Whirlwind Iceland

Day 1

As our plane descended out of the thick, low clouds into Keflavik Airport, we were greeted with a landscape of rock and lichens, with a raging gale force wind blowing sheets of water across the pavement. We had known it was going to be windy in Iceland, but even so it was an enticing welcome into the country’s dramatic wildness.

After getting the keys to a brand new Kia Picanto, we set off toward Reykjavik. Colby did an excellent job keeping the car on the road with the winds blowing so hard the van in front of us was tilted almost off its two right wheels.

On the first day, we visited two of the most popular attractions in Iceland. First was Thingvellir National Park, where we walked the rift between the North American and Eurasian plates. It was earth-splittingly neat although not earth-shattering. Then Strokkur Geyser, which spews hot water high into the sky every eight minutes, except when it does it twice within one minute giving us no warning on when to have the camera ready.

Later in the afternoon we toured Solheimar Ecovillage. Founded in 1930, it is the oldest ecovillage in Europe. A woman named Sesselja Sigmundsdottir established it as a home where orphans, children with disabilities, and children without disabilities could grow and live together in a nurturing environment. There was a big focus on holistic community life integrating nature, creativity, art, music, theater, and gardening. Find out more about this cool place at www.solheimar.is

We walked down a forested hillside, passing through the cluster of community buildings and residences that make up the ecovillage. Today about 110 people live at Solheimar, 45 of whom have special needs. We bought a loaf of rosemary herb bread from Solheimar’s organic bakery. In addition to the bakery, many of the residents work in craft workshops - candlemaking, weaving, woodworking, ceramics, arts, and herbs.

Our tour guide showed us around their impressive greenhouses, which are heated with geothermal energy from a natural hot spring on the property. Standing in a room of lush, towering tomato plants, it was hard to believe it was only early May. Two of the other greenhouses were filled with flourishing cucumbers and peppers.

After a full day of adventuring on about 2 hours of airplane sleep, we headed towards our Airbnb to settle in. Aspirations to climb up the nearby mountain melted away quickly once we sat down on the couch and involuntarily fell into a coma sleep.

Day 2

A luxurious night of sleep left us refreshed for another day of exploring - next up the hot river hike! The hills (to our Midwestern eyes, mountains) around the town of Hveragerdi are dotted with hot springs. Everywhere we looked, scattered pockets of steam were rising out of the earth, making the land seem so alive. Winding our way up into the mountains and into a cloud, we passed by colorful pools of hot water boiling out of the ground. Unfortunately there wasn’t much of a view due to the fog, but the mists of sulfurous stink and the strange light blue color of some of the pools were a feast for the senses.

Once we arrived at the hot river, we pulled off our hiking boots and waded for a while, not yet feeling the inspiration to take off our rain gear and fleeces. Rather than being uniformly hot, the river temperature varies as the cool river water mixes with the scalding water trickling in from nearby springs.

As we hobbled up the river in bare feet, we marveled at the dazzling rainbow embankments rich with reds, oranges, and greens from the minerals and algae. When some of the other visitors left, we stripped down to our swimsuits and lay down in the water near one of these embankments. The water would be chilly for a bit, then all of a sudden HOT. It was thrilling to be so attuned to the fluctuations of almost painfully hot and shiveringly cool water streaming by our bodies. To be so immediately in touch with the heat of the earth gave a joyful feeling of being fully alive. Caressed by the gentle current, and surrounded with incredible scenery intermittently veiled by fog, we lingered for a wonderfully long time.

On our journey eastward we stopped at the Seljalandsfoss waterfall. Typical of Iceland, we had gone from the middle of a cloud to a radiantly sunny afternoon in just a few hours. The gloriously warm sunlight rewarded us with a rainbow in front of the shimmering streams of water. Colby tried, with moderate success at best, to keep his camera gear dry in the blowing clouds of mist from the falls.  

