Iceland, or, Carson Versus the Volcano

"But...why would you want to go there?" someone asked for what was probably the 173rd time, with the quizzically-amused look you would give to the harmlessly insane. "It's freezing cold, the economy is in shambles, and people are setting Land Rovers on fire."

"Look, if you're trying to convince me not to go, you clearly don't know me very well. That all sounds amazing."

Seriously though - what's not to like? Not many people have been there, so it has that going for it. It's one of the last unspoiled wildernesses on the planet (for now), it has a population of 300,000 people in an amount of land equal to the state of Kentucky (which, for the record, has 4 million more people), the size of the country is growing every day (mainly as a result of underwater volcanic eruptions creating new land), and it has some of the most amazing stark natural beauty to be seen in the world. Not to mention, their economy is in worse shape than the mom from What's Eating Gilbert Grape, which means I was like a kid in a candy store. Only that candy was volcanic rock. And that store was an emergency room, because I was eating rocks.

So why this trip, really? Years ago, I had read an article about the top driving trips in the world. One of them was Iceland's Ring Road - also known as Hringvegur - a 1339-km stretch of pristine highway running along the perimeter of the country. This was driving heaven to me. And with the promise of glaciers, volcanoes, beaches, waterfalls, and geysers, it was just icing on a delicious viking cake.

That's another thing - the rich viking history in which Iceland is draped. It's said that the first European to land in America, Leif Ericson - who did so 500 years prior to Columbus - was from Iceland.

Oh, and there's Björk, of course.

My journey to the (not-so) frozen north would span 9 days and over 2000 km of driving over anything from lovely paved roads to pockmarked side roads that would have caused the suspension of any car older than a year or so to rattle itself down to its component parts (but they were still government-managed roads, so I was allowed to drive on them in my rental car - no off-roading actually happened).

You can get a rough idea of the route I took here.

I touched down in Reykjavik on a sunny autumn afternoon. The sky was nearly cloudless, and a bright sun grappled with the brisk fall air. It was a pleasant balance - one that did not cause me to sweat profusely, nor immediately lose any important extremities to frostbite. I was happy.

The airport was actually a fair bit from the city itself, about 45 minutes by taxi. Roughly 5 minutes into said taxi ride, I realized I had left my camera bag (which included my camera, passport, and iPod) at the airport. At a complete loss for words and flailing wildly, I kindly asked the driver if he could turn around and go back to the airport, hoping he didn't mistake my desire to return to the airport as an immediate and utter dislike for his country. He waited patiently while I scampered inside and and reclaimed my bag. We were on our way. Again.

The trip was off to a great start.

Blessedly, Icelanders drive on the correct side of the road, that is to say, the side I'm more familiar with (steering wheel on the left). One less thing to worry about.

As we were driving toward the city, I noticed the cab driver waving at a lot of people, and them waving back. I also noticed a lot of other people waving at everyone else. It seemed that everyone knew everyone else, though, in a city of only 200,000, I can't imagine you wouldn't run into the same people now and again.

After what was essentially a very long, very straight freeway, the city of Reykjavik finally made an appearance. At first glance, it was not the frigid, stark, barren city I was half-expecting, but because they actually have proper seasons here, it was emblazoned with red, oranges, and golds as the trees made their way from summer to winter (rather than from freezing cold / rainy to stiflingly hot / occasionally rainy, as in Sydney).

As we turned the final corner into the center of town, and navigated some impossibly-twisted laneways, we finally pulled up in front of my first (of 8) hotels. I would be staying in a different hotel every night as I made my way around the country, ensuring I got a full experience of everything that Iceland had to offer.

After dropping off my stuff in my room (which was immaculate and looked like something out of an IKEA catalogue), I bundled up - it was still in the 50s - and left to walk around town. And boy, was it gorgeous.

Just near the center of town was a large lake

filled with ducks and geese and other various

waterfowl. One of my first memories from

Iceland was being hissed at by a goose.

Looking across the lake, the shoreline was lined

with some amazing waterfront properties and the

bright fiery colors of autumn.

Leaving the company of the belligerent goose, I

wandered through town a bit more. It was

surprisingly green for this time of year,

and pleasantly quaint.

Another fun fact about Iceland: most people are brought up learning both English and Icelandic, and are usually fluent in both. As much Icelandic as I tried to learn before going, the fact that I could always default to my native tongue was a godsend. Although, that didn't stop people from coming up to me and at first talking to me in Icelandic. The bewildered expression that slowly spread across my face caused them to laugh and repeat the question a second time in English.

I headed up a hilly street toward Hallgrímskirkja, an

amazing Lutheran church (the largest in Iceland)

that towers over the rest of the city.

Along the way, nestled in among the stores

selling woolly Icelandic apparel, were some

quirky little establishments.

I also came across some amusing street signs. At

the risk of outing myself as a nerd for those who

didn't already know, this street name it remarkably

similar to one of my favorite games of all time.

The church really is an architectural marvel.

Check out the people in front of it for scale.

The bronze statue out in front is none other

than Leif Ericson, who is pretty much to Iceland

what Governor Macquarie is to Sydney

(i.e. - he's everywhere).

The white-gray building was in stark contrast

to the clear blue sky during the day.

I wandered around the back of the church,

and was rewarded with another display of

colorful flora. I was also curious where the hell

all the people were. It all had a post-

apocalyptic zombie town feel to it.

And purely so you know I was actually

there...

The proximity of this toddler to the statue of

Leif Ericson led me to believe that he was some

sort of reincarnated viking warrior hero. At least

that's the explanation I gave to the police when

they were asking me why I picked a fight with a

2-year-old.

My wanderings along the lakeside brought me

to this stone gnome statue. Another fun fact: over

half of Icelandic people believe in elves. Didn't

have the heart to break it to them...

The setting almost reminded me of an idyllic

Northeastern seaside town. Sadly, my pleas for

chowdah fell on deaf ears.

One thing became clear after a bit of a look

around town: there was no shortage of

churches in Iceland. Still, pretty.

Down on the water, the fowl were getting

restless. As I rounded the corner, I saw them

swarm a small child and drag him down to the

depths of the lake.

Hiking up another hill, I came upon my third church

in 30 minutes, and started to suspect that they were

slowly taking over the world. Tune in next week for...

When Churches Attack 2: Rapture Day.

On my way back into town to find some

snacks, I stumbled upon this little fella,

who was kind enough to pose for some pictures.

He sadly misinterpreted my cue of 'ferocious

jungle beast' as 'adorable kitty.'

Given that a country that has rotten shark as their national dish is bound to have some slightly-less-interesting-yet-moderately-more-appealing snacks available in their stores, I found a local supermarket and stocked up on some food items for my long road trip. The pickin's were good, and I ended up with a pretty respectable haul.

It was a veritable cornucopia of snack foods.

