6.00am. We embark on the journey after a breakfast of no sugar baked beans (processed food has come a long way) and bread. Food is expensive in Iceland, especially in restaurants; most vegetables are grown in greenhouses or imported. We find that the supermarkets are still affordable - which is either a compliment to Iceland, or raises questions on the supermarkets back home in Ireland.If you wish to travel on the cheap, It is imperative that you carry your own food as you travel.
6.30am. It's dark, and the roads are covered in a white blanket of snow from the fall overnight. We won't see dawn until 10, the sun rises later in the higher latitudes in winter. There's hardly anyone around at this early hour, a delivery truck is making its rounds to the supermarkets. Guided by Google maps, our city road merges onto the solitary motorway around Iceland - Route 1, the Ring Road. As we drive down this two lane highway, we are engulfed in a shroud of fog, it's hard to make out your immediate vicinity - adding a level of mysteriousness for us, uninitiated to rural, wild Iceland. Smell of sulphur along the way hints at a hot spring or a geo thermal plant nearby. Surprisingly, hot water in the taps in Iceland comes from geothermal plants, they don't actually need to heat it up, with the downside that your shower smells of sulphur- so glad the smell doesn't linger around on the body.
It's nearing 9.00am and it’s still dark, as we continue on the ring road. The fog has weakened over the last hour or so, hinting away at ice-capped hills around us. As we pass through towns with unpronounceable names, speed warning signs smile at us with a pixelated smiley if we are under the mandated 50km/ph. Any breach of this limit is greeted by violent flashes of light, as if the emoticon resorted to taking pictures of the guilty.
It's hard to stifle the yawns when the sun isn't out, much to the confusion of the body clock. Time for coffee. We pull into a gas station in the beautiful southern village of Vik, right on the North Atlantic ocean. This small village, Iceland’s southernmost, is home to some 300 people. We notice houses, a few supermarkets, a wooden church prominently perched on higher ground looking magnificent against the dramatic backdrop of the mountains behind.
The gas station is called Víkurskáli, I notice on a board sponsored by Coca-Cola, making a mental note to find out what the name meant. It's a standard gas station shop - coffee, a hot food counter- I only see hotdogs, a few croissants, and some savoury long pastries, probably with a meat filling inside. A few souvenirs hang unceremoniously on one side, with a few postcards of the nearby Reynisfjara black sand beach. The clientele, save us, is of a bunch of hardhats, with noise canceling ear muffs, sporting scraggly, unkempt beards- which I've come to associate with Icelandic men, based my observations over the last two days. Probably, it’s a homage to their viking lineage. There is a curiosity to know about their work, how they maintain a livelihood in this remote part of the world, but I let it slip by.
The board behind the counter prominently advertises Chaqwa coffee, which we enthusiastically enquire about with the nice curly haired lady, hoping it's an Icelandic preparation. 'More coffee, less water' she explains in perfect English, with a slight wink. Exactly what we need. I later find out Chaqwa is actually a coffee brand under the Coca-Cola company; they've really come a long way to this obscure village; there are no McDonald's here. We settle on Chaqwa coffee and a pack of very moreish biscuits with a Swedish dessert filling. The bill is a hefty 1100 Icelandic Krona notes, about 9€. I reluctantly let go of my two 1000 Icelandic Krona that I was hoping to keep as souvenirs, in return for a 500 krona note and a few heavy Icelandic coins. I didn’t really need to use currency for the barter. Iceland in general is a cashless, modern economy, in line with the other nordic nations.
10.00am. Dawn is breaking and the fog has completely subsided, the sun isn't out yet, but there's a dim brightness on the horizon that lights up the sky enough for us to notice the world around us. A white fox crosses the road in front of the car, with a calm, effortlessly agility. A sign that the animals here have learnt to coexist with humans. Wonder what other animals call this land home. It's not the right time of the year to see puffins, those penguin like cuddly birds, who spend majority of their lives on water, coming ashore only to breed.
The traffic has reduced dramatically after Vik. We pass by a truck diligently clearing up the snow, spewing it to its right, away from the tarmac and onto the acquiescent grass. Only a like minded few attempt a day round trip to Jökulsárlón from Rejyakvik. Most people choose to make overnight pit stops along the way.
10.30am. It's day now. The winter sun is a bleak presence in the hazy sky. Gluggavedur, an Icelandic word, describes the scene perfectly- literally meaning window weather, it describes the sunny but cold weather. It looks a lot better out the window than it really is. Admittedly, I got that excerpt from the head rests on Icelandic airlines. That came in handy. The components and words of a language aptly reflect the habitat of its people. Languages from tropical lands, for instance, would not have such a word. A sticker in the rental ‘Please open doors carefully during high winds’ further lends weight to this fact; there just aren’t enough trees in Iceland to stifle the ferociousness of the blustery arctic wind.
Further down the ring road, we find ourselves driving through a land that seems alien. As far as the eye can see, you can only see black rocks, with their jagged, pointy features, cushioned by a layer of thick green moss. It's everywhere. The road, the only thing that seems familiar, stands out incorrigibly in this peculiar landscape. This is the Eldhraun (literally fire field) lava field, created by one of the largest eruptions in recorded time, and the largest field of its kind in the world. It's okay to appreciate the moss, but forbidden to trod on, trample on or in anyway destroy it. it's a fragile being, which takes more than 70 years to grow, its growth stagnated by the harsh conditions. There's been a recent drive by the Icelandic board of tourism encouraging good and responsible traveler behaviour, popularised by a song by a prominent comedian. Another observation from the flight into Rejyakvik.
We pass by dramatic cliffs, with waterfalls frozen by sub zero temperatures in their attempt to drop, descend or trickle down rocky slopes.
