fimmtudagur, 26 júlí

This was our free day, and five of us went horseback riding at the Laxnes farm. The Nobel Prize-winning author Halldór Laxness, lived across the highway from this farm (and in fact that's where he took his literary last name from). His prize-winning book was Independent People, and I have to say that it extends to the Icelandic horse as well. OK, fine. It extends to all horses. But the one I rode was an especially good example of independence.

Our instruction consisted of the query, "How much experience?" I said, "Núll". Nada. None. Well, do I have to count when the horse ran away with me at Camp Fire camp when I was 14? We were told to hold on to the reins, and since there was no saddle horn, this was a wise decision. The stirrups are set quite longer than in western-style and you're supposed to flex your heel down the entire time you ride. It's really not that hard.

Icelandic horses have 5 gaits, the fifth one being one specific to their breed; the tolt. It's a very smooth gait I think between a canter and gallop and it is very easy to ride when the horses break into this gait. We took the horses out to a field so that they could have a snack of grass and at that point, "Halldór" and I were still on pretty good speaking terms. We were in a group of 25 - 30 horses who of course ALL knew the drill and ALL knew that we were itinerants. And - they had their pecking order.

Sue and Andy

Ian, "Halldór"







I had been told by the lady who helped me saddle up, "Oh, this horse knows what to do. He's very independent." No joke! He was not fond of certain horses getting ahead of him on the track; he bit the flanks of certain horses to move them out of the way; he barged between 2 horses when there was barely room for those 2, hence putting my feet in jeopardy of either kicking a Swedish lady (who ended up giving me the evil eye on about, say, 10 occasions during the ride because of this) or knocking an 8 yr old Korean boy off his mellow horse. I have to say that most of the bruises I got on this trip were not from scrambling over rocks, slipping on scree, or any other hazards of hiking. No. They were from "Halldór" trying to rub me off!

Eventually he tired of that strategy and resorted to biting the Swedish woman's horse one time too many. That horse swung its head around and latched onto "Halldór's" neck, something that he wasn't expecting at all. He reared up - and took off a little faster than the tolt across the lava fields. And I was somehow clinging onto his sweaty neck because one of my feet came out of the stirrup and I was frantically trying to locate it. When I got situated I pulled back on the reins in a show of "no, I'm the boss" (even though I knew I wasn't), and he got back in line. And proceeded to try his stunts again. But - I kept his nose aimed straight ahead by some pretty tight reining in which he soon tired with. Ah, "Halldór"! Your independence is showing!

The barn grew closer and closer, the horses moved faster and faster, and "Halldór's" one-track feed mind grew more and more one-track...but he knew he still have this "thing" on his back that he really, really wanted to be rid of. One last attempt to rub me off against the barbed wire this time, but fortunately another horse got in the way, so "Halldór" took off for the corral fairly quickly, charging his way between the other horses. He wasn't the least bit interested in debriefing afterwards, either. Funny thing is, he was so easy to ride (when not rearing) that I'd gladly ride him again!


But we all survived and when we returned to Reykjavík, made reservations for dinner at Geysír, a very nice restaurant in the downtown area. I walked around the downtown area to scout out the restaurant and came across several families with young children playing with non-mechanized and predominantly wooden action toys - very neat!












We made it to Geysír on time and checked out the menu. The red flag was waved in front of my eyes; they had hvalborgari! A burger made of minke whale, quite impossible to get in the US, so I had to try it. It was in steak form served with a lobster sauce on a bun. This very dense meat had its own taste - not fishy, not like swordfish, which is somewhat resembled, not like beef, and not like chicken! It was a dark, dark burgundy in the center - quite pretty and mild in flavor. And delicious! And for dessert I had to try the "Velg eplakaka með ís og rjóma" - warm apple pie with ice cream. Yes, we were sate and had had again so many fun and interesting conversations. Then it was time to leave.