Beginning at the top left, we have Cool 'American' chip (also known as Cool Ranch in the US). I have been craving these for ages, and regardless of what they were called, fully intended on devouring the entire bag on my walk home. To the right, we have some crispy onion rings. As you might expect, they were very crisp, and very onion-y. I got a bit sick of them after a while, so rolled up the bag to dig into later. In the middle, we have the old standard of Dr. Pepper, which I also crave from time to time. I may have washed down the bag of Cool American chips with that. Next was a box of cheese-flavored crackers. I am basing this assumption purely on what was written on the box, since I don't believe I actually ended up eating these. The next item is Maltextrakt, otherwise known as 'Satan's Pit Sweat.' It was seriously one of the most foul beverages I've ever tasted, next to Kinnie. It has a malty taste like beer, but not as enjoyable, and without the alcohol content. I just happened to be driving when I opened it. Taking a sip, my eyes flew open wide, and I pulled the car to a screeching halt on the side of the road. Spraying the contents of my mouth across the pristine Icelandic landscape, I poured out the remainder of the can on the side of the road, lest I inadvertently reach for it and am once again forced to blanket the foliage with a sprinkling of malty saliva. On the far right, conversely, we have what is probably one of my greatest discoveries of the entire trip: Appelsin. You would think based on the name, that it's a sinfully-delicious apple-flavored beverage, and you would be close. It's actually a sinfully-delicious orange-flavored beverage. Similar to Jarritos (from Mexico), its amazing citrus-y flavors and natural sugar taste are to die for. I lost track of how much of it I had during the course of my trip, but given that it's quite a popular beverage, I had no trouble finding it, no matter how remote my location. Moving on to the bottom row, we have a few more sweet goodies, all tasty. The Ballerina cookies has a sort of toffee / chocolate in the middle, and before I knew it, I had essentially downed the entire sleeve of them, like a pelican eating a fish that's far too big for its head. Then there's the Daim bar, which was a thin, crispy length of hard toffee coated in chocolate - amazing. Got several of them over the course of my trip. Lastly is the grossly-misleading nizza bar. On the outside wrapper, it gives the false impression that it's chocolate filled with some sort of creamy white frosting or white chocolate or something. Biting into it, I was dismayed to discover that it didn't - in fact - contain anything, and that the image was meant to be a representation of the fact that it was milk chocolate. Hmph, I say.

Thus, with my loot in hand, I skipped merrily back to my room, where I deposited it and returned to the crisp evening air of Reykjavik. Since it wasn't quite dinner time yet, I made my way back to the city center and wandered around a bit more.

As the sun dipped toward the horizon, it cast a

warm rosy glow across the church, turning the dull

gray bricks into a swirling sorbet of colors.

It was dinner time.

Along the sidewalk, Reykjavik was chock full of

friendly cats.

Little-known fact: Iceland is actually just a small

clustering of buildings backed by some immaculately-

painted movie scenery. It's often referred to as

'Vikingwood.'

As the sun began to set completely, I decided it was time for my first proper meal in Reykjavik. I'd walked through the central area of town, where there were a lot of restaurants clearly geared toward tourists (steakhouses, tapas, Mexican, etc), but wanted something a bit more off the beaten path. Heading back up the street, I began to take random turns hoping to find a hidden gem somewhere in the sloping laneways of the city. After a little while, I did, in the form of Basil & Lime. The cuisine was largely Italian, but done quite well, and with an Icelandic influence. My table was located in a small glass gazebo, and I was approached by my waiter, who very easily could have been a direct descendant of Eric the Red. A long red ponytail adorned each side of his head, and I'm fairly certain he had to turn sideways to fit through the doorways in the restaurant.

The meal itself was delicious. As I sat there reading, I started off with a creamy Icelandic lobster soup, with a broth so creamy and rich that I had to struggle not to close my eyes with each bite I took. The meat from small lobster tails was generously sunk below the surface. It was absolutely stellar. I followed that up with chicken breast stuffed with Camembert and wrapped in Parma ham - equally to-die-for, and so fresh, that I would have half-expected my viking friend to have just returned from the hunt with it, but either that wasn't true, or he had just been very quick with removing his furs and spiked helmet. Both amazing dishes were polished off with the help of a couple of glasses of tasty red wine, while Sinatra crooned in the background. Stuffed and happy, I left the warm glow of the restaurant and crept out into the dark chill of the night.

I had a long day ahead of me the next day, so I took a direct route back to my room. As I walked the streets, I could hear a rhythmic drumming in the distance, which - fortunately - happened to be in the same direction as where I was staying. Approaching the source of the sound, the drumming was joined by shouts, and I was met with chaos.

I had no idea what was going on, but it seemed like

one helluva party.

I pushed my way into some of the open pockets in the crowd to get a better look. A dozen or so empty oil drums had been lined up along the street in front of a government building, and these were the source of the drumming I had heard earlier. This close, the drumming was all-but-deafening. Aside from the blazing inferno in the center of the crowd, the gathering seemed relatively nonviolent. Approaching a nearby police officer (who, by the way, look bad-ass in Iceland), I asked him what was going on.

"A protest."

Clearly.

"A protest against what?"

"The government."

It seems that the lower class was none-too-thrilled with how the Icelandic government was handling the financial crisis and crumbling economy. I stuck around for a little bit to watch the action...from a distance.

There were a few people near the front of the crowd

who were smiling. I became convinced that they

had begun the protest as an excuse to start

the fire only to keep warm. The Government

building is in the background.

Apparently there was a chance of things getting

ugly, so they had the riot police on guard.

This sign either says 'Sort out the people' or 'Who

wants to make s'mores?' I was hoping for the latter.

Having seen enough, and fearing that the protest might suddenly take a turn for the worst and I wouldn't be the biggest guy out there, I continued to walk back to my room. But not before one final amusement for the evening.

The 'disapproving face' emoticon is by far my favorite,

and made me feel much better about waiting for

the light to change.

When it did finally change, it was enough to set

me skipping happily off across the street.

Returning to my room, I lay in bed, hardly able to sleep - too excited for the road trip ahead of me. Eventually, the giddiness subsided, and I was able to get some rest.

I awoke early the next morning - the sun was barely up - and started walking toward Hertz. It was a fair bit away, and took me upwards of 45 minutes or so to actually get there. The 7C temperature wasn't doing me any favors either, but it was at least ensuring I was wide awake.

My walk took me along some other streets of Reykjavik, and then through a large grassy park, across a freeway, and along a small airport. Just as I rounded the final bend, I was met with the most amazing sight.

This is actually only one of many, MANY

pictures I took of the sunrise, because it kept

changing every few minutes.

Inspired, and tempted to break out into song, I restrained myself just long enough to reach the door of the Hertz dealer and enter, breaking off the sheets of ice and frost that had gathered all over my face (not really).

I had originally booked a Škoda Octavia wagon with AWD, but they informed me that for whatever reason, they didn't actually have any. So they upgraded me to a Toyota Rav4. While I wasn't entirely pleased with having something with a much higher center of gravity, in hindsight, it was a much better choice, as by the end of the trip, I would have lost most of the transmission, oil sump, and any other low-hanging bits off the Škoda.

After receiving a thorough lecture on not taking the car off-road and declining the 'ash insurance,' I drove the car back to my hotel and packed all of my gear into the back. After 30 minutes of trying to figure out the nav system (which was in English but required detailed knowledge of Icelandic 'states' in order to work properly), I was on my way.

I will say this about Iceland: aside from the incredible natural beauty and rich history, what makes them great is how much they've embraced tourism as a means to survive. I don't mean this in the sense that it feels touristy, but more in the sense that it is incredibly accessible to tourists. The main ring road, and even many of the side roads, are in immaculate condition, and are clearly marked with signs and distances. They also have a ton of little rest areas set up next to amazing views, historic areas, or other areas of interest. Many times I only used the nav to see exactly how much time it was until my arrival at my next destination.

So begins my drive.

Immediately after leaving Reykjavik, I was presented

with the barren landscape for which Iceland is known.

A small settlement a bit outside of the main city.

I mentioned earlier that the population of Iceland is roughly 300,000 people, and that 200,000 of those people live in Reykjavik proper. This leaves only 100,000 people to fill the rest of the entire country. Needless to say, I didn't see many other people much of the time. In fact, there were several nights where I was the only person staying in my hotel - we all go a little mad, sometimes. Over the span of 9 days, most of my conversations lasted only a few minutes and consisted primarily of the weather, hotel check-out procedures, etc. Also, given that tourism season was essentially over, many restaurants actually shut down for the winter / spring. Fortunately, most hotel owners were more than happy to cook me a delicious hot meal.

The next major city I came to was Selfoss, on the

banks of the Ölfusá River, which was home to a rather

amazing waterfall of the same name,

which I couldn't find for whatever reason, but it's

meant to be amazing, nonetheless...

As mentioned, autumn was in full swing, and

the landscape was ablaze with the season's

colors.

