2021 Iceland 2 by Susan Hanes

Iceland: Sagas, Waterfalls and Lava Fields 2

Iceland: Sagas, Waterfalls and Lava Fields 2 August 29—September 20, 2021 … Lo from our loitering ship a new land at last to be seen; Toothed rocks down the side of the firth on the east guard a weary wide lea, And black slope the hillsides above, striped adown with their desolate green: And a peak rises up on the west, from the meeting of cloud and sea, Foursquare from base unto point like the building of Gods that have been, The last of that waste of the mountains all cloud-wreathed and snow-flecked and grey, And bright with the dawn that began just now at the ending of day. —William Morris, from “Iceland First Seen”

A continuation of our trip to Iceland.

Monday, September 6

to Seyðisfjörður

The clouds returned and there were no northern lights to be seen last night. After breakfast, we got underway, continuing northeast along the coast to Djúpivogur (pop. 350), one of the oldest ports in Iceland. German merchants came to trade there in the 16th century. The red and black painted buildings with white trim reminded me of Newfoundland. It was an odd little place: a series of 34 oversized stone eggs were installed along the pier to represent local birds and nearby, the Gallery Freevilli (closed) with bones and wood, stones and minerals, skeletons and skulls arrayed around the gallery and up into the nearby hills suggested that Villi might be quite a character.

Djúpivogur

We continued to follow Rt. 1 along the East Fjords to Breiðdalsvík (pop.

passed through Reyðarfjörður (pop. 1350), a town at the end of the largest

139). In spite of its size, it has its own microbrewery, Beljandi (closed). The

fjord in the east. From the early 20th century, it was a trading and fishing

little town serves as a base for hikers, hunters, and fishermen; we talked

port. We continued to Seyðisfjörður by way of a mountain pass through

briefly to a fellow who had just returned from hunting reindeer. It was raining

Egilsstaðir. As we ascended, we saw so many waterfalls that we eventually

as we reached Fáskrúðsfjörður (pop. 710). Originally settled by French

became somewhat blasé about them. We noticed that the poles marking the

seamen who came to fish in the late 19th century, the town has retained its

sides the road were getting higher, indicating that there could be significant

street signs in Icelandic and French. Many of the houses have decorative trim

snow in the area. As we reached the summit, we saw snow already on the

that look almost Russian and are named and dated. It was nearing 2:00 as we

surrounding mountain tops.

Breiðdalsvík

Fáskrúðsfjörður

We reached Seyðisfjörður (pop. 676) at 3:30pm and drove to the harbor where fishing boats were anchored in various states of disrepair. A long waterfall ended in the street below. We parked by the Blue Church, built in 1922, and walked down a brightly painted rainbow street, passing a number of decorated buildings that lined the way. These cheery colors obviously serve to brighten the long winter nights. We checked into the Aldan Hotel and picked up the key to our room in the Old Bank building—a curious combination of Scandinavian austerity and Victorian ornament. It was starting to drizzle as we walked down the rainbow street, so we spent a couple of cozy hours at Kaffi Lára while the rain persisted. Dinner at the hotel’s Nordic Restaurant offered reindeer, arctic char, and nettle gelato; coffee and Kropp chocolate candies in our room topped off the evening. 10

Tuesday, September 7

to Möðrudalur

We returned to the harbor this morning and saw that the ferry had arrived. It was fun to see it “in person” since it had played a major role in Baltasar Kormákur’s 2015 Icelandic TV series, Trapped, to which I had become addicted during our pre-trip planning.

For the first time in days, the sun was shining as we left town and returned to Egilsstaðir, on the banks of the Lagarfljót. We followed Route 931 (partly gravel) around the lake, home of the Lagarfljótsormurinn, a monster worm purported to live there. Although we could report no sightings, it was a pleasant route. We rejoined Rt. 1, heading west. Seeing the twin waterfall Rjukandefoss from the road, we pulled off and took the short trail up to the base. As we drove through Iceland’s wilderness, the green farmland turned drab and grey, with barren hills in the distance. The sun had vanished too.

