In which there is ice and fire (Iceland part V).

(As always, click on the photos to view fullscreen!)

After a good sleep and a quick breakfast we headed back west to Vatnajökull National Park for a glacier hike, stopping at Jökulsárlón for another quick look along the way. 

Once arrived at the park, the tour company first hooked us up with some spikes for our boots and ice picks, which the tour guide confessed later was mostly just for the pictures and in case we fell into a crevasse, though it would be unlikely to help should such a thing come to pass. They then loaded us onto a bus and drove us to the Svínafellsjökull, where we walked around a meltwater lake to the glacier. The start of the climb was all dirt and rocks and mud that had been displaced by the formidable girth of the ice below as it ground its way across the landscape. Once high enough, we stopped for a lesson in glacier walking and safety precautions, then strapped on our spikes and headed up onto the ice, single file behind our tour guide, who picked out a (relatively) safe path for us across the ever-changing glacier.

This particular glacier is composed of countless ridges, often with thin, endless crevasses in between where one could easily spend the rest of one's brief life. As it was summer and cool but not cold, it was also melting with little streams cutting through and below its surface, sparkling in the sun and adding a bit of extra beauty and extra peril to the already very beautiful and very perilous scene. The exposed, deep blue ice striped with centuries-old ash and all chopped into a thousand-plus layers was quite a thrilling picture to behold, though I must admit I was relieved to get my feet on solid ground again afterwards. 

There is a notice on the park's website from June 2020 that discourages all hiking, including guided tours, on the Svínafellsjökull due to heightened risk of landslides, which is easy to imagine. Exciting as it was (in 2019), I don't think I'd need to do that again.

 

The glacier looked much more gentle from the ground, especially when surrounded by soft, hundred-year-old moss and tiny flowers blooming purple and yellow all over the ground.

Once back at the visitors' center, we decided to go on a late afternoon hike at Skaftafell and see a little more of the national park. We climbed up to the Svartifoss, with its hexagonal basalt columns as seen before at Giant's Causeway in Northern Ireland, and which is said to have inspired the architecture for the Hallgrímskirkja in Reykjavik (keep reading). 

From there we continued up to the panorama level, and were mystified by a ring of light that appeared around the sun, the likes of which we had never seen before. Dazzling to say the least.

Once back, we still had 2 hours to drive to our next beds so hopped in the car and headed west again, hopping out again several times along the way as the sky layered on more and more drama as we crossed the lava fields.

Passing through Vik, I persuaded Amir to take another short detour to the Dyrhólaey peninsula to say goodnight to the puffins, settling in for the night on the cliffs with a million-dollar view.

We made it to our hostel near the Skógafoss very late and just as some weather was setting in. It was dark, and stepping out of the car we were nearly blown across the parking lot by constant, strong winds. Once warmed up again, we decided on a plan for the next day and then fell asleep with the wind trying unsuccessfully to blow the walls in.

It was sunny again the next morning, and we had decided to try and catch a ferry to Vestmannaeyjar, or the Westman Islands, off the southern coast. This meant we didn't have time to visit the Skógafoss waterfall itself, but it looked lovely as we zoomed away.

With a good bit of luck and some currency, we made it to the ferry on time were soon lurching over choppy seas away from the mainland and towards a misty archipelago in the distance. This group of islands is named after the slaves who tried to escape there from the mainland many centuries ago, slaves at the time being called "westmen" from Ireland.

Of the 15 islands in the archipelago, Heimaey is the largest and has been inhabited for steadily hundreds of years, though its history was very dark at times. One of the first things you notice on pulling into the harbor, after the absolutely gorgeous landscape, is the satisfyingly volcano-like volcano in the background. 

It was not this volcano-like volcano, but instead the previously unknown Eldfell volcano next to it that opened up in as a fiery flaming fissure in the middle of town one night in 1973 and started spewing molten lava and noxious gases into the air. Though it was the middle of the night, the whole island was able to be evacuated quickly thanks to good planning and help from the Icelandic rescue services and US troops stationed in the area, who sprayed seawater onto the lava to cool it and slow it down, and ultimately not only saved but also improved the harbor. About 20% of the town was lost but there were no casualties. 

The first place we went exploring was the hills of rocky remains where some street signs were visible and there were many memorials to town structures buried underneath. From there we climbed up the ridge of the Eldfell volcano where it was easy to see where the lava flow had actually increased the area of the island during the eruption.

One other memorable point: the wind. I don't think I have ever experienced such strong winds and had to hide in the shelter of a boulder at the top for fear of being literally blown off the mountain. Even from my hidey hole, the view was spectacular.

