Having bought myself a new camera especially for my 2008 travels, it was only proper then, that my main activities before leaving for the airport were dominated by the disappearance of my camera charger... this hectic last minute search ends in total success. I'm off. Twelve days in Iceland. Got my diary. Not a single pen. Unlimited access to stationary at work, and I didn't even take a bloody pen.
My arrival in Reykjavík coincided with being buffeted furiously by a wind so wild that you couldn't actually tell which direction it was trying to blow you in. On the bus to the city, I began talking with a lovely German girl who had been living in Iceland for 11 months - and helped me with my then non-existent plan by suggesting to me a route, and some places not to be missed, to which I replied occasionally with witty aplomb and my finest Deutsch. She taught me my first lesson of Icelandic weather, which apparently is that "there is no such thing about bad weather [in Iceland], only bad clothes."
I laid down some plans with the help of my guidebooks when I got to the hostel, and to be honest - I was feeling a little overawed... that perhaps I was in Iceland for too long... it was going to be too expensive... and just generally, 'what the hell am I doing?' Fortunately, the chap at reception is the first of many excellent sources of information in the hostel about Iceland. After a chat, and a look at the prices of tours (at least 100GBP for the all-day ones), I am rapidly convinced as to the merits of renting a car. I put a note up on the bulletin board, to see if anyone else would like to share the ride, and decide to crash out for the evening.
When driving out of Reykjavík, there are large shipping containers - each with a terrible car wreck atop, encouraging people to drive safely. To be honest though, this has little effect upon me - with the recent revelation of QPR becoming the world's richest club, I'm still full of excitement and intent to live for many decades yet. Besides, there's a happy little fungus on my foot who wouldn't thank me too much if I kicked the bucket just yet.
Only joking.
It's not on my foot. For the first time in a few days, I have a good night's sleep, take an expensive lunch (16GBP), and decide to get to grips with Reykjavík city. The weather is hovering uneasily above and below 0 degrees, much like an ill-fitting pair of trousers that can't quite decide where to sit on your waist. I've forgotten to pack my thermal undercrackers, and fate has decided that with only three pairs of socks in my bag (don't ask), I will be rotating these for as long as it takes for me to find some reasonably priced wardrobe additions locally.
The city
That evening is my first foray into the kind of night most Reykjavíkurs get used to every weekend... drinks flow very freely before you go out, around midnight, to the best bars on the strip. Most play pretty sound music, are full of exceedingly beautiful girls, and proceed to charge 600 krónur (6GBP) for a beer, and 780Kr (8GBP) for a Smirnoff Ice. Beer was forbidden here until 1989 - but pretty much every week since, the vote that changed this has been celebrated royally. God bless democracy. Getting in at 5am, I decide to postpone my 8am tour 'til the next day. When I say postpone, I should clarify by saying, I sleep until 2pm, then get up, go to reception, and ask them nicely to change it :)
That day's highlight is visiting a restaurant by the harbour, ran by an old fisherman, whose signature dish is the wonderful lobster soup. 850Kr (8GBP) shows that local foods are no cheaper than anything else... but the portion is a good size, and extremely satisfying. I consider returning to the same place again later in the week, for the whale kebab that caught my eye. I start to consider the ethics of such a purchase, though at that time am more concerned about the QPR's FA Cup tie that I'm missing to be in Iceland... sad I know.
The tour does indeed go ahead, the snow is swirling down by the time we reach Gulfoss - a remarkable waterfall that battles the freezing conditions to continue it's spectacular display. Having taken the sensible precaution of wearing trainers with absolutely no grip, I give up some way down the sheer ice path, and decide that a closer view is not for me. I later hear that if I had tried climbing over the fence, and holding onto the rope on that side, then there's nothing but snow - and it's not so slippery. The kind of person who would suggest such a thing, is obviously the kind of person to whom the phrase 'natural selection', has not occurred.
Geysir is the next place on the tour, where geothermally heated areas stop any snow from settling lead the way up to Stokkur - which is Iceland's main geyser since 'the other one' blew itself to bits some years ago. In fact, at Geysir, there are a few areas that still erupt - but two only do so when an earthquake is imminent (thankfully not), and another which will only put on a show if you empty soap into it (didn't have any to hand...). Every 4-5 minutes these go off, the water level rising and falling by a few inches - and then a huge turquoise dome rises forth from the spout, producing a jet of steam 30m high that then drifts in the direction of the wind.
Several viewings, and a disappointing zero scaldings later, we go off to Þingvellir National park - site of the first Icelandic parliament over one thousand years ago, and the area where the earth's crust is being physically torn apart. Iceland gains about 2mm of land a year here, where the North American and European plates are moving apart just ever so slowly.
Leaving the brightlights
I rent my car, a Honda Jazz with studded tyres, and make my way north. Grundarfjörður is my base for the night, and it's getting dark by the time I get there. The second biggest village on the peninsula, with about 900 people living there, this is where I hope to see the Northern Lights... and make my way to Snæfellsjökull tomorrow - setting for the start of Journey to the Centre of the Earth - and perhaps the main reason that I took to starting my own trip in Iceland, in the beginning of January.
The display of the Aurora Borealis is nothing short of breathtaking. I often think how spoilt we are in modern life, so blessed are we that we are aware of most of the beauty in the world, so much so that some things just fail to push the buttons in your mind that they should, when you are actually seeing them. I take this back unequivocally having stood agog at the side of a desolate road, mouth wide open, just staring at the sky. Pictures just don't do it justice.