Despite the 90 km / hr speed limit, I found that I

could actually cover ground quite quickly, and used

that as an excuse to head off the main road whenever

I got the chance.

There were many instances when I was driving around where I was the only person on the road for miles. In fact, most of my time was like this. I could just stop in the middle of a main highway, get out of my car, take some pictures, get back in, and drive off. In the instances where there was actually someone else, I occasionally had to pull off to the side onto a steep gravel slope to get the pictures I wanted. For the most part though, I could have sat in the middle of the road for quite some time without being in any real danger.

The fields alongside the road were filled with all

manner of new critters as well. This is an Icelandic

horse - it's built like a stocky pony, with an especially

bushy mane and tail, meant to help with surviving

the cold winter months.

One of my main destinations for the day was to get to Geysir and Gulfoss, a geyser and a waterfall, respectively. It quickly became that any sign ending in '-foss' would inevitably lead me to a waterfall. Other interesting suffixes I learned while I was there: -eyja is island, -jokull is glacier, -fjall is mountain. If you put these together - Eyjafjallajökull - you get the name of the recently-erupted volcano. The name literally means 'Island-mountain glacier.' Slightly less mysterious now, no?

Anyway, back to the drive.

I had to head inland a bit to reach Geysir and Gulfoss, but fortunately the two were located only a short drive from one another. The first I came to was Geysir.

It's actually located in an area known for regular geothermal activity. As such, there were several things to see. One thing of note was that Geysir itself, whose plume can reach 70-80 meters hight, does not erupt regularly, only when there is significant geothermal activity / underground earthquakes.

Geysir, ~20 feet across, lay dormant.

I came there to see some fireworks, and I'll be damned if I wasn't going to see something explode before moving on. Fortunately, there was an adjacent, and slightly smaller geyser called Strokkur.

Strokkur? I barely know 'er!

For the most part, Strokkur burbled away quietly,

almost invitingly, like a skin-scaldingly-hot hot tub.

But every 10-15 minutes...

...trouble began to brew...

...and accompanied by a sudden rumbling...

...it would erupt as though the ground had been

out drinking all night and had suddenly reached

its limit.

Here's one with some people in it for

perspective.

Having waited around long enough to see Strokkur erupt 3 times or so, I decided to have a quick peek around the rest of the park.

Two more natural hot spring pools - love the

color. The water in these is above boiling. Sadly,

I left my normal travel box of pasta at home...

Someone had also stacked some of these large flat

stones part of the way up the hill. Now I finally

understand the shape I've been sculpting out

of my mashed potatoes.

And now, for your additional moment of

adorableness, I present to you, Litli-Geysir.

A perfect clone...approximately one eighth its

size.

Having had my fill of sulfuric vapors and waterspouts, I went back to my car and continued through the countryside on my way to Gulfoss. On my way, I caught my very first glance of a glacier.

Off in the distance, Langjökull was visible. Glaciers

account for ~11% of Iceland's surface area.

A short drive later, I came to the turnoff for Gulfoss. It was not visible from the road, but could be heard the second I opened the door to my car, and the mist created by the crashing water was drifting up over the hill, hinting at the amazing fun that could be had with an inner tube and appropriate swimming attire. Hiking over the hill and down a muddy set of stairs, I came upon a stunning sight.

You can see the the people on the rocky outcropping

to the left of the falls to get an idea of scale. It was

monstrous.

The amount of spray was incredible - much of

the valley was obscured by the mist.

Here is a clip of the falls in action.

I wasn't exactly dressed appropriately for visiting

a waterfall - this was the last day of the trip that

I wore this outfit, as I'm certain it spent the rest

of the time drying.

Having sufficiently fulfilled my quota for water features that day, I left Gulfoss and made my way back to Highway 1. My destination for the evening was the Hotel Rangá. In Icelandic, ranga means 'wrong,' in Australia, it's a derogatory term for red-heads (short for 'orangutan'). I wasn't sure which was worse. Regardless, it was the most expensive hotel of my visit, and I was certain it would at least be comfortable.

I turned off the highway onto a road paved with volcanic rocks. As I passed beneath the welcome gates, I instinctively hummed the Jurassic Park theme to myself. Following the twisty road around, I eventually came to what looked like a very long, and very squat Lincoln Logs structure. I checked in and made my way down a hall that appeared to get longer as I walked, until abruptly, it ended, and I arrived at my room. It was quite cosy, and only a short ways away from the mischievous volcano.

The view from my back patio area - that's the

main entrance area in the background. There are

also a few communal hot tubs behind the rooms as

well. Considering most of the other guests were

honeymooners, I abstained.

In the distance, Eyjafjallajökull loomed, its peak

covered by clouds and plumes of smoke.

The sun slipped slowly below the horizon, treating

me to a spectacular sunset.

With the second day coming to a close, I fell fast asleep.

The next morning, I was up bright and early (the sun barely having risen) to hit the road. But not before breakfast, where I managed to completely put one of their waffle makers out of action because I forgot to spray the non-stick stuff on the griddle (this is why we don't have nice things). Fortunately, there was a second one, which I managed to use properly. Only slightly delayed, I collected my things and took a final few pictures before heading toward the volcano.

The Big E at sunrise, slightly more visible than it was

the previous evening, but still smoking slightly at

its peak.

A small flock of Icelandic geese (I'm just calling them

that because, like the Icelandic horse, they're in

Iceland) - they're probably pink-footed geese.

I don't think there was a single moment where the

sky didn't look absolutely amazing.

Back on the main highway, I headed straight for the volcano - it wasn't far, only 30 minutes or so, but soon the roads turned from smooth pavement to loose gravel, and I was thankful to have the little Toyota. There were a few houses that dotted the landscape, and the grassy fields that flanked the road gave way to fields of volcanic rocks and ash, a telltale hint that I was getting closer. A final turn in the direction of the mountain, and I reached the end of the road. The rest would have to be on foot. Fortunately, I was not wearing the same outfit I was wearing at the falls the previous day, but had switched to something slightly more weather appropriate / waterproof.

This was about as close as I could get without the

help of an all-terrain vehicle / jet pack / saddled

tyrannosaurus.

"Ask me the questions, bridge keeper, I am

not afraid."

This picture is just chock-full of defiance.

Most of the initial part of my journey involved

tromping across lava fields covered in golf ball-

sized volcanic rocks.

To my left, a glacier spilled over the mountain like

delicious frosting spilling over the edge of a

cinnamon bun.

Very soon, the ground composition changed drastically,

becoming more like damp sand.

I soon came across the source of the dampness.

Just a little bit of glacial runoff had created some

massive deltas around the base of the volcano.

I hadn't exactly planned for water, so I wandered up and down the length of the river looking for more shallow spots to tiptoe across. I found one or two, and made slow and not entirely direct progress toward the mountain.

Eventually, the water got a bit deeper. I stood, feeling somewhat defeated. Just as I was about to head back to the car, I came to a realization. My boots were waterproof up above my ankle. My pants were the waterproof, layered ones I normally used for skiing, with elastic cuffs. My socks were thick and woolly (ok, that doesn't help in a damp situation, but I just wanted to mention the fact that they were so darn thick and woolly). With newfound resolve, I tromped merrily into the water. It came up to my knees, occasionally rising to mid-thigh if I happened to step in a hole of sorts. Yet my feet remained (mostly) dry. For a little while anyway. It wasn't so much the glacial water that did me in - it was the volcanic mud.

Let me tell you a little something about volcanic mud. It looks like normal, firm ground at first glance. Like you could go sprinting across it and barely leave a footprint. Then you put your foot down, and you leave what isn't so much a footprint, as it is a legprint. I came upon some patches of the stuff on a few occasions. Stepping down, my foot immediately sunk down up above my knee, followed ever-so-quickly by the mud closing in around my now-buried leg. Balancing on my one free leg, I would pull the trapped appendage out of its muddy demise, to a symphony of sucking and gurgling sounds, until - emphasized by an emphatic pop - my leg would come free, covered in black grit. Needless to say, this made things a bit more exciting.

