After our own slumber in Kirkjubæjarklaustur (if sleep had been a problem, I would have counted the letters in the town's name), we climbed a path that paralleled the Systrafoss waterfall, fed by Systravatn, a lake of modest size where supposedly the nuns from the nearby convent bathe on occasion. The views on this clear morning were stunning, our eyes moving along the jagged glacial edge of Vatnajokull which we'd edged yesterday, then taking in the massive moss field which carpeted everything to the west.
While the lava that defined this landscape was most often in its usual craggy form, they'd taken on a more uniform geometric pattern at Kirkjugólf, to resemble ornate tilework. Legend has it that this was the floor of an ancient church, but geologists would rebut and tell you that it is merely basalt columns that have eroded over time. Sheer perfection either way, as sheep grazed the shorn hillsides above.
A travel video that LYL had watched on the flight over mentioned that tourists loved to lay on the ubiquitous moss, though over a week of driving I'd not seen a single person doing so. But the time was right to give it a try ourselves. Leaving the car at a pullout, we walked across the green expanse, to a nice patch ringed by a bedframe of black lava. I closed my eyes awhile, laying atop a soft sponging surface surprisingly deep. Had we been a little further from the road, I'd have allowed myself a good long snooze.
Although the day's journey was short, the road called. A large number of cars were parked at a lot in the middle of nowhere, and along a dirt path leading across the volcanic wasteland, figures somnambulically headed toward the black beach at Sólheimasandur beyond. I figured that this must be the near intact wreckage of an old US military plane that had crashed here in 1973. I was tempted to go out there myself, but was dissuaded by the 90 minute walk out and back, not to mention that all these cars had been driven by somebody, and that all these somebodies would be clamoring all over the place. A look at Google later provided a better, and more artistic, look.
We did stop outside Vik, and strolled the black beach there to get a look at the almost pipe organ formations rising from the sand. In a pleasant surprise, we also got a puffin colony, the little beasties flapping madly toward the sea and back, agitated by a tourist who had climbed a little too close in order to take photographs. As we zoomed in with our own lenses, a rogue wave rushed from behind, and LYL impressed me (yet again) by racing up the beach without a glance when I calmly said "run." Others hadn't been so lucky, as one Chinese tourist had been swept away the previous year, and another served as a unwitting model in a photographic warning that these waves are a common occurrence here. Still, a group of cosplayers wandered the sands in their medieval gear, walking as a timeless vision framed by the island of Heimaey just offshore.
A pair of waterfalls rounded out the morning: first the steep climb up beside Skógafoss, itself nestled within its own bowl; then Seljalandsfoss, where a path leads you to the back of the waterfall, the waters spilling like a rainbow-laden curtain before you. Above us, Eyjafjallajökull rested, was thankfully quiet after its 2010 activity had wrought havoc with not only international flights but also newscasters worldwide who stumbled over her name.
Eyjafjallajökull shares a body with the neighboring volcano of Katla, which historically had proven more temperamental. We kept her on our right as we left the Ring Road to follow some smaller, unsurfaced routes north. A nice patch of meadow with a view provided a quiet picnic spot, where nearby sheep lapped at the remnants of oil leaked from passing cars. What followed was lovely drive through a rough landscape formed from one of yet another volcano's tantrums, that of Hekla, one of Iceland's most active,with another eruption expected any day . We returned to tarmac eventually, but one section of paved road had suddenly and without warning fallen away due to a works project. I hit the far edge dead-on and at speed, and within seconds, I sensed that our 4x4 was pulling slightly right. One of the best things about BMWs is their integrated computer systems, and my fears were confirmed when a warning message came on to tell me that we did indeed have a leak.
But thankfully a slow-one. The 4x4 drive system did its work in moderating the pressure in the damaged tire, while letting the other three take up the slack. I assessed this over the following 30 minutes, and felt confident in committing to the day's final detour, out a somewhat bad road to Stöng, a Viking era longhouse that is so well-preserved that it has become a Rosetta stone for Viking research. Nearby was Gjáin, a remote an scenic stretch of river that has also been a location for Game of Thrones. We admired both from afar, as concerns about the tire returned us quickly to the car, which did an admirable job in returning us to remote Hótel Lækur, where a quiet night awaited, with a hot tub and ample dinner enjoyed while nestled amongst the expanses outside.
Our tire was dead flat in the morning, but the friendly hotel owner had a pump, which enabled us to get to the fun named town of Hella, and an auto shop. These shops must do quite well in this nation of bad roads, and during the 30-minute patch job, two other vehicles turned up, including one with a horse trailer.
Icelandic weather seems to promise rain every other day, a strong factor I suppose in creating that fantastic hue of green. The forecast hinted that the morning would be dry, so we moved quickly through the Golden Circuit, a name I imagine was created by the tourist industry. While the highlights were worth the effort, they paled somewhat after a week out in the truly remote parts of the country. For those with limited time, they were an easy day trip from Reykjavík, and a nice sampler of the beauty of Iceland's natural scenery.
First up was Gullfoss, a unique double waterfall that proved impressive in how it dominated an otherwise empty landscape. Geysir was not far away, an eponymous burst of thermal water from a broad fumerole (and of course providing the English language with the word geyser). The eruption occurs every ten minutes of so, and we were lucky to get two spouts in that time, the second catching the photographers unaware, forcing them to actually observe the thing with the naked eye for a change.
The sights were certainly more spread out at Thingvellir National Park, wrapped as it is along the large lake Þingvallavatn. Upon approach, one of the first things we noticed were the dry-suited divers about to undergo a very cold exploration. We opted for a walk over shrinkage, through a valley extending along the base of a long stretch of basalt cliffs (which were CG enhanced and used as The Wall in Game of Thrones). A stream babbled through the valley, with a picturesque church on one side, and a stele on the other, which commemorated Thingvellir's importance in history as the site where 48 Viking chiefs had assembled as one of the world's first courts of law.
But as ever, nature would overrule man, no matter his decisions. Rain began to fall, as we returned to our car, built into a tempestuous squall within minutes. No matter, as were reluctantly leaving all the beauty behind, to return for a closer look at Iceland's capital city.
On the turntable: Jeff Beck & Eric Clapton, "Exhaust Note"
On the nighttable: Alice Albinia, "Empires of the Indus"
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