we had been waiting for. The lights were coming back.
 

The bus lurched forward, racing toward a new, unknown location. As soon as it slowed, we jumped from our seats, ready to bolt. The second the doors swung open, we flew out, eyes locked on the sky.
 

And then they appeared.
 

The lights swirled and twisted, ribbons of green, blue, and pink weaving through the stars. It was like falling into a living, breathing Van Gogh painting, brushstrokes unfurling across the canvas of the night. The colors moved in perfect rhythm, sweeping left, spiraling right, then twirling back again in an endless, hypnotic dance. The beauty was so enchanting that for a moment, nothing else existed.
 

Patience is a virtue. And patience earned me the most breathtaking memory of my life.