IS - Golden Circle

June 7                   Tuesday               Iceland                 Reykjavik                                                           

Today was my day to finally hit the so-called Golden Circle: the main tourist track for those with but a day or two to see Iceland.  This began with Þingvellir National Park, the location of first parliament of Iceland (indeed, perhaps the first parliament in the world) many many centuries ago.  It’s just an undeveloped area today, but the signs do a good job at making the historical significant interesting.  The area is located right along a series of fissures between North America and Europe, enabling me to once again find myself switching back and forth between continents. While it had been sunny in Reykjavik, it was a bit more dreary here among the mountains… but fortunately it was just cool rather than cold & otherwise dry.  That likely contributed to my somewhat greater appreciation for the area than if I was in a more miserable condition, as there really isn’t much to see & one wouldn’t want to stand around reading signs as they get soaked & frozen.

Þingvellir largely consists of moss, which I’d really say should be Iceland’s official plant (if it isn’t already).  Given the historical significance of the area, there are plenty of signs telling people not to venture off the paths… first you may damage the moss and grasses which help prevent erosion, second you might damage the rockface if they’re loose, and third you might hurt yourself by falling into a fissure.  But really I’d say the first one is the only real thing they’re concerned about.  So I say this to preface the next paragraph…

Want to be overcome by Anti-Americanism?  Just watch an American family at a tourist site.  The more delicate a tourist site: the more they’ll tramp all over it.  Even worse is an American tour group: they’re full of American families, inevitably wearing dumb hats and t-shirts with cars on them.  At least the people who wear t-shirts with wolves on them don’t leave our country much.

As for other tour groups… British tour groups always stand around asking dumb questions that even other tourists could readily answer; Japanese tour groups are always in the way but will move instantly upon request; and then there’s German tour groups… now I love German backpackers; mostly because they’re awesome like every other backpacker but also because I have a bit of an affinity toward German stuff.  But German tour groups: they march in formation and won’t budge for anyone.  You can be walking all the way to the edge of a path & they’ll still occupy the entirety of it & plow right through you, with nary an “Entschuldigung” or “Verzeihen Sie mir” to follow.  Sure I’m stereotyping, but thanks to group mentality: such stereotypes often seem to be remarkably accurate.  For what it’s worth… awesome groups have always consisted of Norwegians & Swedes, partly driving much of my affinity toward giving them due respect in the coming weeks.

After Þingvellir was Geyser… that is, the geyser for which all other geysers are named.  I drove past it; it was seconds from the roadside and didn’t look as interesting as some others out there… and frankly I was short on time… and really, I’m just not much of a geyser person.  Unless it shoots high enough to reach another layer of the atmosphere: I’m not interested.  Not that I wouldn’t watch… but it’s like trainspotting: I absolutely love the moment the train is going by but loathe the 30-60 minutes (or more…) of nothingness.

So next was Guilfoss.  It was OK, but not worth my time coming all the way out here.  It’s pretty neat with its pair of cascades, but really I’d seen so many waterfalls by this point that it just wasn’t jumping out at me as something I needed to spent all day to visit.  However, this was one case where I’d say a sunny day may have significantly altered my opinion… the amount of mist getting kicked up would have surely fared wonderfully in direct sunlight, but alas the mountain clouds persisted.

By “not worth my time coming all the way out (t)here” I refer partly to the sheer distance from Reykjavik, but moreso to the speed at which I travelled to get there.  Tourist traffic.  I hadn’t had any tourist traffic at all up until this point.  On the rare occasion I needed to pass someone, I’d just do it… no problem; it’d be one car & there’d be no opposing traffic.  Heck, I’d go an hour and maybe see one car.   But the Golden Circle, despite being posted at 90 km/h, moved at about 50 km/h.  For the non-metric folks: I’ll convert for you and say that’s 30 MPH.  Odds are you go faster than that in your own neighborhood.  And I couldn’t pass because no one else would pass… while there was a steady stream of opposing traffic, there were enough gaps that if I was passing only 2 or 3 vehicles: I could totally do it.  But I had about 11 vehicles in front of me, eventually getting that to 7 as I passed a couple folk who were leaving big gaps ahead of them… but no gaps in opposing traffic were big enough to make that final sweep.

Also not helping: Iceland’s radio kind of sucks.  It’s geneally bad EuroPop; not that it matters since within five minutes you’ll lose the station.  Only two maybe-OK stations were Bylgjan & Ruv.  The former had immense variety (and I don’t say that as a good thing)… a mix of Europop (some good; some bad), American dance music from the 80s, and bad American pop from the last few years… I don’t mean bad as in stuff that’s popular but I dislike it; I mean bad in the sense that it maybe hit the airwaves a few times a week before it was pulled off for good reason.  Think the B-sides to any pop-punk band over the last 10 years.

In the absence of anything good on Icelandic radio (with the exception of occasional Quarashi), I've been belting out tunes by the Wallflowers, Nine Inch Nails, Green Day, Girl Talk, Depeche Mode, Guns N’ Roses, Blur, and pieces from Zelda games.  I’ll also add in “Live and Let Die”.  As for Guns N’ Roses: I especially find myself singing Patience when stuck behind a convoy of tourists doing half the speed limit.  Plus Sweet Child O' Mine is awesome to scream at the top of your lungs when the only other sound in the car is silence.  Speaking of which… that’s probably where Depeche Mode came from.