We turned south onto a gravel road and reached Möðrudalur at 12:30. At 1,539 ft. above sea level, Fjalladyrð at Möðrudalur is the highest farm in Iceland; there has been a farm at this location since Settlement times. The lowest temperature ever recorded in Iceland (-36.4° F) was recorded there in 1918. As it was too early to check in, we drove around a series of decrepit buildings that we hoped did not contain our room. Once we got the key and determined that we would be staying in a well-kept sod house, we were relieved, especially since we will be staying here two nights. After getting additional information about our scheduled trip to Askja tomorrow, we enjoyed a relaxed evening, with drinks in our room and a dinner of local lamb and vegetables. 14

Wednesday, September 8

Möðrudalur

At 8:00, we met our guide, Ingolus Finnson, and Kris and Roy Clarke from

(meaning “Hell”), a volcanic crater filled with milky geothermal water. Ingo told

Switzerland for a day-long expedition to Askja, a 50-sqkm caldera that was

us that the land level at Askja has shifted five centimeters since the beginning of

formed when a lava chamber under the surface of the earth emptied during a

August. As a comparison, one centimeter a year is normal. He said that

volcanic eruption, causing the roof above to collapse. It is not an easy site to

earthquakes in the area have also become more frequent. Although the cause

reach since it is in the Dyngjufjöll mountains in the central highlands, deep

of these dramatic changes is not clear, it may be the result of magma flow and

within the Vatnajökull Glacier National Park. The imposing vehicle we would

indicate the likelihood of an eruption in the near future. It became progressively

be riding in was a Ford 350 with a large extension in back, outfitted with a giant

colder and by the time we reached the lakes we were glad that we had brought

compressor that changed the suspension and the pressure in the oversize tires

gloves and hats. We marveled at the site and were impressed to hear that Víti,

to accommodate the deep fords and rough terrain we would be crossing. The

far below us, was a popular spot to bathe. As we hiked back across the caldera

drive out took us through lava fields, across fords, and over two torrential glacial

floor, we enjoyed views of the surrounding mountains, particularly Herðubreið,

rivers, the Krepputunga and the Jökulsá á Fjöllum. At the edge of the caldera,

a tula dubbed the "Queen of Icelandic Mountains" with her crown of clouds.

we stopped to see the remarkable Drekagil canyon, filled with twisted lava

Returning to the vehicle, we drove through blowing sand to Holuhraun, a lava

formations. Ingo parked near a group of huts built for seasonal rangers and

field that was the site of a recent eruption that continued until 2015. Ingo

scientists and led us on a hike through red, black and yellow volcanic dust to

reminded us that we were standing on lava that was 10,000 years old, twisted

Öskjuvatn (Lake Askja), the second deepest lake in Iceland, and next to it, Víti

together with lava that was six.

Askja

Öskjuvatn and Víti

Holuhraun

As we drove back to the farm, Ingo told us about his son, Eyþor Melsteð, who dreamed of being the strongest man in Iceland when he was ten years old, and who became the Strongest Man in Iceland. He described the contests involved in earning the designation, including deadlifting 400kg and heaving massive rocks of uneven weight. He also told us that his best friend is the father of Eurovision fan favorite, Daði Freyr. I could not help but think that the two best friends could not have had two more different sons. Ingo delivered us back to the farm at 6:30pm and Jake and I enjoyed dinner with our new friends, Kris and Roy, with whom we had shared such a memorable day.

Thursday, September 9

to Húsavík

The sky was brilliant and cloudless as we departed, taking a detour to Krafla, a caldera about 10km in diameter north of Lake Mývatn in an area of high volcanic activity: there have been 29 reported eruptions there since such occurrences have been recorded. During a particularly active episode of the Krafla Fires of 1975-1984, a large geothermic power station was built, serving the north with green energy. Since that time, repeated attempts have been made to harness the full power potential of this area that is peppered with bubbling mudpots and steaming vents that can be seen well off into the distance. It was a short hike to the rim of the large explosion crater of azure floodwater formed during a 5-year period of eruptions that started in 1724.