At least I had pretty views to admire while I was

digging myself out of muddy sinkholes.

Me with Big E in the background, smiling,

very obviously not sinking up to my armpits

in volcanic sludge...or am I?

Soon, things got very real. I attempted to caulk

the wagon and float across, but it ended up capsizing

and we lost 4 oxen, 140 pounds of food, and 2 sets of

clothes. And Little Billy to dysentery.

In actuality, it did get to be a bit deeper, and moving a bit faster, so I decided I had gone as far as I could without risking being carried away by a very cold, very fast-moving glacial river. I begrudgingly turned around.

Yet another amazing view to enjoy as I shook the

gritty black dirt out of my socks.

My walk back was made even more exciting when I

came across a sleeping wookie on the lava fields.

The water left some pretty spectacular

designs in the dirt, but don't let them fool

you - they seek only to lure you into their muddy

trap and leave you looking for your lost boot

somewhere 2 feet underground.

Also, because many of the mountains are topped

with glaciers, many houses each have their own

personal waterfall for power / water.

Fun Fact - Did you know that Iceland uses 99%

renewable energy? Neither did I. Pretty cool.

Some other fun things I learned about Iceland which I will share with you (since at this point in my story, I'm just stomping across a big field, and you don't need to watch that). The first is a new word I learned: jökulhlaup. It's basically a massive glacial flood. I mention this because Iceland has a lot of them. Some pictures of what they can do later on. The second fun thing is that, judging by the pictures, I was - for all intents and purposes - in the middle of nowhere. I had my phone with me, and it had full bars. Iceland has an amazing cellular network. No matter where I was on my trip, I always had a full signal. It's the little things in life...which I suppose is a lot bigger if you're up to your eyebrows in mud.

Returning to the car, I changed into some dry socks and shoes, and followed the narrow, rocky road back toward the main highway.

I found another little waterfall on my drive

back out - I believe this was waterfall #42,326.

While I was stopped at the falls (Gluggafoss, for

those who are curious), I saw my first Icelandic

sheep. Like all other things Icelandic, they look

like normal sheep, except for being considerably

fluffier. I got some warm wool mittens later and

thanked them retroactively.

One of life's little reminders that Iceland is essentially

a giant smoking volcano that could blow any minute.

Back on the main highway, the scene changed once

again to sprawling, grassy farmland.

Just visible from the main road, I saw yet

another one of Iceland's iconic waterfalls,

Seljalandsfoss.

There was a hill you could hike up next to

the falls - aside from catching a different angle

of the falls, it didn't have much point other

than to get you soaking wet.

One more shot of the waterfall from a slightly

different angle, because I figured you wanted

it.

Next on the list of stops for the day was the small archipelago of Vestmannaeyjar, situated just off the south coast of Iceland. Originally created by volcanic activity, the island was changed by that same volcanic activity in 1973, when an eruption created a 700-foot high mountain where a meadow had once been, and caused all of Vestmannaeyjar's 5,000 residents to have to evacuate to the mainland. Today, it's a lovely destination full of country clubs and what have you. To get there, you need but take a short ferry ride.

Or so I thought.

I arrived at the ferry station, which appeared to have been just built 15 minutes before I arrived, and got out to look around. Apparently they had finished the building, but had not yet hired any personnel to work there just yet. I could have just wandered off with anything sitting on the desks in plain sight, and no one would have been any the wiser. Sadly, the ferry didn't appear to be running at that very moment, if at all. So I had a little look around the area.

The shiny new ferry terminal - if only they had some

shiny new employees to go in it...

So close, yet so far - in hindsight, I probably could

have just assembled a raft from the building

materials lying around.

The water didn't look all that inviting, so I left.

Along the way I found some more sheep. My

attempts to disguise myself by putting on my

wool mittens were unsuccessful, and they were

skittish.

For some reason, I had the song 'The Long and

Winding Road' stuck in my head for quite some

time.

There were some massive mountains that had

very clearly been pushed up from volcanic

activity.

Wow - talk about a poor choice of real estate.

I mean, hundreds of thousands of years from now,

that glacier is going to be right on their doorstep.

Continuing along the drive, I pulled off the

road again to admire another lovely waterfall,

Skógafoss.

My attempt at looking for gold at the end of the

rainbow pictured above served only to get me

banned from not only that heavy equipment rental

company, but from the Icelandic National Park

grounds as well.

As I was walking back to the car, I noticed

some people standing on top of the falls. During

my full-on sprint to attempt to scale a vertical

cascade of water, I happened to notice these

secret stairs that would generally accomplish the

same purpose. And not to mention, in a less-damp

manner.

After a trek up the secret stairs and a quick

scaling of a sheep fence, I gazed out over the

landscape below.

The only thing that could possibly make this

better is if a small guy in a barrel was to float

over the edge. No? Just me then?

I followed the path back up into the hills a fair

bit, and was pleased to discover that yes, a river

does - in fact - run through it.

One of my favorite views of the trip - only

a short drive / hike from the main highway,

yet you feel like you're in the middle of

nowhere.

I continued to follow the river upstream, finding

more and more small waterfalls along the way.

If I had kept on going, I'm sure I would have

found the source; either a glacier, or a

horrendously-plugged toilet.

After making my way back through the valley, over the sheep fence, down the hill (after heavily descending via the falls), and back to the car, I returned to the highway with the intention of ticking one more stop off my list for the day. Blindly following the GPS in my car, I ended up on a (blessedly) short loop road that parted briefly from the main road. I realized it wasn't where I wanted to be when I was turning back toward the highway and was no closer to the very visible outcropping for which I was aiming. But there was a silver lining to this little detour...

As I was driving along the lone residential road, I noticed a small figure running alongside me on the other side of the fence that lined the gravel road. Bringing the car to a crawl and then a stop, my little shadow wiggled its way under the fence and trotted merrily my way.

Allow me to introduce one of the happiest dogs I've

ever met.

I spent a few minutes playing with him / her

(didn't check), before heading back toward my

car. The friendly little furball followed me back,

and would have hopped in if I let him / her.

Fairly certain of where I was going at this point, I bade farewell to my fuzzy friend and returned to the main road. The next turnoff would lead me to Dyrhólaey, a small peninsula promising some spectacular views. Very quickly, the side road began to lose all semblance to a normal road and soon became a loose collection of gravel pockmarked with massive potholes that weren't visible until you were right on top of them. Naturally, I took this road at a speed that would make most drivers in Italy nervous. At one point, after a particularly frame-shattering bump, steam began to pour out from under the hood of the car. Concerned, and not wanting to be stuck on an uninhabited peninsula, I got out to take a quick look. Not seeing any visible steam (which stopped after a few seconds), I presumed that a bit of water from one of the potholes had splashed up against the engine. No further car troubles for the remainder of the trip helped reinforce this assessment.

After a final nearly-vertical ascent, I eventually reached the top of the hill and got out. The view was quite lovely, actually.

It was surprisingly high up, allowing for an

amazing view of the black beaches and surrounding

hills.

A single lone lighthouse balanced precariously on

the edge of the cliff looking out across the Atlantic.

The view to the east - the worst feeling in the

world is being in the middle of nowhere and having

a massive craving for cotton candy because the

clouds look so much like it.

The lava arch that gives Dyrhólaey its name,

which means 'the island with the hill door,' or,

'semi-submerged stone donut.'

And because no picture is complete without a

pasty white guy stepping into the frame...

I left the top of the hill to head to my next hotel, and learned that the hill descent control system in a Rav4 is ridiculously annoying and intrusive. If it's on, and at any point you are traveling at a speed of more than zero mph down a hill, it randomly applies the brakes to slow your descent. This may sound nice, but it basically came on with such abruptness that I spend the majority of my time driving down the hill with my face pressed up against the windshield.