This was my last day with the rental car: from here on I became dependent on my own two feet & Reykjavik’s bus system… which to be fare is actually not half-bad.  Not half-good, either, but not half-bad.  It covers pretty much everywhere of interest, has reasonably direct routes, and headways of about 15-20 minutes… better than America but worse than most of Europe.  Anyways, I pulled into the Dollar / Thrifty place among the Reykjavik sprawl and delivered the keys to a bottle blonde, who then drove me back to my room.  Just like my waitress the night before: she seemed utterly disinterested in her work & desperate for something else; or at least to go home.  I tried to strike up conversation during the drive & learned that she’s from a small town in the northeast & apparently moved to Reykjavik pretty recently for this job.  It was tough to keep the conversation going… not so much for lack of interest in her continuing it, but it seemed her morale had been so-sapped already that I just couldn’t get any good leads to keep the chat going.

It was time for some chow.  Bæjarins Beztu is a hotdog stand just behind the restaurant I ate at last night.  It’s just a tiny cart on an otherwise empty lot, except for a picnic table and plastic trash bin keeping it company.  It’s also Iceland’s most popular eatery.  Basically I’d best compare it to Ben’s Chili Bowl in DC… except the prices here were actually pretty darn good, whereas Ben’s – while admittedly tasty – really isn’t worth the price except for special occasions or if you’re on U Street and really drunk.

You order with “eina með öllu”, which translates to “one with everything”.  I asked the guy – the first well-mannered attendant I’d yet come across in Reykjavik – if that’s just something the tourists say… tantamount to Geno’s in Philly, where only tourists visit & only tourists order their cheesesteak (and I use that term loosely) by saying “wit” if they want cheese.  Philadelphians just kind of laugh at the folks that do that… whilst simultaneously cringing that people would actually patronize Geno’s.  Anyways, the guy affirms that yes: locals even say that; it’s not just a tourist thing… actually most tourists don’t even know to say that, anyway.  So win for me.

“Everything” comes with mustard, rémoulade, fried onions, and a touch of ketchup.  First up: I looked upon the rémoulade with hesitation, but it was pretty darn good; and the fried onions were an amazing addition.  The ketchup was very faint, but it was actually quite good ketchup… amazing considering that other ketchups in Iceland (indeed: most of Europe) are downright horrendous; some countries actually bringing you marinara sauce if you request it.  Conversely, those same countries seem to put ketchup on pasta.  As John Kerry heads the Foreign Relations Committee and also has ties to the Heinz family, I personally feel he is best poised to give up on all the idealistic dreams the committee currently pursues & actually go for something realistic: shipping vast amounts of American ketchup to every country in Europe.  Except the German-speaking countries… they’re pretty good at ketchup even if at first they give you mayonnaise.

I made my way to the main house of my lodging and relaxed in the hottub for almost an hour.  As I made the scenic 5-minute stroll back to my room – enjoying the lengthy sunset – my camera, a 2-year old Canon T1i – decided to bite it.  I’d said in yesterday’s post that I knew its end was near; now its time had come.  It’s an easy fix back home, but less so here… tomorrow would be dedicated to getting myself to the mall & buying a new camera.

Moral of the day after doing the Golden Circle: if you come to Iceland and have only a couple days… hop a flight to Akuryeri.  You’ll enjoy yourself so much more.  Also: get yourself a hotdog.

IS - Northwest

June 6                   Monday               Iceland                 Northwest                                                         

My best guess was that the Cold War was back on again.  That was my thought as I emerged from sleep to the sound of a loud jet rocketing overhead.  Given the nature of the fjord’s mountain walls: I had no idea if the jet was tens of thousands of feet above or if it was just alongside the mountaintops; but it was certainly a bit unexpected for this area.

The weather had warmed & it was bright and sunny.  I made it into a bank for my first time.  Up to this point I hadn’t used cash… and really I didn’t expect I’d ever need to.  Iceland has embraced the credit card with spectacular zeal: they use it for even the smallest of purchases.  I really just wanted some cash because I like to collect the currencies of countries I visit, and with the Euro a potential possibility in Iceland’s future: there may not be too many opportunities to get some krónur.  Plus it gave me opportunity to gawk at two spectacularly bank tellers.  The one looked like a downright doppelganger to a girl I’ve had a crush on since I was in kindergarten, albeit with a bit more red to her hair.  The other girl was also a redhead.  Steve: I suggest you take a vacation and travel to this bank.  Sure enough I got the looks-like-childhood-crush teller & just sort of fumbled my words, got my cash, and was out of there.  So that was #1.

#2… zooming along the Ring Road, my next real stop is in Blönduós for lunch at the Pottunrinn og Pannan.  In my absolute blindness to noticing that the only building – apart from the petrol station & odd church – facing the Ring Road was this very restaurant, I ended up getting a rather nice self-tour of both sides of Blönduós’ dividing river.  Once I found the restaurant I sat down and ordered yet another Indian dish, as the owner also hails from the Subcontinent.  Up until the last few minutes: I was the only customer in there & the waitress is exceptionally cute… not hot; not beautiful; but really really cute.  Great eye contact, cute smile, clearly nothing else to do as I’m the only customer, obviously waiting for me to strike up a conversation… and I’m too enamored in my book trying to figure out where I’m going to spend the night: do I drive all the way to Reykjavik?  Do I find somewhere before then?  I could’ve opened conversation with tourist fare – any interesting sites; how do I pronounce this; how do you say... – or I could’ve gone with usual banter with girls in their 20s – are you in school; what do you study; what are your hobbies – or even the potentially sleazy inquiry of whether she has any suggestions on where I spend the night.   I could’ve even wussed out and at least wrote my email on the receipt or left a card on the table… better than nothing.  Countless opportunities for me to say something and: nope.  As another backpacker would describe it oh so eloquently once I arrived in Reykjavik: I cockblocked myself.

