My first night on Iceland’s Laugavegur Trail was rough.

I wore earplugs, but they weren’t enough to block out all the snoring in the Hrafntinnusker hut. The building was heated and, being up in the roof space, it felt even warmer.

Considering how beautiful the weather had been the previous day, part of me wished I’d been camping. At least I would have had fresh air and some space.

When I went outside in the morning, however, things had changed.

Clouds had rolled in and fog hung over the landscape.

I mentioned the weather to one of the wardens.

“Today is a day for the inner journey,” she said.

Great. Something I was hoping to avoid.

I ate breakfast, packed my backpack and went to leave my duffel bag somewhere it could be collected and transported to the next hut. The warden told me to put it on the side of the room where it had been delivered the previous day.

So, trusting her, I did.

The strange thing was that my bag didn’t have any label on it.

Nobody’s did.

It wasn’t until I’d been hiking for about an hour that I really started thinking about how strange that was.

How did they know which bag was going where? There were people walking in both directions. What if mine got taken back to Landmannalaugar? What would I do then?

I tried to put it out of my mind because I didn’t particularly feel like hiking all the way back to the hut to check.

So I continued into the fog.

The weather eventually cleared somewhat, but it was a much colder day. The previous afternoon I’d been hiking in shorts and a tank top. Now I was rugged up in multiple layers, with rain pants and a jacket to cut down the windchill.

This landscape was spectacular, of course, and dramatic. So dramatic. This section was very grown, almost meadow-like, making a stark difference to the lava landscape the previous day.

Eventually, a giant lake appeared ahead of me, with huts sitting beside it. I wondered whether I could go for a swim and, if I did, how long I’d last.

The weather was starting to turn again, though, and I was mostly looking forward to getting inside.

There was only one problem. When I went to check in, they had no record of me. I almost panicked. Then the warden asked whether I was supposed to be staying at the other huts at Hvanngil.

Because this was Álftavatn.

Ahhh.

I checked my itinerary.

Fortunately, yes. Hvanngil.

Unfortunately, it was another 3.8 km away.

I stopped in the outdoor sheltered area to eat some lunch, chatting to a couple from Sydney before heading off again.

Then my luggage anxiety returned.

If there were two different accommodation sites this close together, how could I be sure my bag had gone to the correct one? If it was sitting here at Álftavatn, would I really have to hike the 3.8 km back to retrieve it?

There was nothing I could do about it, so naturally I kept worrying anyway.

Fortunately, I soon had something else to think about.

My first river crossing.

I took off my boots, socks and pants, put my rain pants on to cut down some of the cold, changed into my reef sandals and prepared to step into the water.

Actually, that makes me sound much more decisive than I was.

I spent far too long wandering along the riverbank trying to find a way across that didn’t involve doing any of that.

Talking later to Summer, a Canadian woman who was also doing the self-guided trail, I discovered she’d done the same thing.

Unfortunately, no matter how I looked at it, there was no way around so into the water I went.

It was cold, but fortunately not too strong. My walking poles helped keep me upright. Once I reached the other side, I dried off, got dressed again and continued towards Hvanngil.

I was the first to arrive. Even better, my luggage was there too.

I still don’t know how they knew where to take it, but sometimes you don’t need to know how the hot dogs get made.

Jack, from the US, arrived not long after me, followed by Summer. We swapped stories and I confessed to my anxiety about potentially losing my luggage.

Their luggage, however, wasn’t there.

All ended well, however. Their bags arrived later in a separate delivery.

The accommodation at Hvanngil was really nice, with bunk beds and very wide mattresses. We staked out our positions and then watched everyone else arrive.

A guided group of about ten Koreans were sharing our room and their guide briefly gave us the impression that some of us might have to sleep two to a mattress.

Fortunately, the self-guided people didn’t. On this occasion.

Having arrived so early, we had a lot of time to kill. Summer taught me Cribbage, which we played several times over the next few days, and I taught her Scopa.

Meanwhile, the guided groups were served delicious cooked meals as we self-guided hikers sat nearby, drooling into our meagre freeze-dried dinners.

But food is fuel, right?

Hvanngil also had showers, which cost €11.50 for five minutes of hot water. Worth it.

And then Day 2 was done.

As for the inner journey, the warden had been right.

With hours alone on the trail and nobody around to hear me talking to myself, I spent much of that day – and much of the rest of the trek – talking through things that didn’t really have answers.

Sometimes I went around and around in circles inside my own head even as my feet carried me somewhere entirely new.

Fortunately, Iceland kept providing distractions.