Krafla

We returned to Rt. 1 and backtracked to the turnoff to Dettifoss, one of the most powerful waterfalls in Europe. It was a flat but rocky hike out to the falls and again we were glad to have had our sticks. The thundering falls seemed to shake the ground under our feet and rainbows played in the mist. A half-kilometer path led from Dettifoss to the west side of Selfoss. It was not as dramatic but the rock formations that divided the falls created a delicate, almost lacy effect.

Dettifoss

Selfoss

We proceeded north towards Ásbyrgi, stopping at an overlook to view the Hljodaklettar, a cluster of columnar rock formations. The valley below is ringed with perpendicular volcanic cliffs. At the center is a curious rock formation known as the Island. Folklore is rich there. Legend says that Ásbyrgi’s distinctive shape was created when Sleipnir, Odin’s flying horse, touched the ground with one of his eight hooves. Walking paths branched off through woods of birch and willow, inviting a leisurely stroll in search of Iceland’s mystical Huldufólk.

Ásbyrgi

We reached the coast and followed it around to Húsavík (pop. 2,307)

McAdams. The owners had planned to call the bar something different, but

arriving just after 3:00, pleased that the sun had stayed with us most of the

decided on this name after they watched the popular film. Although the walls

day. We stopped in at North Sailing to confirm our whale watching

were filled with memorabilia from the movie, Nils, the proprietor, told us that

expedition tomorrow and continued to the harbor where we saw the

they have an entire museum in the back (closed). After happy hour beers on

wooden schooner Ópal, on which we will be sailing. We checked into the

the terrace, we had dinner at Naustið, a seafood restaurant in a bright yellow

Húsavík Cape Hotel and were given a room overlooking the harbor. Next

1930s house. In spite of our reservations and a request, we were seated in

door, the newly named Jaja Ding Dong Bar had been inspired by the

the less desirable area upstairs. Service was spotty and our selections were

Eurovision Song Contest: The Story of Fire Saga, with Will Ferrell and Rachel

not the wisest.

Húsavík

Friday, September 10

Húsavík

Once again, COVID protocols at the breakfast buffet were a problem, but it is admittedly difficult to get everyone on the same page with masks and sanitizer and gloves. We were at the door of the Whale Museum just as it opened at 9:00. Housed in what was once the town’s slaughterhouse, the museum features historic documentary films about whaling and the conflict between whaling and whale watching. There is also a section about whaling in ancient Icelandic manuscripts, particularly Grettir’s saga, recorded at the beginning of the 15th century. The museum's upper floor contains a specimen gallery with skeletons of nine species.

At 11:00, we met at North Sailing for our whale watching tour. At first, we hesitated to get into those astronaut suits again, but in the end we were glad we did. After bundling up, we joined 30 or so others and boarded the 70-ft schooner Ópal. The ship pulled out of its slip at 11:30 and headed into Skjálfandi Bay. We were instructed to wear masks in spite of the brisk wind. It was calm when we started, but as we headed out of the harbor, it got progressively cloudy and choppy. In spite of the waves, the captain announced that he would be taking us further out to give us a better opportunity for a whale sighting. To make better time, they raised three sails, making use of able-bodied volunteers to assist the diminutive guide who directed the male crew members on what lines to pull. After we were well out into the fjord, plowing into significant waves, we encountered two humpback whales. Photography was made particularly challenging by the wet, rolling deck, sticky fingers, and misty lenses. By the time we returned to the harbor, it was 3:30 and well after our scheduled return, the crew acknowledging that the trip had been significantly rougher than usual. We returned to the hotel to clean up before dinner and were disappointed to find that it had not been made up (not the first time this has happened.) We had dinner and local beer at Salka, near the harbor, where we deviated from the Icelandic menu and ordered buffalo wings and pizza. 40

Saturday, September 11

to Akureyri

It stormed during the night, precluding yet another opportunity to see the northern lights. Twenty kilometers south of Húsavík, we passed a series of long geothermal greenhouses where fruits and vegetables were being grown. Steam vents dotted the area, indicating the geothermal heat that provided for Húsavík and environs. The road rolled over the hills, creating a series of “BLINDHÆD” or blind crests that were carefully marked. Just before 10:00, we reached Hverir, a surreal geothermal area of bubbling mud pools and steaming fumaroles. The odor of sulfurous gas filled the air. As we boldly marched off to explore the area, we quickly realized that the mud was the consistency of thick glue. Fearing that we would fall into the mess, we decided to keep our exploration to the viewing platform. But it was too late: our shoes already looked like they had been embedded in blocks of concrete. Stomping around in a rain puddle helped to some extent, but the interior of the car took a hit.