Once thankfully on the ground again, we watched the wind ripple and dance through the silver-green grasses and went off exploring on our own for a couple hours. While Amir scaled the other volcano, I took the little road south, wanting to see more puffins on Stórhöfði, the "Great Cape" on the southern side of the island. This was supposed to be the Puffin Paradise of Iceland but I hadn't seen any yet.

The wind was still blowing hard, and I was walking straight into it. It took an hour just to get to the little land-bridge leading to the peninsula, including an episode where I thought I was on a hiking trail but was apparently in someone's field instead, and had to be rescued by a grandmother and granddaughter who happened to be passing in a car and showed me where I could climb out through the fence. I was embarrassed and grateful in equal shares and wondered how many times they had rescued tourists like me from the cage of their lush, green pasture. 

Anyway, by the time I had reached the bridge to the peninsula, I was exhausted and knew I wouldn't have time to climb to the top to see the puffin colonies and still catch my ferry, so I had a quick look at "pirate's cove", allegedly where the Barbary pirates made landfall in 1627 and captured and enslaved 237 people who had nowhere to hide. (Fascinating and terrible history -- look it up.)

The black sand beach was sparkling with tiny while particles of something, the water was awash with dark blue wind patterns and the wool on the sheep was being constantly plastered this way and that by the gusts. I was totally alone and the idea of climbing back up to the town was daunting. It was just as I wished, hard, that a car would stop and take me back, or take me anywhere, that a car stopped and an elderly gentleman said he thought I might need a lift. 

I hopped in without any doubts and over the next few minutes had a wonderful conversation with this man who had grown up on the island and been a school teacher here for his whole career, and now mostly drives around the island rescuing tourists like me from one of the windiest places in Iceland. I asked him lots of questions about his life there and he dropped me off at one of his favorite spots on the north part of the island, where I could still explore without being too far from the ferry. Before leaving the car, I asked him his name, and though I repeated it again and again in my head in order to remember and thank him in my mind at least twice a day, I never wrote it down and have now forgotten it. Please forgive me, kind soul of Heimaey, and thanks for the lift.

He dropped me off at the point overlooking the sea cliffs, caves, and beluga whale sanctuary, where the water was a beautiful, deep turquoise and where the wind was calmer. I walked back down through the lava hills and had a look at the old church and other historical buildings before wandering into town for a little while. When I finally met up with Amir again, I had some pretty silly and exciting adventures to recount.

Both of us had had enough of the wind by that point, so we sat inside on the ferry back to the mainland, then settled in for the drive back to Reykjavik. Amir had to work hard to keep the car going straight in the strong winds while I marveled at the amazing clouds in the huge, open sky as we drove east. 

We were grateful to finally make it to our accommodations in Reykjavik, though I would not recommend the place we stayed to anyone. After being out in nature for so long, it was jarring to be back in a city, but fortunately we at least had an ancient kitchenette where we could cook and not have to go too far out into town.

On our last full day of the trip, we drove northwest to tour Iceland's largest lava cave at Víðgelmir. The road there was long but scenic, with mixed weather and lots of dramatic clouds and rainbows, and thanks to the GPS we were able to find the remote location without too much trouble or scratches to the rental car.

I love me a good cave and this lava tube was no exception. At over 1000 years old and 1500m long, it was full of superlatives and I loved the whole experience. At the end of the tour, the guide had us all switch off our headlamps so we could experience the total darkness, and then asked us if we remembered how many people on the tour, and would we rather there be one more or one fewer person standing with us when we turned our lights back on. Cheeky!

After the icy lava cave, Amir asked the interwebs if there were any geothermal pools nearby and in what felt like no time we were relaxing in the Húsafell Sundlaug, which has several outdoor pools set at different temperatures that you could soak in. There was hardly anyone there and it was the perfect way to (almost) finish the trip.

Once thoroughly warmed and wrinkled, we headed back to Reykjavik via the Hraunfossar -- a series of waterfalls pouring seemingly out of nowhere from a lava field into a bright blue river.

It was good to get back to Reykjavik, and after cooking up all our leftovers we went for a walk into the city as the sun set, popping into the Hallgrímskirkja just as someone was getting an organ lesson inside.

We had just missed Pride in Reykjavik, and it was lovely to see the whole city plastered in rainbows.

Finally it was off to bed for a few hours' sleep before a very early alarm sent us yawning back to the airport to drop off the car and check in for our flight as the sun rose orange in the east. 

Recently Amir and I were reminiscing about this week, and in light of all that has happened in the year and a half since we were both saying how grateful we were to have had this grand, wild, adventure when we did. Iceland is such an incredible place, and though I am still struggling with the truth that I couldn't appreciate all it has to offer without increasing my carbon footprint, wow am I thankful both for the time spent there as well as to Amir being my chauffeur on this dream holiday. Thank you, friend!