Journeying  a short walk farther down the path led us to the Gljúfrabúi waterfall (its name means“Canyon Dweller”). This waterfall has an extra mystique because the view of it is partially obscured by a rocky gorge. To see the waterfall, you have to wade through cold water into its gorge.

Well, that was an easy decision…

As the light slowly dimmed toward evening, we headed back into a cocoon of fog on Highway 1, the only main road in Iceland. The road went on and on… through endless flat plains, through strange lumpy landscapes of vibrant green moss, through sparsely vegetated low hills, across gravelly glacial floodplains, over many single-lane bridges. The dimming light intensified the feeling of the landscape’s vast desolation, which was magical in a certain way. It was easy to imagine gnomes living in the moss-covered hummocks, making their homes in the bulbous humps of rich green.

Day 3

Morning in Skaftafell National Park brought more fog - not so promising for glacier viewing. Nevertheless, we set out up the mountain towards the overlook. High up on the rocky outcropping, other visitors slowly trickled in. Together we gazed out into the wall of light grey, waiting in hushed expectation.

Eventually a hole in the fog opened just enough to reveal the very top of a mountain across the valley. Impossibly high, cloaked in pristine white snow, it looked like something out of a vision - a castle in the sky of a ghostly, dreamlike beauty, disappearing and reappearing in the shifting fog.

After quite a while longer of anticipation, the sun slowly burned through the rest of the fog, revealing the entirety of the valley to our awe-struck eyes. Julia had never seen a glacier before, so it was especially captivating as an entirely new landscape was unveiled out of the mist. The Skaftafell glacier stretched for miles up the valley, cradled on either side by mountains, the scrapes and fissures of the ice revealing its immense power and constant change. It looked like it would be wonderfully fun to fly with one of the bird flocks soaring above the icy expanse.

See the two people in the top right?

Like most glaciers, Skaftafell is retreating quickly, so in front of it was a lagoon of meltwater with floating icebergs. The marvelous joy of seeing the glacier was tinged with regret that future generations will probably not be able to see it in its current glory.

The path into the highlands that we were hoping to hike was closed for revegetation, so we explored the other paths around the park. Particularly impressive was the Svartifoss waterfall, spilling down among walls of hexagonal basalt columns. The columns are formed by the uneven cooling of lava and are the shape closest to a circle that is tessellated. Here and throughout Iceland, it was fascinating to see so many earth-forming processes laid out right in front of us.

Up at another overlook we peered westward to an even vaster glacier - the almost unfathomably large Skeidararjokull, more than 10 miles wide by our estimation. Studying the map, we noticed an informal path heading towards the edge of that glacier, and felt the gravitational pull to go exploring. So after dinner, we struck out to make our own path across the glacial floodplain. Shallow dry river beds from past floods meandered across the landscape, giving some gentle rises and falls, but by and large the floodplain was quite flat. We felt as small as ants as we walked cross-country across the endless expanse of smooth gravel and rocks. It was just us and the rocks for miles, in a way that was enthralling and just a touch spooky. Finding our footing around rock after rock, taking thousands of rocky footsteps, really pounded into our bones the incredible vastness of the landscape. We spotted a few birds and many patches of tenacious lichens and short grasses, but besides that we were the only ones there.

Finally we made it to the end of the neverending gravel plain, and the hills of gravel grew bigger and bigger. Cresting one of the mounds, the view of the glacier’s edge spread into view in a way that was literally jaw-dropping. “Whoa” and “Wow” echoed over and over out of our mouths. Spread out before us was an otherwordly landscape of freshly deposited mounds of black gravel, mixed with still-melting ice and pools of water. And looming behind this landscape was the glacier itself, awe-inspiring in its immensity, extending farther and wider than we could see, the ice marching up into the horizon.

Skirting along on the mountain edge, we ventured closer to the glacier itself. We scrambled up, down, and across rolling mounds of rock and gravel left by the glacier's rapid retreat of recent years. Some of the rocks were of the most amazing colors - rose, purple, bright orange, pure white, green. Many large rocks looked like they had spontaneously shattered in place, which mystified us.