My place for the night was just past the small town of Vík í Mýrdal. And I say small, but it was one of the biggest towns I had seen in a while since leaving Reykjavik.

Thankfully, this little town had a pharmacy /

hospital where I could get some cough medicine

and painkillers, as I had developed a pretty nasty

chest infection / cough on the flight over.

Looking out toward the ocean from a hill in Vík í

Mýrdal.

Up on the highest hill in town sits a rather

lonely (albeit photogenic) church.

I like this view because it reminded me of the

Jerry Bruckheimer Films logo.

The south end of the Mýrdalsjökull glacier. There's

a storm a brewin'...

It's changing out there. Just like last time. There's

a storm coming, Harry. And we all best be ready

when she does.

The glaciers in Iceland are simply massive. I was

driving around this one for about 47 days.

Despite looking like an Icelandic take on the Blair

Witch Project, the stone cairns at Laufskálavarða

actually have a much more teenager-killing-free

history behind them.

In the past, it was good luck for travelers to place

a stone at the top of the lava mound for good luck.

The Icelandic Public Roads Administration has

trucked in a ton of rocks so people can continue

this tradition. Yes, Iceland is spending money

on moving rocks.

Shortly down the road, the landscape changed

again, into what appeared to be large, smooth

stones covered in moss. This picture taken

shortly before the landscape rose up and charged

after me.

I'm not entirely certain what makes the water

that particular color, but going by experience, I

can only assume that someone had just recently

eaten Lucky Charms out of it.

At long last, I finally arrived at my hotel for the evening, which was a bit off the main road. As mentioned, because of the fact that tourist season was essentially over in Iceland, I was actually the only person staying at this hotel. The owner still fixed me a delicious arctic char with risotto for dinner. I made my way to my room, which smelled tantalizingly of vanilla and almond extract.

The main path leading through the 'bungalows' of

the hotel. Kinnnnnnda quiet around here...

At last! Someone to talk to...

The owner also had a couple of very friendly dogs

who came trotting up to me. They must have

been lonely too.

A parting shot of two more dogs I wish I could

have taken with me on my road trip as I returned

to the highway.

A final parting shot to the Bates Motel, as well

as a nod to an early 80s tv icon.

The temptation to use this massive hill as a sweet

jump was nothing less than overwhelming.

In warmer times, this rocky plain is normally a

deep lake, Grímsvötn, of freezing glacial meltwater.

With the colder weather coming, the lake was

considerably smaller.

Circling around Vatnajökull, Iceland's largest

glacier, I came across this small roadside picnic

site next to some wreckage. The metal girders

were actually from a bridge that previously ran

across Grímsvötn, a bridge which was torn apart

by jokulhlaups in 1996.

I circled up toward the base of the glacier to take

a hike through Vatnajökull National Park - not ideal

weather, but I wasn't going to pass up the

opportunity to tromp around near a glacier.

I was pretty much the only person in the park,

which resulted in ample opportunities to wander

around singing showtunes to any of the wildlife

that would listen.

Between the reds, yellows, and oranges of

the trees, the greens of the plants, the blues

of the sky, and the purples of the surrounding

mountains, I think most colors in the spectrum

were visible at any one time in the park.

Stunning.

Realizing that my singing was not conducive to

seeing the local fauna, I kept it to a barely-

audible hum, and out popped two rock ptarmigans.

They both looked like they were wearing tiny

feathered bellbottoms that covered their feet.

I assumed their function was to either to keep

them warm when it snows, or to look fabulous

at their little ptarmigan retro dance parties.

Above the plains an the distant ocean, a flock

of...something...winged ferrets? Dunno - too

far away.

I eventually came to a small lake at the foot of

a glacier, where small pieces of ice had broken

off and floated to shore. Oh, it also started

raining at this point.

A closeup shot of the glacier.

Glacial ice is incredibly clear - I lost count of the

number of times I walked into a huge sheet of

the stuff. Embarrassing.

A leaf pattern in some glacial ice, preserved.

There was a caveman too, but for whatever

reason, I didn't get a picture of him.

I don't know what it is about the areas around

glaciers, but for some reason, it resulted in the

most amazing patterns and textures.

While I was walking around, it rained for 30

minutes, the only rain of the trip (not counting

London, where there was a perpetual moistness

in the air).

Continuing my trek around the park, I came across

another small glacial lake. This one was filled with

chocolate milk.

Even the bad weather in Iceland is a sight

to behold, making the mountains look that

much more striking and mysterious.

Sometimes hiking around felt like I was on some

sort of alien world. Sadly, there were no colonists

in sight. Nor aliens. They mostly come out at

night. Mostly.

Having seen as much of the 12,000 sq km Vatnajökull National Park (12% of Iceland, and the largest in Europe) as I wanted, I returned to my car and sped off down the road. I had read about a glacial lake in the area, and I was certain by this point I had seen it. None of the lakes were particularly large, so I figured the images must have been misleading. Rounding a corner, I realized I hadn't yet seen the lake.

I stood on the banks of the massive Jökulsárlón,

a glacial lake spanning 18 sq km, with a maximum

depth of 200m. Chunks of ice, having broken off

the main glacier, sat motionless in the water.

Fun fact: the lake was actually used as a

background in the James Bond film, A View to

a Kill.

I figured I'd wear a bright orange jacket to help

me stand out a bit more against the white ice

and snow in the background.

While this picture of me was being taken, there was a rather sizable crash and splash to my left, and I turned to see that a piece of ice the size of a small car was merrily floating across the lake and down the river that led to the sea.

The floating piece of ice eventually became lodged

in the riverbed, creating a rushing whorl of water

on the right side.

The ruckus of the shifting ice seemed to attract

one of the locals, who swam happily in the

whitewater created by the stuck ice.

Recovering from my childish giddiness of seeing a seal, I eventually tore myself away from the critter to continue down along the road.

The sheer number of waterfalls cascading down

this mountain made it look like it was a leaky

dam preparing to burst. It probably wasn't, but

I continued driving just in case.

The stratified layers of the surrounding mountains

made them look like ancient temples to some sort

of god with lazy followers who let the local flora get

a bit out of hand.

This rock formation looks like a man sitting on

a throne. Not sure if it's anything in particular.

Hint: he's facing toward the left.

Eventually, the sun decided it had had

enough of the crappy weather's shenanigans

and pushed its way through.

Down the road, I stumbled upon this rather

ominous-looking statue, a memorial for Jon

Eiriksson, a scholar and one of the leaders of

the Enlightenment. He fell into depression

later on in his life, and was plagued by the

indifference of people to proposals for reform,

as well as the constant eruptions and famine

affecting Iceland. He is quoted as having said,

'I love Iceland sincerely, though I am fully

aware that this love of mine is shortening

my life.'

I also made a very brief stop in the small fishing

village of Höfn. There wasn't really anything open,

so I essentially drove in a loop and left.

But not before getting a shot of this rather large

boat that had been dragged ashore.

After leaving Höfn, the landscape changed for the

bajillionth time.

The sun was setting as the afternoon passed by,

stubborn clouds still clinging to the craggy

hills that surrounded the valley.

As the road snaked along the southeastern fjords,

more and more of the views resembled this, with

long swaths of the road bordering the ocean.

This originally used to be a road along

the water, but a volcano erupted while I

was on it and pushed it up a fair bit from

the water line.

There were so many things at so many skewed

angles that I wasn't sure which way was up

and ended up driving into a lake. As one does.

Iceland throws me yet another curve (and I drive

into yet another lake). Note: I'm not actually

driving into lakes - especially if you are reading

this and you work at Hertz.

Eventually, I came across another small fishing

village, Djúpivogur. It was like being in another

zombie apocalypse film all over again - the town

was completely deserted, except for the fact that

all of the residents appeared to have taken refuge

at the local supermarket. Sadly, without guns,

and with only cans of obscure meat products

with which to defend themselves, they would not

stand a chance against the coming onslaught of

undead.

