The van slips out of Akureyri before most cafes open, headlights cutting across low fjord mist as the coastline peels away. In fifty minutes the roar you felt more than heard becomes a presence—Goðafoss throwing white water off a stepped basalt lip, 12 meters tall and 30 meters across, the Skjálfandafljót River daring you to get closer. Your guide moves you between viewpoints with an easy authority, pointing out the ledge where, legend says, the old Norse idols were cast into the torrent when Christianity was declared the law of the land in 1000 AD.