Sitting down to take it all in, we overlooked a mountain of still-melting ice covered in black gravel. Every so often, mini avalanches of gravel would tumble down the mountain or a hunk of ice would splash off. It was a drama unfolding right in front of our eyes.

Once we noticed the sun inching downward in the sky, we glanced at our watches and were surprised yet again that it was already 9:30pm. So began the long trek back across the gravel plain towards camp. As the air cooled and the light faded, ahead of us a deep pink alpenglow set the snow-cloaked mountain peaks ablaze.

Back at camp, we curled up in our chilly tent. Closing our eyes in the still-light sky, we contemplated how this was a day we would remember for a lifetime.

Day 4

Today the jet lag and cumulative tiredness caught up with us, so we took it easy on the long drive back to Reykjavik.

First stop was revisiting the landscape of mossy lumps that had so intrigued us on the drive out. They were a distinctly less vivid color than we remembered. It turns out we weren’t just imagining it - a sign confirmed that the moss turns vibrantly green right after a rain.

We also learned that this lumpy landscape is the result of a lava flow from the massive Laki eruption in 1873. This eruption released an incredible 14 cubic kilometers of lava over the landscape. Even more, the volcanic gasses it released caused a global drop in temperatures for several years. This is credited with causing worldwide crop failures and famines, perhaps contributing to the beginning of the French revolution. It was a strange contrast to be in an almost unpopulated landscape so far from anywhere else, but one that caused such widespread social upheaval.

Next stop was Reynisfjara, the black sand beach. With hundreds of white nesting birds soaring around the cliffs overhead, we enjoyed exploring basalt columns in a new setting- this time, a cave right on the beach. Splitting off from the crowds, we walked up the shore and found a spot for lunch. Resting our bare feet in the smooth dark sand, we listened to the powerful waves swelling and crashing.

Taking the advice of our tour guide from earlier, we explored some examples of Iceland’s traditional building style - stone huts and barns built into the earth and covered with living sod.

As the afternoon wore on, the drive seemed to stretch longer and longer. Driving on the single paved road heading towards Reykjavik, our inspiration waned as the traffic swelled and not-especially-charming urban buildings popped up everywhere. Consulting Google Maps to see how much longer it would be, an alternative route bypassing Reykjavik popped up… Why follow Highway 1 when you could give Route 417 a whirl?

We first followed a smooth paved road winding up towards a ski resort. And then route 417 split off - a gravel road winding across the mountains. A sign alerted us that the road is closed from October 1 to May 1, so we were lucky to be able to drive it. We went rattling down the road through ancient lava fields in utter solitude, high up in the clear air. As we passed below soaring cliffs dotted with snow fields, we were exhilarated with the beauty of the landscape and the reward of venturing off the beaten path. And at the end of Route 417, our car emerged back onto the pavement in perfectly good condition. Descending into the city of Hafnarfjordur, the ever-changing mood of Iceland impressed us again. We passed almost instantly into a moody fog, driving past enormous wooden racks used for drying fish and through gritty industrial areas, all cloaked in mist.

We continued on towards the peninsula where we would camp. We were struck by the change in the feel of the place, particularly the architecture. For most of our time in Iceland, we had seen almost exclusively white farmhouses and barns covered in bright red roofs, surrounded with hay fields. Now, the houses looked distinctly seaside, like they were built to withstand salty gales.

We camped on the very tip of a fog-cloaked peninsula in Gardur, near a historic lighthouse. To smell the fishy sea breeze, listen to the call of sea birds, and explore the old fishing boats in the field felt like the discovery of a new side of Iceland. It evoked the melancholy mystique of the sea, like the feeling that accompanies the sound of a fog horn.

Rudely awakened by our alarms in the 4 am daylight, it was time to leave for the airport and venture on to Switzerland.