The road winds through the countryside, with human dwellings interspersed along the way. Mostly farmers. The cattle comprises of a few cows and sheep, but predominantly of Icelandic horses, with their enviable manes, and willingness to meet curious travellers, with an air of theatrical preparedness, breaking into well rehearsed poses to satiate the photo-bugs. The horses are primarily used as exports out to the world, or in general are close to the hearts of the Icelandic, their bond comes a long way, which supplements the unpopularity of horse meat here. They roam this land without fear; globalisation has been kind to these horses, other meat is in plentiful in Iceland.
The others establishments of note are hotels promising Icelandic food, and northern lights. The advertising is not overbearing, it's subtle; it blends in without disturbing the natural landscape, which is a welcome respite from the aggressive commercialisation that has poached a lot of the natural beauty in the world.
As we approach the Skaftafell (pronounced Skaff-ta-feTL) natural reserve in the Vatnajökull National Park, snowy peaks rise from the panoramic horizon. At a distance, we notice azure blue reflections at the bottom of one snow clad mountain. The brain fails to register the source of this blue colour in the distant snow. It rummages valiantly through the depths of what it knows and identifies. Not a clue. There's a clear uneasiness in the car, the mystery must be solved. Google to the rescue. Wrestling with a patchy network, we make contact with the wider world. A quick research into the demographics of the area clear it up - it's a glacier. Glaciers sport this incredible hue because they compress snow, enlarging ice crystals, and squeezing air bubbles, absorbing the longer red, orange, yellow, and green wavelengths, making them appear blue. This information safely goes into the memory vault. Skaftafell is home to the Skeiðarájökull and Skaftafellsjökull glaciers, a part of the Vatnajökull glacier, the largest in Europe.
The 4x4’s passing by have a common peculiar characteristic, they’re mostly driven by Chinese people. And the coaches, full of Chinese. Interesting. The tourism industry must really be booming in China. I’m sure the locals have no complaints as long as it supplements Iceland’s ascent from the clutches of recession that hit it rather hard in 2008.
11.45am. Driving along the North Atlantic coast, we near the destination of the journey. Not undermining all we’ve experienced over the last 6 hours, but this is the pièce de résistance, if you will - The Jökulsárlón glacier lagoon. As we drive over the bridge on the lagoon into the nearby parking, we know why.
The still waters of this natural lagoon are filled with icebergs, of varying hues of blue, from the nearby Breiðamerkurjökull glacier. A seal dives in and out of view, ever so often, in the icy water. The water from the lagoon flows into the Atlantic, just across the road (so interesting to use human constructs to create context in a natural setting), leaving blocks of ice on the black sand beach - like unrefined diamonds - appropriately christened the diamond beach by an uncanny entrepreneur, I’m sure. Tourists claim spots on the bigger chunks of ice, for photography sessions, the Chinese posing ever so elegantly in different hand and body poses, as is common with so many of them. I notice the sign “No Drones” as a drone whizzes past over the icebergs. I wonder why drones are prohibited, probably they disrupt the serenity of the place? I agree.
A couple of food vans sell Fish and Chips, and lobster soup nearby. Around 19,000 Icelandic Krona for the soup, if I recall correctly, roughly 15€. A lunch of bread, cold hotdogs, and a brilliant tuna and egg salad in the car. The biscuits from Vik for dessert. I feel I am growing a liking to processed food.
Onwards to more glaciers. A fleeting visit to the Fjallsárlón glacier, a 10 minute drive from Jökulsárlón. A short hike through a pass snaking though moss covered rocks, reveals this wonderful glacier lake Not as many ice bergs as Jökulsárlón , but a glorious sight. Its remote location means less tourists. Bliss.
2.00pm On the road back to Reykjavík, the Svínafellsjökull glacier tongue lures from a distance. The only way to this location is through a dirt road off the motor-way. On the gravel, nimbly navigating the craters (what it seemed to us) and the protruding rocks with their jagged edges on this rather uneven path, we notice that the only car in front of us is a 4x4 with high ground clearance. We are in a rented VW Polo, 2 wheel drive with no aspirations of off-roading. How appropriate. We felt the car groaning and complaining as we rallied on, but the pull of the glacier was too strong. Should’ve taken the daily 16€ full damage waiver. The glacier tongue, an enormous part of a glacier falling very slowly from the top or the ice cap down a long slope, is a sight to behold, breaking into a lake at the end. Compared to the other glaciers we’ve seen, this lake is relatively smaller, which is characteristic of glacier tongues. The fact that at these lagoons / lakes continue to grow in dimension is a stark reminder of global warming. Back on the asphalt, the car has done well - not a sign of the gruelling off-road experience. It will remain a secret between us and the car, the rental company doesn’t have to know. I later find out that these are F-roads, mountain roads on the Icelandic highlands, Fjallið meaning mountain in Icelandic, recommended only for 4 wheel drives and not covered under rental insurance.
3.00pm We make our way back, as the sun starts its descent, casting a glorious warming glow on the craggy edges of the mighty cliffs.
5.00pm Driving through patches of blinding snow storms, , we return to Vik. Time to stop for refuelling. The car with 95 octane, and ourselves with Harðfiskur, fish jerky - dried pieces of fish, that make for a great chewy road trip snack and keeps the mouth busy. The rest of the trip into Reykjavík involves a lot of fish chewing, against the backdrop of Icelandic radio, playing unintelligible but catchy tunes.
8.00pm Back at the apartment, a hot sulphuric shower, and a dinner of instant noodles, with a shot of Brennivín. What a glorious day I conclude as I tuck into bed, as I wonder if I’d ever get around to correctly pronouncing these Icelandic words.
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