Personally, I would have chosen this place.

Isolated, only 3 defensible sides, the fourth

backed by water. Plus, I'm pretty sure

zombies are allergic to idyllic country scenery.

I wasn't able to actually find out what kind of

birds these were, but they were a bit flighty.

The fact that these birds wouldn't hold still for

a single picture made them the target of copious

amounts of fist-shaking.

Along the road, I slowed to a halt as I caught a

glimpse of a small group of dogs eying me from

the high grass. I slowed down close to the third

and rolled down my window.

...when this guy started barking and charging

toward my car. I floored it to try and speed up,

but a somewhat anemic engine ensured that the

dog was able to keep up and bark at me through

the open window. I eventually drove far enough

away that he gave up, and after taking a few

brief moments to change into a fresh set of

underwear, I continued my journey.

Apparently, antagonizing the dogs (not on

purpose!) had not been a good idea, as I found

myself in the shadow of a rather foreboding

mountain of roughly 86% evil.

Another day, another amazing landscape...

After a while of following the serpentine road

along the fjords turned inland.

A-ha! Another sighting of civilization.

A common Icelandic supermarket. That pig

looks like he's getting far too much pleasure from

that accent.

I drove through this for a while. That was fun.

I sang to myself a fair bit.

The flat landscape of lava fields was interrupted

by Herðubreið, also called the Queen of Iceland.

Wanting to see probably the most stunning

waterfall in Iceland (and the largest by volume

in Europe), I followed an insanely bumpy road

off the main highway for a good hour to get to

Dettifoss.

With a telltale roar in the distance, and a sizable

river flowing in the the opposite direction, it

was easy to tell when you're getting close. Only

I wasn't, because I still had to scramble over

quite a few rocks and hills before I could actually

see it.

Over the final hill (I think), plumes of mist from

the falls billowed up into the sky (and consequently

all over the cookie I happened to be eating at the

moment).

After cursing the waterfall for making my snack

slightly more soggy than I would have liked, I

stood on the precipice, staring in awe of the

sheer power that was in front of me. Then I

picked up a small rock and threw it in anger for

ruining my snack.

Here's the waterfall in action. I was the only one there. Which was great, to save my dignity when I threw yet another rock at the falls. Hey, I'm protective of my snacks.

Just downstream from Dettifoss is Hafragilsfoss,

another waterfall, and what I can only assume

is 'Fraggle Rock' in Icelandic.

Thankfully, I was slightly higher up this time,

meaning my snackables were safe...

...from the mist, anyway. Mmm.

Not sure what is happening here - the earth

slowly being consumed by fractals?

Considering all of the volcanic activity, I was

surprised that this was the first time I had seen

red volcanic rock on the trip. Either that, or this

was where the crowd had been standing before

the fractal had devoured it.

While the day started out cold and cloudy around

the falls, the sun eventually forced its way through

like a tenacious puppy seeking its mother's teat.

Or something.

I took a short jaunt down the road to the Krafla

power station, one of the predominant geothermal

power stations in Iceland. This, combined with the

other 4 geothermal stations in Iceland, account for

~24% of the nation's energy. Geothermal heating

also meets the requirements of 87% of all buildings

in Iceland.

Just across the way from the power station was

Námafjall, an area renowned for high geothermal

activity. I decided to pop over and take a look.

Not entirely sure what this was, but given there

was no specific signage, I wasn't about to stick my

foot in and find out. Paint? Tar? Acid? Delicious

smoothie?

The sound around me could best be described

as someone constantly spraying a fire extinguisher,

and the smell was that of sulfur and brimstone.

The source of both the smell and the sound was

this - a fumarole. As superheated water moves

from deep underground to the surface, the change

in pressure causes it to vaporize.

The area around some of these fumaroles has a

yellow tinge, because of sulfur dioxide content

of the vented gas. As a result, they are called

solfataras.

Descending the hill toward Lake Mývatn.

Just off the road past Námafjall was a small

opening in the rock face at the base of the hill.

Climbing down inside, I descended until I

came across a large underwater pool, which

was fed from a natural hot spring. Eventually

the fact that I was down in a cave by myself

began to creep me out and remind me too

much of 'The Descent' and I scrambled back

up to the surface.

Hopping back in my car, I drove just down the

road to a prominent feature on the landscape -

Hverfjall, a tephra cone volcano, which originally

erupted 2500 years ago. It is 140m high, and

roughly 1 km across. Oh, and they let you climb

on it.

The climb was deceptively steep, and I ended up

completing it in something that resembled the

lumbering gait of a grizzly bear.

About halfway up the rim of the crater. There

were maybe 2-3 other people clambering along

the edge, but for the most part, I had it nearly

to myself. The slope here was slightly less, so

I could finally cease my ursine shuffle.

At the crest of the crater, looking back out toward

Lake Mývatn. I had never been anywhere so

clear - you could see for miles in every direction.

There were several other craters in the surrounding

area, which all erupted during the Krafla fissure

swarm several thousand years ago.

Here is a panoramic view from the top of the crater. Please note the man toward the end for just how windy it was.

On my descent, I stopped by the guestbook to

sign it. As it turns out, it wasn't so much a

guestbook as it was a box with the word guestbook

on it in several languages.

I was just down the street from my hotel for the

night, but I just had one more stop to make...

Time for a bit of back story about Dimmuborgir. Geologically, it is a large expanse of lava fields with unique chimney-like formations. The name means 'dark cities.' More interestingly though, are the bearded gentlemen featured on the sign. Here is the actual excerpt from the sign explaining a bit more about the Yule Lads:

"Here in Dimmuborgir the Icelandic Yule Lads live. They are the 13 sons of Gryla and Leppaludi, vicious trolls that live in a big cave in Ludentarborgir. The brothers all have funny names that often refer to their preferences for food or interest. To name a few there is Spoon Licker, Sausage Swiper, Skyr Gobbler, and the noisy fellow Door Slammer who loves to wake up people by slamming doors very loudly.

In the summer the Yule Lads can rarely be seen, because they use this season to rest and are sleeping in their caves but as winter comes they wake up and start preparing for Christmas. The best time to meet them here in Dimmuborgir is during the month of December when they are busy preparing for Christmas. The best way to find them is to walk the path to Hallarflot and shout loudly 'Jolasveinn!'

Optimistic, and knowing full well it was not December, I tried anyway. Sadly my calls went unanswered. Regardless, here are some pictures of Dimmuborgir.

As mentioned, all of these rocky formations were

formed naturally by lava chimneys.

Given that, like most of the rest of Iceland, this

places was all-but-deserted, it was both a bit

surreal and unnerving walking around.

I can just imagine this place in December...13

bearded little crazies running around scaring

the crap out of people. I say that with a tinge of

bitterness due to the fact that I won't be there.

After 30 minutes or so of wandering around some of the paths in Dimmuborgir, I drove down the street to one of the more interesting hotels of my stay.

FOUND HER!

My hotel was actually more of a farmstay - newly-

built rooms just across the road from a dairy

farm.

Yep, just another day at the hotel.

Even the view of the cow milking station from my

dinner table was lovely. To the best of my

recollection, this was the first time I had ever

drank milk fresh out of a cow (it was still warm).

At least the view outside was marginally better.

I started off the meal right with a glass of Viking

Sterkur, an overproof (7%) Icelandic brew.

Considering I had been wandering around a fair bit

that day with not much to eat, this went to my

head rather quickly.

My meal was fantastic, and consisted entirely of

food grown on the farm: smoked beef and goat,

blackberry preserve, ricotta, smoked trout,

geysir bread (baked underground using the heat

from geothermal vents), a salad with homemade

mozzarella, and a shot of the local liqueur.

I woke up in the middle of the night and had a

quick glance outside - that hazy green glow is

sadly the most I saw of the Northern Lights

while I was up there.