Speaking of attractive people… Iceland has a decided lack of them.  Sorry, Iceland, but I think too many centuries of genetic isolation & high-latitude living has not made for the most alluring of peoples; and I include both men & women in that description.  Overall most Icelanders actually tend to be quite trim and in shape, but it’s really more in the faces.  Of course, there are exceptions… like the several in the previous paragraphs.  But by and large this isn’t a go-to country for singles of either gender.

Along my drive I also found my missing lenscap.  That very morning, in Akuryeri, I bought two new lenscaps… and now my missing one turns up under the drivers’ seat; just sitting right there beneath it in plain view.  I had torn that area apart – I have no idea how I missed it.

Then about an hour later I lose my big lenscap, which goes to my L-series (read: expensive) lens.  I never did end up finding it by the car the next day.  I have absolutely no idea where they were hiding… seriously, this car eats lenscaps.

Arriving in Reykjavik I made my way to Guesthouse Baldursbrá; a name which conjures images of a demonic creature wearing a bra of smiting.  I picked this place because it was central and had wifi, whereas the hostel had comparable amenities (including wifi) but was too far out of town for me to consider with such a limited schedule.  The French couple running the hostel were phenomenally friendly… to the point that when he was talking to a woman at the house I was staying in: I somewhat thought she was an employee.  After I struck up conversation with her: I discovered she was just a Swiss backpacker (from Zürich) who had been there for one day…  the couple running this place are so friendly that they instantly treat you like they’ve known you for years.

Also, along the way I’d gotten used to leaving my shoes at the door, even in the hotels and guesthouses.  I am hard pressed to think of a single country I’ve been to where it isn’t customary to take off your shoes upon entering a home.  With the USA formed by people from these very countries, you’d think that the American Forefathers left just because they wanted to wear their shoes indoors.

For the third night in a row, I arrived at an almost booked-out place and nabbed a double for the price of a single.  As soon as I unloaded my gear, I opted to take advantage of the midnight sun and head out to explore the town.  Reykjavik is much larger than I’d anticipated… it’s no NYC or even DC, but it’d certainly give Midwestern cities a run for their money.  It has a cute downtown, but it seems Iceland isn’t quite sure what to do with it – whether it should be traditional or modern – and it sometimes seems a bit awkwardly oriented as a result.

Speaking of orientation…  I’ve always been exceptionally adept at always knowing where my cardinal directions are, but with the sun shifting around the northern horizon, my sense of direction has become virtually nonexistent here.  Not to say I can complain: the fact that I can enjoy several hours of simultaneous sunrise and sunset is a definite bonus.  It creates a really weird but beautiful effect: there’s a huge swath of green and purples in the sky as compared to the usual strength of orange and yellow in a sunrise/sunset at lower latitudes.  This has been one of the biggest causes of so many late nights in Iceland… and also so many occurrences of sleeping throughout much of the morning.

My dinner was at Hornið, as I’d been craving Italian.  Arriving at minutes after 10pm, however, meant that the kitchen had closed… all I could get was pizza.  Had I known that the country’s most popular food option – a hotdog cart just next door – was what it was; I’d have opted for that… while Hornið apparently gets good marks for its Italian fare; I have to say it had pretty lousy pizza.  The waitress also seemed rather disinterested and just downright eager to go home (the place closed at 11pm).  I suppose that’s a reasonable issue, but none of it gave me a favorable opinion of the place.

It was amusing to see Icelanders in an urban setting.  Their fashion is still generally more like what we see on the American continent, but on occasion some of the younger folk are more Euro-clad in designer jeans (men) or , for women: outright crazy-looking attire where I have to wonder if they’re actually ladies of the night.  But by and large, the typical guy is pretty nondescript other than it looking like he just rolled out of bed, with his hair oriented in all directions; or in some cases they have a part on the side of their head with hair that’s a bit too long in the back & WAY too much grease.  The typical girl is wearing the wackiest glasses I’ve ever seen – looking like a hipster – and there is a distinct fondness for skirts over full stockings.  In many cases the stockings are also out of this world.

My journey took me past both the Icelandic Parliament as well as the US Embassy.  I loved the disparity between the two… here I could walk right up to the Parliament.  Actually, the next day when I passed it by there were work crews just leaving the door wide open – I could’ve single-handedly invaded Iceland and conquered its administrative center.  Time was that was all it took.  I could walk right up and draw faces in the windows if I wanted to.  No security; nada.  Then I pass by the US Embassy, located just near my lodging… you can spot it by the masses of concrete barriers and the sentry patrolling back and forth in front of the door.  Oh and the bars on the windows.  It’s an outright fortress in a city (nay, country) where a violent night is one where a fist fight breaks out near closing time at a bar.

As I wondered about, my camera itself began to give me its first signs of trouble… it was making a sound as if the motor or shutter were straining – almost as if the camera was wheezing with every click.  No sooner did I start noticing the sound did I take a photo & the shutter didn’t complete its movement… it gives me an error code 20.  I turn it off & on and it fixes itself… it also takes the photo; and overall it kept working with only the momentary hiccup where I turn it off/on again.  So still working, but I knew I needed to look into other options.  I’d kind of been thinking of getting a new camera, anyway. 

IS - North

June 5                   Sunday                 Iceland                 North                                                                   

It was a dark and stormy morn; a fine day for tours among trolls and dark castles.  But first a salad.

The weather was crummy at waking… windy, cold, cloudy, and a bit of rain.  I slowly hobbled out of bed and made my way southward a bit to a dairy farm containing a restaurant named the Vogafjós Café, offering smacking-fresh tasty food.  I opted for a dish of tomatoes, mozzarella, and a salad… wow, it was amazing.