But we fell apart the minute we walked onto the veranda outside the restaurant. Andy said it best, "I think I'd look that way if I'd lost mine, too!"
Back to the Guesthouse Aurora for one last picture of almost everyone (missing and missed were Cathy and Paul, Penny and Richard).

miðvikudagur, 25 júlí

Gullfoss

We packed up and took our places on the other side of the stream so that we could take pictures of Sveini crossing it in the bus. It was pretty funny driving past the other guests who had stayed in the wooden huts as they stared at us as we drove past, mouths wide open!











The sky was slightly overcast with smudges of bright blue here and there, but at least we could see a substantial amount of Langajökull to our west. Another of my favorite warning "signs" was found on this part of the highland road; a rock, about 2' high, painted white, was placed at the edge of a 1 m by 1 m washout on the side of the road. Seeing as that wouldn't leave alot of road surface available, we had to move 'way over to the other side. Soon we saw where the Hvitá came from its origin at Langajökull, of course at Hvitálón, a much less spectacular version of Jökulsárlón.

The landscape started to green up as we got closer to Gulfoss. What a beautiful, beautiful waterfall!






Gullfoss as it cascades into Hvitargljufur Canyon







Tea with cookies, cake, coffee, energy bars - time to clean out the pantry! Onward to the original Geysir which, since it's now dormant, has passed on the performance hat to Strokkur. Strokkur was ready to please with eruptions every 6 or 7 minutes. Occasionally there would be a small, 10' eruption immediately followed by a larger one, and then there might be one that was at least 80' tall! My favorite part, though, the was the beautiful blue bubble that immediately preceded an eruption.

And I found there to be 3 ways to pronounce "geysir" in our group - the British "gee-zer", American "gi-zer" and the Icelandic "gay-seer".

Our last stop of the day would be at Þingvellir, Parliament Plains. This was where the first Icelandic parliament met in the 900s. The elected officials from all over Iceland would meet here annually and have trials, cast judgments, make laws, update land ownership, and all this in a democratic fashion. It is a fascinating place geologically as well, since it is located on the major rift that runs southward from the Krafla energy field, so the two walls on either side of the walkway are actually gradually pulling apart. The overall "growth" of Iceland in this manner is estimated to be 2 cm each year. One side is North America, and the other is Eurasia. It was a fun place to daydream of history and the Earth moving slowly...right underfoot...

This side is on the North American plate

Dinner that night was at Siggi Hall's. He is a prominent chef in Reykjavík and we ordered either salmon or lamb. I believe we were also treated to Atlantic char smoked over sheep dung; at least that's what one guide book said. Everything was quite good and we had a good last dinner with the entire group!

þriðjudagur, 24 júlí

( Photo courtesy of Simon K. Leung)

A beautiful day - sky a deep blue, cool temperatures. The big yellow bus took us to the edge of a snowfield on Mt. Snækollur, 1400 m high. We walked over some scree hills and saw some amazingly huge chunks of obsidian. As some who picked up a few choice black and brown pieces soon discovered, it's also quite sharp. The snowfield that we would have to cross without crampons or ropes, unfortunately, was a little too icy so our group split into two groups - I joined the Mutineers (nice call, Simon!), and we set out to hike the adjacent Mt. Fannborg, 1453 m high.

Mt. Snækollur


The first section was uneventful, over some of the same dirt/scree hills that we'd initially started on, but then we hit a snowfield where we had to dig in the footholds a little better. I was at the end and stopping in the middle of a slope, even though one of very, very slim avalanche potential, was just a little unnerving for me. It's pretty interesting what intuitions you carry with you to other geographical regions where those internal red flags may be meaningless...









But we made it across and then somehow missed the path (everyone but Sue, that is), and the scree slope from hell started slipping on yours truly again. Now, the 1,000' of scree above me was of a troublesome potential, so I got as flat to the hill as possible and made it over that loose area. Oh, was I ever sweating it out until I got to firmer ground!

Soon, though, we rounded the hill and were on the final zigzap path to the edge of the plateau where the summit was located. Since trouble occurs in threes, the wind kicked up and again I leaned a little close to this large-ish mound of rock, snow, and ice! The view all the way up and from the top was spectacular! Both Hofsjokull and Langajokull were right there in front of us, and we could even see the northwestern edge of Vatnajokull south of us. I really can't describe how incredibly clear the air was that day - I applied sunscreen every hour, I think - but all the details of snow on adjacent hills, rivers, lakes, steam vents - if they were in our line of vision, we could see them.