The next day, I continued my drive along the

northern part of Iceland, and came across a

small group of Icelandic horses in a fenced

field.

Urged on by my clicking noises and a deceptively

held out hand, one of them gleefully trotted over

in my direction.

With a head that huge, he was probably

just looking for a friend, in hindsight.

More countryside on my way to Goðafoss, one of

the more picturesque waterfalls in Iceland.

The waterfall is called 'The Waterfall of the Gods'

because years ago, a chieftain was tasked with

deciding if the Icelandic people should adopt the

Christian faith. When his decision was made, the

statues of the Pagan gods were all thrown into the

falls.

As with most things in Iceland, there are

no safety barriers between you and a rather

damp and / or fiery demise.

Shortly after the falls, I came to Akureyri, Iceland's

second largest city after Reykjavik, with a population

of a little over 17,000.

After a brief stop in Akureyri for postcards or

Appelsin or something, I continued along the road

toward the northwestern fjords.

As soon as it had appeared upon entering the city,

civilization immediately began its retreat into

the hills as I left it.

Which of course provided fewer distractions

from the sweet craggy mountains surrounding

the road.

For what was probably my longest stretch of

nothingness the whole trip, I drove through

valleys and canyons that were quite probably

completely snowed over in colder times of the

year.

Where I came from...

...and where I was going. All I can say is I'm glad

I bought that volleyball back in Akureyri.

This crow seemed a grim omen regarding my

chances of making it to the next hotel.

As I moved further west, swarms of carnivorous

pink-footed geese blocked out the sun.

They're all actually fairly skittish - if I got any

closer than 430 miles to them, they would all take

off into the sky and fly halfway across the country.

Here are a few of them in flight after I ran over

a tiny bit of gravel that caused one of them to

startle so much it exploded.

Walking back to my car from one of the paths

leading to the goose colony. You can park

pretty much anywhere in Iceland.

Before reaching my next hotel, I made a brief

stop at Glaumbær, which featured some 900-

year-old turf buildings, which appeared

desperately in need of a watering.

Eventually, I reached Sauðárkrókur, and

the Hótel Tindastóll, whose claim to fame is

being the oldest hotel in Iceland.

This resulted in some warm, quaint little rooms

nestled up into the roof.

Sadly, this theme also carried over into the

restroom, which turned any call from nature

into an exciting game of awkward limbo.

Because the wireless in the hotel seemed

to be having issues, and I had some stuff I

needed to check online, I decided to kill two

birds with one stone and have a little wander

around town to look for an unsecured wireless

connection.

After a few duds and one failed attempt to connect

to the wireless network at the police station, I finally

a reasonably-stable connection outside of what I

think was a hospital.

As it was nearing dinner time, I decided to walk back toward the center of town. A rather warm and inviting looking place (and to be fair, the only place open), Ólafshús (Olaf's House) seemed to fit the bill. I settled in at a small table toward the back and tucked into a pizza that had no less than 6 different types of cheese on it. I had to count twice just to be sure.

Convinced that I would be digesting that meal for around a month, I waddled back to the hotel and got a much-needed good night's sleep. I'm also quite certain I saw Santa riding a tractor, but the chances are quite good that this may have been a cheese-induced hallucination.

The following day, I was headed out to a small city located on the length of one of the western fjords. Scraping the frost off the windshield of my car, I left the still-sleeping town behind me and headed west.

A ridiculously thick (rithickulous?) fog bank lazed

about over the road. At certain points you could

barely see the road in front of you.

Oddly enough, it did occasionally clear just long

enough for me to see exactly what I was dealing

with (and not plummeting headlong into a ravine).

...just before plunging me right back into the

soupy mess.

I did at least get to see the fields where they grow

the sheep, though.

Once out of the fog again for good, the main highway

took a sharp dive south toward Reykjavik, while I

stayed on a slightly less-than-smooth connecting

road toward the west.

Despite the greenery in previous areas, I seemed

to have driven into the part of Iceland dug into

winter already.

Most roads aside from the main highway and city

roads look like this. You can see some of the

sneaky potholes on the left hand side. And these

are some of the smaller ones I encountered.

As the fjords separated, I came across small

settlements that looked as though they were

built before the water rose up around them.

Probably not the case, but if that's in fact what

happened...that sucks. Well, not completely.

"Island living - the beach only steps from your

kitchen...in your bedroom!"

Fun Fact: Iceland is one of a few gateways to a

mirror universe. Peering into the water, I saw

myself with a pointy mustache and beard.

Across the water, the small town of Ólafsvík was

my next destination for the evening. It was still

early in the day, so I dropped of my stuff and kept

driving around the fjord, where more sights

awaited me.

Just off the coast stands the mountain Kirkjufell.

It was nicknamed 'The Sugar Top' by Danish sailors.

Apparently you can climb it by a path around the

back, but the only way you were going to get me

up it at this point was if the peak was actually

made of sugar. And then you'd never get me

back down.

My hotel for the night was slightly different than

what was advertised on the website. They are

going to get a scathing review from me on

TripAdvisor.

Located on the far western point of the peninsula,

sits the glacier Snæfellsjökull, on top of a 700,000-

year-old volcano. This site is of particular interest

as it was featured in 'Journey to the Center of the

Earth' by Jules Verne, where the main characters

find the passage to - not surprisingly - the center

of the Earth.

Some Icelandic horses along the road. Unlike

previous horses, these were not contained in any

sort of fence, so I took advantage of the opportunity

to go up and give them some unobstructed petting.

Eventually, I pulled off the main road and parked

just outside Djúpalónssandur, a stunningly-

scenic beach. A path heading up the hill

hid the beach until the very last minute.

Djúpalónssandur is a rather unique beach, since

most of the 'sand' is actually large black volcanic

rocks.

Because there's nothing you'd rather see less than

a pasty white guy on a beach. Except a pasty

topless white guy on a beach (note: not featured

in this blog).

At the eastern end of the beach stands Kerling.

Local legend states that she was once a troll-woman

who was turned to stone (you can make out the

profile of her face on the left side of the rock).

I think J.R.R. Tolkein owes Iceland some royalties.

Looking out to sea from the beach. It's a veritable

treasure trove of skipping stones.

Close-up view of the 'sand.'

The water would have seemed incredibly

welcoming, were it not for the fact that it was

exceptionally freezing.

As I hiked the length of the beach, I realized that -

yet again - I had the entire thing to myself. That

is, until a massive tour bus decided to show up,

and I came to the painful realization that I was

actually somewhat close to Reykjavik again.

Still, couldn't have asked for a more beautiful

day. Well, you could, but you'd only be

disappointed. You greedy bastard.

A few brave gulls hung out on the rocks as the

waves crashed around them. I came to the

conclusion that Icelandic seagulls must be

aquatic.

As they stood their ground, I scurried hurriedly

(scurriedly?) away from the waves, kicking my

knees high into the air as though that would help

me avoid the water any better. What it did not

help me avoid was looking ridiculous.

Further back along the beach, scattered across

hundreds of feet, were rusted pieces of the Epine, a

trawler that was wrecked along the coast back

in 1943.

A bit further back past the wreckage of the Epine,

was Gatklettur, literally meaning 'the rock with the

hole.' And here I thought Australians were literal

with their naming schemes.

Nestled back among the other boulders, sat 4

rather unassuming rocks.

The historical importance of these rocks is actually somewhat interesting. Years ago, if you wanted to work on the fishing boats, you had to pass a sort of a test, consisting lifting each of these rocks to waist-height. The rocks were Amlóði ('Weakling' - 23 kg), Hálfdrættingur ('Half-Carrier' - 54 kg), Hálfsterkur ('Half-Strength' - 100 kg), and Fullsterkur ('Full-Strength' - 154 kg). In order to allowed on the boat, you had to lift at least the 54 kg weight as high as your waist. I was able to lift the 100 kg stone, but had I attempted to lift the heaviest one any more that I did, I would have jerked quickly upright with both arms still clutching the rock, but no longer attached. Still, manliness proven. So I moved on.