In chatting with one of the waitresses, I inquired about what people say in response to whenever I say thank you in Icelandic.  It turns out they have a phrase which basically translates to “thanks to you, too” but without the confusion that sometimes arises in English.  Think about how many times you get takeout or go to a movie and someone says “thanks, enjoy your meal” or “thanks, enjoy the movie” and you reply with “thanks, you too.”  Then you smack yourself upon taking heed that they only disperse the food & entertainment; they don’t get to partake it to nearly the satisfaction you do.  Well, sometimes they do… but that’s beside the point.  Here, Iceland has a phrase which seems to be useful for those very situations… basically a mutual thanks where you can thank them for their service & they can thank you for your patronage; without the awkward or omitted “you’re welcome” bit that burdens English.  I was just kind of fascinated by it… I like how every language has their phrases which so succinctly describe something that is missing in other languages.

It wasn’t actually raining yet, but I could see it coming down in most directions.  Sure enough, by the time I drove a grand two minutes or so to the nearest volcano – Hverfell – it had now begun its drizzle.  I hobbled up the volcano with the wind at my back, letting my jacket and pants take the chill with great effectiveness.  This was my first time wearing my 2^nd set of pants, which I soon discovered aren’t just water-resistant; they’re downright water-repellant.  It’s like someone sewed Rain-Ex into the fibers.  The pants don’t even get wet to begin with.  I’m sure my appreciation for the volcano would have been better if I could have rotated more than about 30 degrees without getting my face battered with subzero droplets, as the volcano really was pretty cool & I’m sure the view would’ve been fantastic if not for the low-hanging shroud of gray.  It felt much like New Zealand’s Rotorua: a lake ringed by a geothermal wonderland.

After returning downward with the wind & rain a bit more intimate, I drove just a tad more to the Dimmuborgir area.  This made for a pleasant stroll through some lava formations, but I was more interested in the actual geological aspects than necessarily appreciating the formations themselves.  The rain stopped halfway through, but it was still a dreary day… that probably didn’t help, as it cut down on the nature of photos I could take; and these structures just weren’t as photogenic as I’d hoped.  One of the other tourists in the area – from Norway – thought I was German.  Add on that on previous days a Scottish woman thought I was Australian & an Irish guy thought I was Irish… this once again affirms that my ever-changing hodgepodge style of speaking manages to confuse & bewilder so many.  I’ve always enjoyed that.

Continuing on to the Höfði Peninsula: the view over the little islets was neat, but the cold turned what would have been a leisurely stroll into a hasty photo op & dash back to the car.  Another short drive and I was on the south end with the pseudocraters.  These were actually pretty cool… neat enough for me to spend a considerable amount of time in what has got to be among the coldest winds I have ever experienced.  I know my car’s dashboard read the temperature as 1°C, but I’d say the wind chill had to be at least -800.  Individual atoms had not only stopped moving; they had begun moving backwards: sucking thermal energy out of the universe without any regard of Newton’s flimsy laws.  Though in the sense of what so-called “scientists” might say, I’d guess the wind chill was pushing about -10°C to -15°C.  Yeah, I’ve experienced days colder than that… but not that sort of wind.  I hate wind; it cuts through me like Norman Bates.

Unsure how long the rain would last (I probably should’ve just taken advantage of my guesthouse’s wifi and checked the weather), I began my journey westward toward Akuryeri.  Go figure that only about 30 minutes away from Mývatn does the sun come out & the skies clear.  I reached Goðafoss while the clouds were still on their way out, leaving the waterfalls under a gray theme.  This was a pretty neat waterfall & a breeze to get to (the carpark is right at it); it’s another comparison to Horseshoe Falls but without the lengthy desert drive of yesterday’s adventures.  Of course, with yesterday I felt more like I earned something; it was mine… this one had a bit more of a tourist presence.

I hit the road toward Akureyri, Iceland’s second city, without any other major stops.  I rolled in and by coincidence parked right at the guesthouse I wanted to stay at – Gula Villan.  I was intrigued by the hostel except for its location; this guesthouse was right downtown & particularly convenient.  Once again I got the last room apparently available, ending up with a triple for the price of a single.

The city couldn’t be in much more of a scenic position: seated on a fjord, mountains tower in three of the four cardinal directions.  It’s also a tiny city… really just a small town by American standards, but fantastically walkable.  There were some really nice homes, particularly alongside the Botanic Gardens… which had some surprising diversity, though I’d wager I was a couple weeks too early to really see much of interest.

I stopped by the city’s centerpiece: the Akureyrarkirja; the town church (Lutheran).  I spent perhaps an hour in there… not necessarily admiring the church per se, but having a great conversation with its female minister.  She walked me through each of the stained glass windows: the top part had symbols, the middle part portrayed the life of Jesus (the windows were in chronological order), and the bottom part depicted important events or figures in Iceland history.  I actually recognized most of the information with the exception of a golden pelican above the Last Supper window (when a pelican regurgitates food it gets a red mark on its throat; as if a stigmata of Jesus giving his blood) and a pair of Iceland events.  There was also one symbol on a painting which stumped the minister & wasn’t in the guidebook, but in Reykjavik I’d eventually learn it was actually a conglomeration of symbols… which I unfortunately forget.  Basically it was a pentagon within which were clover & heart shapes.

After some more walking about I ended up at the Indian Curry Hut.  Not only was this downright tasty, but I had another great chat with its proprietor – hailing from Madras.  I was astounded at such a transition: there are few places in the world with a greater contrast than India and Iceland.  And running an Indian restaurant… surely you could count the total number of Indian restaurants in the country on your hands; it must be a nightmare getting ingredients.  He more-or-less affirmed my thoughts & as to how he ended up there: he came as a tourist, fell in love with the place, and made himself a living.  From my couple hours in Akuryeri thus far: I can’t blame him in the slightest.