On top of Fannborg, Hofsjökull in background

Ian had brought his nifty little tripod and we all took turns taking pictures. Some, of course, were more detail-oriented than others, and I believe I heard a certain 22 year old in our Mutineers group mutter, "I'm adopted..." when his father took a little more time than everyone else to set up his picture, hehhehheh! We ate lunch, took in the views, and started down.

The Mutineers

I was not looking forward to a return visit to the evil scree and snowfield. Just wasn't. And others must have read my mind because alternative routes back to the parking lot (which we could see) were now being discussed. It was decided to walk down a snowless gully to the eventual stream (which we couldn't see but that we knew was there by an earlier discussion with Sólla), follow that stream, and end up at Hveradalur, the Boiling Valley, where we could also meet up with the rest of the group. Let me tell you, scree skiing is awfully fun, and it was an efficient and safe way off the mountain! We hiked over and around a colorful hill or two, started smelling the sulphur, and soon were at a stream that we had to cross a couple of times. The sulphur smell never left us on this leg of the hike, and we could see greens, blues, oranges, and yellows of various substances along the streambed as well as in the mini-hotsprings that dotted the landscape, sometimes just a few feet from the edge of the water. Just amazing. We watched our step here because we didn't want to boil our feet, boots and all.

Aprés-scree

Around one curve we found a sweet little stand of alpine cotton and decided that we should probably start up the hillside to the parking lot pretty soon. It was rather humorous and maddening at times, the one step forward slide two steps back ratio that this clay/silty mix gave us in the way of traction and upward movement. But we made it, saw the parking lot, and then were able to see the Boiling Valley.

Hveradalur

Some of the group walked back down a path to the junction of the stream we'd been following and the stream that would eventually wind its way past our camp, and some of us sat and soaked in the warmth of the sun (which lessened each time the wind blew). Even though they were a good half mile away, you could hear the jetting vents with a roaring noise that got louder depending on which way the wind was blowing. There were many fun and thoughtful conversations during this waiting period, and I think we were all pretty pleased that we'd made it to the top and down without incident!

Back at camp, Sveini, Greg, and Janet had been busy digging a pit and lining it with rocks and charcoal to prepare it for roasting 4 savory legs of lamb, Icelandic-style. We also had a wonderful salad of fruit and vegetables, baked red onions and garlic cloves - what a feast! The lamb was so good - I was surprised to find that there was still some leftover for lunch tomorrow, some of which I promptly scooped up for a sandwich in the morning! The fancy plastic wine goblets were brought out, beer fished out of the river, and we all had a grand time. We would be packing up in the morning to do some last minute sight-seeing on our return to Reykjavík.









(better count their sheep, if not just their feet...)

I listened to the sounds of the stream, the quiet of the mountains that only echoed the occasional neigh of the corral of Icelandic horses several hundred yards away, and wondered when I would ever be in such a quiet place again. And then the wind kicked up as it blew down the valley from the glacier, and as I curled up lower in my sleeping bag (and bundled in several sweaters, longjohns, and a wool cap), I was ever-so-thankful for the mallet that I'd used to hammer in the posts for my tent fly.

mánudagur, 23 júlí

The Icelandic legend says that God was going to pay Eve a visit in the Garden of Eden. She thought she'd put her best foot forward and only show him her clean children. Unfortunately, she forgot about that omniscient part of His personality. He got angry and since she had hidden the dirty children from Him, he decided to hide them forever from her and made the dirty children invisible. In order to get clean, these invisible (but no doubt still dirty) children live on the banks of Goðafoss, the Waterfall of the Gods. It didn't get its name from that legend, though - Þorgeir, law-speaker for the Alþing in the year 1000, meditated for at least a day about Iceland accepting Christianity or staying with the Norse gods. He chose Christianity (but allowed for the worship of the Norse gods in people's homes) and on the way home, tossed his wooden carvings of the Norse gods into the waters of Goðafoss.