The view of Snæfellsjökul through Gatklettur

from Djúpalónssandur. Any greater

juxtaposition of Icelandic names and I'm fairly

certain the world will implode.

As I circled around the south end of the peninsula,

I decided on a whim to take an overland (i.e. - over

mountain) route to get back to my hotel, which would

actually take me right up by the glacier.

By far the steepest and bumpiest road I'd been on

yet, this was about as close as I was able to get to

the peak without a trunk full of Sherpas.

Going downhill was infinitely more exciting than

going uphill. Granted, going uphill you had the

added suspense of not being able to see what was

coming up, but going downhill, you had the same

experience at twice the speed.

After a bone-jarring descent back to the main road, and a peaceful cruise back to my hotel, I had a quick bite to eat and retired for the evening. The next day would take me back to Reykjavik for my final full day in Iceland. Fortunately, I had planned a day of pampering and relaxation at the Blue Lagoon Spa, a geothermal wonder just outside of Reykjavik (in fairness it was actually a long drive outside of Reykjavik - more just outside the airport). At any rate, after over 2000 km on the road, biting cold, and a considerable amount of hiking, I was ready to relax completely.

Steam plumes signaled I was getting close.

Outside the main gates, the bright blue waters and

snow-white silica deposits hinted at what I might

find inside.

Inside, it was more of the same, which was perfect.

Let's see - where to begin. The entire pool is heated through natural geothermal vents, which keeps the whole body of water feeling like a freshly-drawn bath. There are buckets of the lagoon's own silica gel, a white goopy substance that contains an amazing amalgamation of minerals and natural algae which are meant to be amazing for the skin. As such, most other people in the lagoon are floating around with the stuff smeared all over their faces. Some have begun timidly, with tiny splotches of white on their cheeks, nose, and forehead. Others have taken handfuls of gel and smeared with liberally all over their face / hair / teeth / what have you. I would like to think I fell somewhere delightfully in the middle.

Also during my time there, I decided to partake in a massage, of which I am already a fan, but they decided to take it a step further here. You don't actually get out of the lagoon. You sit on a foam mat in the water, they cover you with a huge towel soaked in lagoon water, and only peel it back to expose the parts of your body they are massaging. For me, this was done by an unimaginably large Icelandic man with forearms the size of my torso and far too many vowels and umlauts in his name to possibly remember. Anyway, irrelevant. It was an hour of bliss, and I'm certain I fell asleep at a couple of points throughout.

After my massage, I met a woman named Teatsche from the Netherlands, who shared both a fondness for travel and photography. We chatted a fair bit, which was quite a shock to my system, as I had not had a conversation longer than 30 seconds in about 10 days. Regardless, she was a joy to talk to, and shared some wonderful stories of her family and travel.

Upon exiting the warm water, it didn't change the fact that it was still cold and windy outside, so you had approximately 13 seconds to get your bathrobe and towel, and get inside before you froze to death. The fact that I am writing this now should tell you I was one of the lucky ones. Pruny and relaxed, I showered, dressed, and headed back into town.

I received a royal welcome upon my arrival back

to my hotel.

Central Reykjavik - there were so many choices

for my final dinner in Iceland: steak, seafood,

Mexican (I can't think of a single country that

would have less of a concept of Mexican food that

I was tempted to try it purely based on that).

There was also a central sunken plaza area surrounded

by loads of shops and restaurants. My one regret is

realizing I didn't go to the busiest restaurant in town,

a hot dog stand around the corner.

While on a search for dinner, I found this colorful

little house. I'm not even sure what it is or what

function it serves, other than being festive.

I also stumbled upon this authentic (?) tapas

restaurant. Again, it was more curiosity than

temptation that made me consider it.

Yeah, buddy, I'd be depressed too if I were

you. Some people have webbed toes. You

have webbed arms. And let's not even start

on the lack of genitalia. Or pants, for that matter.

This scene actually unfolded in a rather surreal

manner. About half a dozen tough-looking bikers

were chatting in the plaza, when the elderly

gentleman cruised up, some sort of Icelandic rap /

polka pouring from his speakers. He got out, and

commenced doing some sort of galloping / air-

spanking dance. He concluded with a brief

conversation, got back in his car, and drove off. I

was speechless.

I decided at this point that I needed 2 things: a dinner recommendation and a drink. Returning to the hotel, they recommended a restaurant called the Fish Market, and I wandered around the corner to book a reservation. I returned promptly to hotel bar to partake in their happy hour special of buy one get one free. I decided to go for something that sounded interesting and ordered something called Lava Beer. They brought the bottle out and poured it, filling my glass with something that resembled Guinness, the main exception being that the beer itself was pitch black, and the head on top was a shade of burgundy. Taking a sip, I quite enjoyed it, and had soon polished it off. Ordering a second, I began to polish that one off as well. Halfway through the second bottle, my head started to spin a little bit, and I rotated the bottle a bit in my hand. That's when my eyes fell upon the alcohol content: 9.4%. Ok, so it was slightly overproof. And I had two in roughly 30 minutes. Doing the math, that's about 5 beers. And I hadn't eaten much. It was a wonder I was able to still form complex sentences properly, let alone sit up straight. Dinner was going to be fun.

The beginning of my downfall.

I paid my bill, and was blessedly able to not only remember where my dinner reservations were, but walk there unassisted (that I can recall, anyway).

The doorway was flanked on either side by candles

in mismatched lanterns, which has a slightly

diminished effect in the early evening light.

I was seated at my table and began to peruse the menu. They had a taste of Iceland multi-course meal option, which was available with an optional course-by-course wine pairing. There were five courses. Halfway through my meal the waiter came back and apologized that he had forgotten I had ordered the wine pairing. So then I was stuck with 2 glasses of wine and about to begin my third course. Just as I finished one of the glasses, another arrived. From what I remember, it was a lovely meal. Oh, and they were playing 'The One and Only' by Chesney Hawkes in the bathroom, which made me smile.

My meal started with a trio of dips and some bread

for dipping. I knew I was in trouble after the baleful

look my waiter gave me when I requested more of

'the delicious container that holds the bread.' The

bite mark in the right hand corner was there before.

The second course consisted of local seafood: a

small roasted lobster tail, Atlantic salmon, some

sort of foam, and a delightfully crispy Parmesan

cheese baked chip.

The third course was more seafood: trout sashimi,

more trout, and trout roe. And more foam. And

something that resembled edible gummy sandpaper.

And I say that with the utmost respect - it just

looked like it.

The next course brought more wine and the real

meat: steak, lamb, and a delicious piece of what

was essentially bacon, along with mashed potatoes

and vegetables.

Last and certainly not least was dessert: several

different types of sorbet and ice cream, a nutty

chocolate bar, some sort of fancy fruit roll-up, and

what appears to be an assortment of scraps they

swept up off the kitchen floor. I kid, of course -

it was spectacular.

Full beyond belief, and with essentially 10 drinks in me, I threw caution to the wind and stumbled back to the hotel, where I immediately fell face first onto my bed and did my best impression of a starfish.

Morning came and I packed my belongings. After arranging a bus to the airport, I took one final walk around town before heading to catch my flight.

A statue at the Reykjavik International Airport.

I really wish I could have ended this blog with a

photo of something slightly more profound than

what appears to be a creepy tongue protruding

from an egg. Ah well. Enjoy.

I would encourage anyone and everyone to see Iceland soon - it's not going to be this way forever. The landscape is being changed both naturally and by human means, and not necessarily for the better. It's just over a 2-hour flight from London or Dublin, and you could even make a weekend out of the Blue Lagoon and Reykjavik. Plus, you never know - some sort of megavolcano could erupt and swallow the whole thing. Whether or not that's the case, I loved my time there, and saw more beauty in just over a week than I ever thought was possible.