I just ambled around a bit more before returning back to my room.  Yeah, an anticlimactic ending, I know.  Just before returning to my room I passed by a board at the central roundabout and smiled at the temperature: 1°C; not counting wind.  Yep, still cold.

IS - Northeast

June 4                   Saturday             Iceland                 Northeast                                                          

Woke up to a warmish and comfy day with clear skies… amusing considering there are still hints of recent snowfall among the still partly-white piles of snow in Egilsstaðir’s parking lots.  I nabbed a burger at a petrol station and made my way east to Seyðisfjörður.  The drive to Seyðisfjörður took me through another mountain pass… well, actually I’d say it just took me up into the mountains; not even necessarily a pass for most of it.  Many of Iceland’s mountains (but not all!) are actually pretty traversable… especially if you’re on foot.  They’re sloped such that it’d be possible for you to gradually crawl or even walk your way up.  The fun part about Iceland is that if you see a place you want to go: you just drive as close as you can… then walk the rest of the way.  As long as it’s not right in someone’s yard: if you see it, you can go to it.  Really the only thing that holds you back are the stream crossings, but even then: especially high up in the mountains, there are usually places where you can ford them – sometimes without even getting your feet wet – if you are so determined.

The roadway got me thinking whether Iceland might have been better to invest in a cable car, taking a cue from Switzerland.  The mountaintops would make an interesting transfer point between cable cars, potentially offering some good winter sports well into the summer months (there was at least a solid foot of snow… not counting the additional depth I didn’t account for; I only know it’s a foot because that’s how far I’d sunk in with my footsteps).  A café; some lodging… just like Europe!  Though is that a good thing?  I have a love/hate relationship with Europe’s treatment of hikes… on the one hand, I loathe the commercialization of nature; but I also love reaching a peak and being able to sit down at a café to let my accomplishment soak into my ego.  Anyway, many of these towns could totally be car-free if given the opportunity, keeping cars parked on the other end of a cable car.  Seyðisfjörður would be a great case study.

Seyðisfjörður itself is a pretty little burg – the first one I really felt the need to stop & get out of my car to tour about.  The buildings aren’t the prettiest, but a couple were definitely up there: the police station, the church, a burgundy-colored home, and a dark-blue home… they were my top picks.  The town’s soul rests in its geography: towering mountains on each side of the fjord and some pretty lakes surrounded by buildings.  Even the golf course, located along the road through the pass, had me tempted to test out my skills as a linksman.

I returned and turned south toward a pair of waterfalls named Hengifoss and Lítlanesfoss.  Along the way was the biggest forest – yes, forest – I’d yet seen in Iceland.  Iceland has more rocks than an ice cold scotch, so while this wasn’t an impressive forest in any other land; it was quite neat to see in this particular case.  Further south, after crossing to the west side of the lake, I came upon the end of the road at some hydropower plant.  This marked the second power plant I’d come to where you could come right up and drive around… it’s kind of weird being in a country with no security around anything, with the sole exception of the airport.  There’s more fencing around the sheep.

Considering that the road ended, I began to suspect I’d missed my destination… reading my Lonely Planet, I came to realize that the waterfalls were apparently just near the bridge across the lake about 5 minutes back.  Oops.  So I make my way back, go through the 30-40 minute hike up, and… well, nothing too spectacular.  There have been drive-up waterfalls more interesting.  This was really just a long waterfall… though it was framed by a neat backdrop: alternating layers of rock and red clay; but that wasn’t quite the return I’d hoped for after a tramping uphill.  So 20 minutes back down and back to the car.

 I had wanted to make a trip up to Borgarfjörður Eystri (Bakkagerði), but knew I was running a bit short on time to be able to make it west to Mývatn before places started closing.  So westward-ho, I soon found myself in yet another wasteland… but even moreso than my venture across the Skeiðarársandur a couple days ago.  Here I was in a high region loaded with hardened lava and naught much else.  Volcanoes loomed in the distance, including a phenomenally beautiful one – Herðubreið – which looked like it would detonate at any moment.

I turned onto Route 864 for a long dirt road track heading out to yet another pair of waterfalls: Dettifoss and Selfoss.  This trip was well worth it: Dettifoss is an easy and very short walk (1-2 min) from the carpark.  It throws up immense amounts of mist which were ricocheting off the western bank and back to the east side.  I then continued along the canyon – lined with basalt columns – toward Selfoss.  It was about a 10-15 minute walk along generally flat terrain, albeit littered with rocks… but fortunately, I love hobbling over rocks.  The short trip was well worth it: Selfoss was like a miniature Horseshoe Falls.  I also had it all to myself… not a single person in sight on either side of the river.

I cruised along the dirt road, returning to the Ring Road and onto Reykjahlíð.  I made it in five minutes before 10pm and secured a single room with wifi… but first went right back out to try and find some chow.  When I found that the restaurant’s kitchen had closed at 10pm, I spun back, grabbed my swimsuit, and headed for the Mývatn Nature Baths – a geothermal pool.

The etiquette here is pretty straight-forward… it’s a swimming pool.  This one seemed to be more of a soaking experience given its more natural environment, but others are built as if normal swimming pools and people paddle about in them as if they would any pool back home.  Really the biggest rule is that you’re to shower beforehand… not just a rinse; a full shower.  Fortunately my teenage angst about getting naked in public is long-gone – certainly helped by knowing that I’ll never see anyone here again – so I stripped down, washed up, and made my way into the freezing wind for the short trot – about 20 ft – to the water.