Akureyri, the Northern Capital, is set on Iceland's longest fjörd, Eyjafjörður. We stopped here for a couple of hours (it was the last Vín Búð until Reykjavík) and I wandered up to the cathedral and then down to the main shopping district for lunch. Along the way I saw beautiful cottage gardens, gorgeous handmade sweaters, the newest Harry Potter, and met two very friendly little 8 yr old Akureyrians on their bicycles. They were thrilled that I had a camera, so you will see them in their "yoga" poses on their bikes. I was happy that they were wearing helmets for several reasons...

Bright red and blue roofs dotted the mountainsides as we drove through a beautiful glacial valley with the Tröllaskagi Mountain range to the east. Sólla announced, "We are stopping at Varmahlið for the last chance at a good WC for awhile." Since this sounded so absolute, we took advantage of the stop to do a little grocery shopping, admire more handmade sweaters, eat ice cream, and take in the view of this little crossroads.

We left anything resembling fjords at this point and approached the high, rocky desert of the highlands. The single lane gravel road we were on is a major north/south route between Gullfoss and Varmahlið. Through our now rain-splattered windows we saw the enormous Blöndulón where a major power plant is located. The icecap of Hofsjökull was now visible.

At first the rocks on the orangey-tinted rolling plains were sparse. Then the rocks became more numerous, and then they became boulders. It was a very interesting landscape, even if the rain really did unfortunately reduce some of the available scenery to distant blurs. It was in similar but far rockier landscape to our east where the Apollo astronauts practiced driving the lunar rover in the 1960s, not a far-fetched idea. Again the idea of how changing a landscape this is came to mind; all it would take is yet another jökulhlaup like the one about 2,000 years ago that scoured the surface of this area, bringing boulders and other debris from many kilometers south to readjust roads, landmarks, and the course of some surface rivers.

Along this route was also a natural hotsprings, in an area where an infamous outlaw and his wife hid from the authorities for years. The darkening sky led a little bit of the ominous to this location, even though the soak was really nice. We didn't know that it was going to be the last warm water (unless we boiled it) for over 24 hours...

The weather started to clear and we were treated to a lovely huge rainbow over Hofsjökull. The drive had lulled several to naptime so not many were awake to see a very pretty - and seemingly fast-moving - 15 m wide and 15 m tall waterfall on our right. "Wow!" I thought. "We're driving right next to it!" Let me amend that. We were getting ready to ford Gýgjarsá, a glacial stream, bottom unseen, only about 10 m from the waterfall itself! I admit to holding my breath and lifting my feet off the floor - and trying to add up whatever good karma I'd accumulated recently to see if it might offset this iffy new adventure - and Sveini eased up to the edge of the stream. And then one wheel of the bus went in, we advanced a few feet, then the other front wheel went in, we moved a little forward, and then the big yellow bus nonchalantly crossed on over in a decidedly bumpy manner.

We passed the area's most likely candidate for a landing strip - markers, a windsock, and minimal rocks. The surrounding mountains seemed so close because of the air clarity, and you could make out the blue of the glacial ice even from the distance. Being on this high plateau gave us an amazing view of the northwestern part of this closest icecap. Very, very neat.

And very, very isolated. We later found out that there was no cell phone coverage in the area, and after crossing the highlands to Kerlingarfjoll we did feel like we were a little more removed from what we were familiar with than usual. And this was really great!

Our campsite was nestled in a valley along the Ásgarðsá, and fast-flowing glacial stream where we put our beer in to cool off, secured in a plastic bag and weighted with rocks. A wooden double-arched bridge connected our campsite with the facilities, but to initially get there with all our gear, our big yellow bus had to cross yet another stream. We did make a couple who'd camped out in a nearby area quite cross at us when we drove across and unloaded - after they picked their jaws off the ground in amazement of the bus crossing, they moved to another area.

Up went the tents, the fire started for dinner, and we got ready for tomorrow's hike. The light on the mountain behind us was unbelievable, and it actually got a little dark that evening because of our setting in the valley. But still no stars - too bright!