Starting as a green band across the sky, it proceeded to change shapes, move up and down - and upon occasion, almost light up the entire bay. There was a part of the performance, which, odd as it sounds, was almost especially for me - a whisp of light appeared from nowhere above my head, splitting in two before meeting again, becoming brighter, and then fading away as it seemed that the very thin green dust from above the clouds would sprinkle down upon me. Sheer magic.
The quiet time alone allowed me to think clearly, the mind cleansed of worldly thoughts and concerns - and this kind of clarity is all too often at a premium when surrounded by a not-so-carefully chosen tour group of dullards and yokels who couldn't tell their three r's from their elbow.
The next day, I drive around the peninsula in West Iceland, to view the Snæfellsjökull volcano and glacier. It is a massive size, and as you drive across the increasingly gravelly roads in-between huge long-since-cooled lava flows, you can't help but be impressed. For two and a half hours, I drive along a 'B' road which is just gravel and ice - seeing about one car. Although it gives one a great view of some desolate homesteads and almost uninhabited fjords, it takes bloody ages to get off it... and I'm wary of going too fast - as my insurance doesn't cover damage to the underside of your car caused by 'off road' driving. Oops. Increasingly tired of driving through heavy snow, I pull in at the nearest village (700 inhabitants), where I crash for the night. The next day it is still 2-3 hours to Akureyri, Iceland's second city, and I realise that if I had pressed on the night before trying to make up time - there probably would have been some kind of accident.
I found after some time of driving an automatic, I was actually completely bored of it... and so proceeded to fiddle with my iPod / eat / rearrange myself to the point where I was almost veering off the road onto one of the steep embankments either side. Not too close however, but I really should have paid more attention than I was at times. What a fool...
Not far from Akureyri is Lake Mývatn, which is an enormous lake surrounded by craggy volcanic rocks and the odd foreboding crater. This not being enough for me, I take another, smaller road, up past a geothermal energy plant to a site which is still technically active - and scientists / volcanologists studying the area have noted that magma chambers in the vicinity have been filling up over the last few years, suggesting that it's only a matter of time before there is another eruption. The guidebooks warn not to stray from the path, lest you should happen across some of the area where the earth is a mere few centimetres thick - and you're knee deep in boiling water / mud / lava before you realise what is actually happening. On the day that I visit, the path is completely covered in a drift of snow so thick that I cannot actually see the route to take, and with no other people or cars around the steep, snowy roads, I decide this is the kind of place I should probably leave until my next trip to Iceland... !
That evening is spent soaking in the local hot pots, 38, 40, and 43°C geothermal pools - where men are men and others weep silently. Swimming baths and hot pots seem to be to the Icelanders what saunas are to the Finns, so the whole event in itself is exceedingly social. This prepares me nicely for my six hour drive back to Reykjavík the next day, to which I am returning for another night on the tiles. I find an international group to spend my evening with, thought it is rather quieter than the last evening out - but an Australian chap and I set out our intentions for the following night - where, as it happens, I order myself a shot of both 'Opal' and 'Topaz', two salt-liquorice spirits which taste as good as they sound. To borrow a line from the Flashman papers, "even to sniff the stuff shrivelled the hairs off your arse." After impressing some Finns with my paltry linguistic skills, (my pronunciation is excellent, apparently), it's time for more sleep, and more car rental - the South of Iceland is next...
The South Coast
Without getting lost before leaving Reykjavík this time, I'm on my way to Höfn with a new French travel buddy - François. This was his first trip outside of France, and he seemed overwhelmed by the surroundings. I took this in good humour, and as the trip went on - he proved himself to be a most interesting and entertaining person to share a car journey with. We stop at the Skogafoss waterfall, the spray from which has settled a fine sheen around a large radius, making it almost impossible not to slip and fall flat on your face. Being the sort of chap that looks danger square in the face, and sniggers, I moved closer to the waterfall to snap some quite impressive pictures of bizarre ice formations that looked almost alien. Maintaining both decorum and my balance, I slid gingerly back to the car, and spent much of the period of darkness making good time along the south coast of the island.
Lying just south of the Arctic Circle, Iceland is actually blessed with daylight during the winter months. From 11am-4.30pm the sun pokes itself above the horizon, though it never really reaches above a 10 degree angle. The main issue is organising ones time effectively in order to see enough of the incredible landscape before it gets dark. Eight hours passed... and we reached Höfn í Hornafirði. Now Höfn is the kind of place which has three restaurants, and the fact that this was Sunday already having slipped my mind, these were all closed. The almost lustful thoughts of grilled lobster, which had sustained me all day, would have to wait until the next day before it was consummated... and was it, an entire bowl of a half kilo lobster, grilled, with a garlic sauce. Sensational, absolutely sensational, and the fact that it was the most expensive price that I had ever paid for a meal didn't linger long in my mind. This was, undoubtedly, an early contender - and indeed a favourite, for my 'meal of the trip.' A prestigious award, have no doubt of that dear reader.
Jökulsárlón. Jökulsárlón - if I may describe in a very bland way that in no shape or form conveys what an incredible place this is - is a glacial lagoon where Europe's largest glacier, the size of Yorkshire in fact, reaches the sea. Seals rear their heads in-between the almost, unnaturally blue chunks of ice that form a vista that is almost impossibly beautiful. Not a lot is made of it in the guidebooks (hang your heads), but I spend almost an hour here - taking upwards of 200 pictures, as I try to get some kind of handle on this bewildering place.
Iceland really is the kind of place where you simply run out of superlatives, it's just an unreal place. Desolate, yes. Certainly in winter. I realised, freezing my fingers off in that special place, that Iceland was just the kind of place where I should have started my trip. If you begin as you mean to go on, setting the bar high from the off, you would have to work very hard to top this kind of magnificence.
Please check out more of my photos on Flickr/Ovi/more to follow:
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