I found that the pool’s water was coming from one particular side, meaning the temperature near there was vastly higher than that further away.  I found a seat pretty close to the incoming water and let my muscles finally relax.  It felt amazing & the mountain view – enshrouded in sunset – certainly helped out.  I looked about and noticed that this is where the girls are… but without my glasses I couldn’t discern much more than they were at most in their 20’s, thin, and wearing bikinis.  Not that I’d hope for much considering the models on the baths’ brochure aren’t even that attractive.  Superficial?  Yes… when it comes to passing glances: I sure am.

Beneath the crystal blue water, my tanned arms turned a noticeable purple.  My not-quite-as-tanned upper arms turned red.  I sat and watched as everyone getting out of the pool went into a quick scamper through the cold air… it was pretty entertaining watching them run about, dashing for the warmth of another pool or the indoors.  When I got out, myself, I personally found the frigid breeze to be quite exhilarating… almost to the point of feeling good.  I took another dip in a small pool designed for you to lounge in & featuring hot-tub temperature water… then a few minutes later, prompted by the nearing midnight closing, made my casual walk back indoors for a rinse and return to my room.  I felt so relaxed & felt cleaner than I’d felt even right after a shower.  I didn’t even smell of sulfur, despite the stench of the air in the area.

IS - East

June 3                   Friday                   Iceland                 East                                                      

Fun dream last night… first I was walking.  Then I started running.  I quickly found that I could control the passage of time, putting everything into slow-motion.  Granted, I do this in pretty much all my lucid dreams… but I didn’t become lucid in this one.  I began leaping over things & jumping off walls as if a parkour master.  I grabbed a piece of wood & began using it in place of one of my feet… I seemed to be weightless with it.  So I grabbed another & used them as stilts.  I then began doing even more parkour feats with those.  That was pretty much the whole dream.  It was a lot of fun right up until the waking up part… blasted alarm.

My eyes opened to a nearly cloudless sky.  I was tempted the night before of doing the Skaftafell Loop given that it was such a beautiful evening, but fortunately this morning provided just as well.  In retrospect, I’m glad I didn’t start hiking last night… not only did I end up with spectacular weather; I also hadn’t anticipated its length.

It was a very tiring hike.  Granted, an experienced hiker would probably say it wasn’t too shabby.  Indeed there wasn’t really anything difficult per se; the trickiest part was probably just trying to ascend up some of the small glacial flanges (which I’d really just call snow that hadn’t melted yet… that might be the more technical term, too).  But for my first major hike in about two years: this was quite demanding upon my endurance.  For the past two years, the closest thing to a trek loaded with gear I’ve done would probably be my walks to the grocery store.

The hike was much better than yesterday… I could see that each hill would offer a whole new view; giving me something to work for.  It took me about five hours, plus an additional 30 minutes or so of breaks.  The scenery was beautiful, with abundant views over various arms of the Vatnajökull glacier.  Along the way I watched a fire in the distance, out upon the Skeiðarársandur.  I looked back a few minutes later and spotted a second fire.  A few minutes later: a third.  I began to wonder if today was some holiday.

Yet more minutes passed before I looked back and saw that the “fires” had been replaced by one massive sandstorm.  Those “fires” were actually dust devils… dust devils which, as I’d later hear, can generate enough wind to strip the paint off a car.  I think we call those “tornados armed with sand, gravel, and ash.”  It was a fascinating sight to behold from my safe perch far above.  I also got to see a couple rain cells move across the sandur, one of which offered a touch of very tiny hail upon me.  It felt like raindrops except they didn’t leave a wet spot and they bounced & rolled on the ground.  Moments later : it was sunny again.

My nose ran the entire time along the hike.  Perhaps it was the altitude; perhaps it was the omnipresent wind; or perhaps  it was fact that I was both swelteringly hot and strikingly cold – often at the same time.  Every body part I’d covered was ablaze & soaked with sweat, but that which I’d left uncovered was ice-cold.  On the plus side, this did keep my water supply nice and chilly.  The weather also kept changing… overall the day was actually quite warm; but the wind would very between a warming breeze to a warming gale to a freezing breeze to a freezing gale to anything in between.  It’d change every 5 minutes… at times I thought I was spending as much time changing jackets as I was hiking.

After wrapping up the hike & collapsing into a heap upon my drivers’ seat (quickly stripping off my boots), I messaged my feet a bit and then began hightailing it to Höfn (pronounced like the sound you make if you inhale and say “Hup”; sort of like a hiccup).  I first stopped at Jökulsárlón  to see the icebergs.  At this location: icebergs splintering off yet another finger of the Vatnajökull glacier get trapped in a bay conveniently located along the Ring Road – easy fodder for tourist pleasure.

The icebergs were a multitude of colors.  Apparently they’re normally white and a crystal blue, but the Grímsvötn eruption introduced black to the fashion lineup.  I was just wondering about how those without ash had managed to dodge the precipitates & how blue ones form (the latter being absent).  But just then: a loud explosion… I turned toward it and spotted that the huge iceberg just beside the flock of tourists (of which I was among) was shattering with an absolutely immense force.  Water gushed in all directions, just barely missing a nice drenching of those on the shoreline… it was almost like a manufactured tourist attraction, where in an hour they’d reset the pieces and then blow it up again.  After it was all said and done – a process of about one minute – all that was left of the once-black iceberg was a crystalline blue main remnant and a bunch of smaller white chunks of ice floating in the water.  It was almost like a caterpillar morphing into a butterfly, except thankfully the iceberg wasn’t particularly airborne afterward.

It was also entertaining to watch the current coming in from the Atlantic & the current heading out from the glacier… they two met head-on right at the inlet, forming a stalemate which kept the ice bergs from entering into the high seas.  Or at least it did at that moment… I can’t speak for other times of tide.

