The glacier lagoon is on every Iceland itinerary, which means by ten the parking lot is full of tour buses. We stayed at a guesthouse twenty minutes away and set an alarm for 4:30.
At five there were three other cars. Icebergs were drifting toward the ocean under the bridge — some the size of houses, some bright blue where they'd flipped over. A seal kept popping up by the shore to look at us.
Across the road on Diamond Beach, the ice that washes back in sits on the black sand like broken glass. The sun came up behind the glacier and everything went pink for about fifteen minutes.
By the time the first bus pulled in we were in the car eating skyr and feeling extremely smug.