Arriving into Höfn I found a very pretty little town.  Finally: a town with quaint buildings & homes.  While Europe still does it better, this town beats everything else across the southern coast – even Vik, which really only had its pretty church to its credit.  All Höfn needs is a church in place of its water tower and voila; but I suppose they appreciate having water pressure instead.  The geography around the town is stellar, with a pretty harbor to boot.  Alas, apart from a pretty waterfront walk: not too much of interest to tourists.

Onward, I knew I was strapped for time… I wanted to get a room in Eskifjordur  but knew I wouldn’t be getting in until around 11pm or midnight.  That pushed the boundaries of a hotel being open.  But I skipped two hostels in route simply because I wanted that specific hotel.  Sure enough, I rolled in at precisely midnight… closed.  Bummer, too, because its location really was pretty spectacular… look it up: it’s called “Mjóeyri”.  Reyðarfjörður and Eskifjordur  were both quite pretty, though, and I got an amazing drive through all the fjords throughout a truly lovely sunset.  Also, if Iceland was taking a census and got all the people in the southeast to gather together in the same place to be counted… it would probably take about 30 seconds to count them all.  Counting sheep, on the other hand, would be a long and snooze-inducing process.

I turned westward toward Egilsstaðir… mostly because I figured I might as well pick up some distance before going to sleep in my car.  The trip to Egilsstaðir was quite phenomenal, especially at sunset.  The area had received some snow a couple days earlier & the high mountain pass was covered in brilliant white.  I rolled into Egilsstaðir and spotted an office building with a bus parked in front… which I immediately recognized as something that must surely be a hotel.  As luck would have it: a business hotel still open at 1:30 am.  One problem with Iceland is that it’s really just a bunch of tiny towns… they open early & close early.  9pm and 10pm is really your goal if you’re hoping to get accommodation even though the sun may still feel like it’s only in the mid-afternoon.

$160 later (discounted, woo hoo!) I got a room… not only did I need to recoup energy for myself, but I also needed precious power outlets to recharge my camera batteries and laptop.  I’d nearly drained my last of three batteries and was also almost out of camera card space (despite packing 56 GB).  Though it all: I did take heed that my hope of catching the stars from such a remote location is unlikely… the sun never sets.  It just gets very very low and skirts around the north.  It only dips beneath the horizon from about 12:30am to 3am (which I suppose technically means it “set”), but the light itself is still quite bright.

It was a late night as I finally got a chance to type everything to date and fix the adapter I broke the night before.  I figured out how to dismantle it (by breaking it some more) and then I disassembled it & reassembled it to get it around the part that had gotten stuck.  Now it works like a charm!  That lets me charge a camera battery and fiddle on my laptop… a double win.  While of little concern to you, the reader, that’s an immense bonus to me, provider of words and photos.

IS - South

June 2                   Thursday                             Iceland                 South                                                   

My first task was a hike from Skogar up to a pass on the eastern side of Eyjafjallajökull.  I spend several hours on it before turning back tired and less-than-enthused.  In Switzerland (home to my favorite hikes), every hill grants an even better view.  Here… not so much.  It was nice, but there was no reward for the iterative “just one more crest” mentality.  At least you’re above the tree line from the moment you start your hike… but really, it was a bit boring.  On my way back I started building cairns to connect between the top of the waterfalls & the 4x4 trail, as previously there wasn’t any discernable connection… figured I’d help folks out a bit.

One thing that was quite neat, however, was that much of the landscape was covered in several inches of ash.  The previous week’s Grímsvötn eruption inundated this area with it… and I found it to be rather comfortably squishy.  It didn’t stick, either, so I could kick up a pile of dust but remain nice and clean.

In general, the hike was pretty comfy – even warm! – and in mixed sun & clouds.  At one point I noticed heat ripples rising from the ground… I bent down to touch it.  It wasn’t hot, but certainly warm.  Warm enough to remind you that you’re walking on a volcano.  Speaking of which: volcanoes make you thirsty.  I definitely didn’t bring enough water on this hike.

After the hike, I started up my drive eastward again.  The first town of any significance was Vik, which was also the first town I actually thought looked rather nice.  Really that was just a result of the quaint church on top of the hill.  This town’s claim to fame, as far as I’m concerned, is that it’s where I lost my lens cap.  I suppose that’s not the end of the world… but it could potentially spell the end of my kit lens by the end of this trip.  It’s an incentive to buy a new one, I suppose… I just hope I can keep it in working condition until then.  There are no camera stores for at least several days… and even then; no promises they’ll have a new lens cap or (if needed) a new basic lens.

A note on driving in Iceland: I’m going to go out on a limb and say, with no quantifiable data, that the Ring Road (Route 1) represents a very small portion of Iceland’s total land mass.   And yet of all this available land: birds seem to feel that they just have to sit on the road.  Now I’m proud to say I haven’t hit any yet… but they definitely seem to pining for a date with Evolution.

It was a long haul across the Skeiðarársandur, which I’d roughly say is a massively huge glacial moraine; but more technically it’s just a plain formed by the meltwater.  Almost like a combination moraine meets river delta.  But more practically: it’s a massively huge wasteland of nothing but gravel, streams, and sometimes a mix of quicksand.  It’s fed by the immense Vatnajökull glacier, and when I first laid eyes on this particular fingertip: I was astounded.  I’d never seen a glacier so huge… and this was just a single piece of it.

Toward the eastern end, I stopped by a roadside exhibit on 1996 glacial flood (Jökulhlaup).  It was a fascinating insight on the area just before arriving at my hostel for the night, located only a couple minutes further down the road.  The hostel had amazing views over the Skeiðarársandur, enabling me to spot the flood defenses & wonder if I’d be poised to see them in action thanks to last week’s Grímsvötn eruption.

The Bölti hostel was quite lovely both inside and outside.  It was better quality & prettier than anything I’d yet seen in Iceland, including the hotels!  The hotels look like office buildings, warehouses, or at best someone’s rusting tin can of a house.  Actually, it seems that the more expensive the hotel: the more mundane it looks.  My roommates included two guys from Barcelona, both around their mid-30’s.  They were really nice and I was a bit excited in that I could understand their Spanish.  Ahh, I love Spanish from Spain!

I took a shower and noted that the hot water again smelled of sulfur… something I’d noticed the previous night, too.  It’s a fine reminder that this water comes straight from the bellows of the Earth. 

IS - Southwest

June 1                   Wednesday                        Iceland                 Southwest                                         

Disembarking couldn’t have been easier.  A stewardess held back the hordes of serfs and peons so that we Saga Class passengers could make our illustrious alighting.  Not that I’d ever let elitism get to me; I was the only one who said “thank you” on my way out.  Every flight I’ve ever been on: everyone says thanks on their way out.

My checked bag was among the later ones onto the carousel, where it emerged sporting a sticker reading indicating it’s the last bag (for the handlers at Dulles) with a big smiley face drawn on.  I sailed through customs (when in Europe: just go through the green line!) and immediately spotted my name listed on a sign being held by my rental car folks.  I walked with a dude to the shuttle & we drove about one minute to the rental place.  If this were any other country: they’d make you walk that distance; it was so short… though if this were the USA: there’d either be a moving walkway or you’d have to walk for 20 minutes in several directions before making it there.

I picked up my small Toyota, which I’d soon come to find to be bigger than most other rentals on the road… and yet I paid the cheapest rental fee I could find, even beating Lonely Planet’s estimates.  After some time spent resorting my bags, my first destination was the Garðskagi lighthouse (or pair of lighthouses: one old; one new) on the northwest corner.  It was here where I learned what I forgot: mittens.  I forgot mittens.  While it was just a touch cool & overcast at the rental agency, this place featured a downright frigid ocean wind; so cold I’d have thought Santa had decided it was high time the rest of the world gets to know what it’s like to live at the North Pole.

I missed a few stopping points along the western tip of the Reykjanes Peninsula owing to my difficulty in discerning tourist signs & driveway signs, the latter indicating what I can only assume to be the name of the property owner.  While I’ve since gotten the gist, at this time it seemed that every single gravel road leading away from the highway was a tourist destination… so few in my guidebook; but so much intrigue!  Except none of them looked at all interesting, I fortunately didn’t go attempting to visit any residences.  (“Wow, a real Icelandic kitchen!”)

It was in Grindavik where I attempted to track down some food and an ATM.  Alas, the ATM wasn’t working & I also couldn’t find any of the restaurants suggested by Lonely Planet.  I spent one and a half hours in this small town attempting to find any of the guidebook’s food recommendations &/or a working ATM… nothing.

Making my way east on Route 427, I pulled off onto a large gravel area and succumbed to a 30 minute nap.  I awoke to both sun & warmth.

Snow became readily visible in the mountains as I traveled along Route 417 approaching 407.  However, with some areas discolored by ash from the recent Grímsvötn eruption & other parts the purest white: the alternating three colors of black mountain, gray ash, and white snow made the mountains appear as if they were in 8 bit.

Thirty minutes later, approaching Hveragerði, I made my first sighting of trees.  Iceland’s soil is rockier than New England; if anything, it’s more rock than soil… New England at least strikes a decent mix.  So throughout much of Iceland only grass and moss grow with abundance.  Hence why farms here are really just livestock farms, to which horses and sheep are the predominant critter of choice.

In Hveragerði I found myself a working ATM.  As is always the case on every trip: I was foiled by the vile PIN question.  American cards don’t use PINs, so I only have to remember what it is once per year.  After two attempts at guessing I gave up; I didn’t want to risk losing my card.  I’d try it again in the next town.

I was apprehensive about heading into a grocery store & trying to buy things – just in case my card itself wasn’t working – but I figured it’d be a good test so that if it didn’t work; I could just return the items.  Fortunately, it did work… and oh wow, how I love strawberries that haven’t been treated with growth chemicals.  When it comes to strawberries: smaller is better… all the same flavor, but packed ever more densely.

The next town – Selfoss – had a bunch of ATMs, but I wasn’t sure if they communicated together.  I wussed out of future attempts this day: my card was working at buying me things; no need to ruin a good thing if it ate my card.  I bought pizza at Gallerí Pizza in Hvolsvöllur, consisting of a homemade dough, garlic, oregano, pepperoni, cheese, sauce, and grease.  I chatted with the water: a guy in his late teens or early 20’s and nice to talk to… he helped me iron out a few key Iceland phrases – particularly “thank you” (“Takk fyrir”; pronounced “tak-freer” with the a pronounced like “ah”).

I diverted down toward Bakki – or more specifically a ferry port just east of there – to nab some photos.  I’d seen Vestmannaeyjabær (an island off the coast)  for much of the trip; always out in the distance.  All along the way: a couple clouds hung over its landscape as if mountains in the air.  Now here was the closest I’d gotten… and it made my list of places to return to should I have spare time at the end of my trip.

Onward to my hostel, I arrived one and a half hours before closing & settled in just beside Skogar’s waterfall.  I got to chatting with my three roommates (out of seven beds!), which included a French couple in their 20’s and a woman from southwest Scotland whom I’d estimate to be in her 30’s.  I alerted them to the solar eclipse and soon headed out, myself.  I traveled back toward the road to Bakki  as I knew this would be the best place to catch a sunset & my best hope to see the sun setting at the horizon rather than mountains.  Alas, it disappeared behind some horizon-level clouds & I couldn’t discern any eclipse… but good sunset photos!  I just wish the volcano Hekla had still been visible.