Hverir

Just east of Lake Mývatn, Dimmuborgir is a large field of jagged anthropomorphic lava forms that earned its name, which means “Dark Castles.” According to Icelandic folklore, the strange shapes are said to connect the earth with the catacombs of Hell. The reason that it has become one of the most popular tourist attractions in Iceland is that it was used as a shooting location for the TV fantasy series Game of Thrones. As I wound along the paths through the undulating forms, I came across the cave home of the Icelandic Jule lads and two stones that formed a kind of throne. Under an overcast sky, we continued around the lake, stopping briefly to take photographs as we battled an incredibly pesky little insect known as a midge, which is so pervasive in the area that the lake was named Mývatn, meaning “lake midge.” It is said that these tiny critters are as Icelandic as puffin and sheep. Goðafoss is one of the most spectacular waterfalls in the country. We viewed the falls from both sides, but the sight from the east was the most beautiful.

Dimmuborgir

Lake Mývatn

Goðafoss

Fifty kilometers beyond the falls, we reached Akureyri (pop. 18,600), located at the head of Iceland’s longest fjord and its second largest city. After the financial crash of 2008 brought difficult times, the city, much to my delight, had the idea to install heart-shaped red stop lights to give residents a reason to smile during the long winter months. Our hotel, the Kea, is located next to the Akureyrarkirkja, another distinctive Guðjón Samúelsson church. Our room has a nice view of Hafnarstræti, the pedestrian street, and the big red heart at its entrance. There is a 66°North shop on the corner, where we each bought a rain jacket like the ones that the crew wore aboard the Ópal in Húsavík. Up the hill from the hotel, we had beers at Grillstofan Sports Bar while yelling and stomping associated with a bachelor party carried on overhead. We had sighted the prospective groom earlier on the street in a pig costume. When it opened at 5:00, we moved to the Einstöck brewpub and got into a conversation with the bartender about traditional Icelandic food, including Þorramatur, a meal of cured meat and fish that is consumed during the Nordic month of Þorri, in January and February. Just before 7:30, we walked down to Rub 23. Billed as “funky, fresh, and full of flavor,” the restaurant is known for its sushi made with local ingredients, including wasabi. We ordered a tasting menu of sushi dishes, with wasabi root freshly ground at the table. In place of sweets, we sampled various Icelandic cheeses, served with nuts and crackers. As we crossed the street to the hotel, we had an intriguing view of the church above us, which appeared to hang suspended in the darkness. 58

Akureyri

Sunday, September 12

to Blönduós

It was a chilly morning, 38° F and drizzling: unfortunately, not the weather to visit Lystigarðurinn, Akureyri’s Arctic Botanic Garden. We drove to the entrance and then headed out of town, north along the east side of the Tröllaskagi, a mountainous peninsula set between two fjords. On the road to Siglufjörður, we passed through several tunnels that were carved into the rock, narrow and unfinished inside. Two of them were two-way but have only one lane, necessitating the use of pull-out bays when encountering oncoming headlights. It was 10:30 when we reached Siglufjörður (pop. 1,206), the northernmost town in Iceland, just 40km south of the Arctic Circle. By the turn of the 20th century, it had become the capital of the herring industry in the entire Atlantic area. We were disappointed to learn that the award-winning Síldarminjasafn Íslands (Herring Museum) had just changed to winter hours and was closed. We had to settle with taking pictures around the museum’s five buildings and reading the informational plaques posted outside. Along with the ferry location at Seyðisfjorður, Siglufjörður was a setting for the 2015 TV series Trapped.

Siglufjörður

We continued to follow dramatic coastline around the peninsula. Taking a

to the main road, we noticed activity around a series of concrete barricades.

detour inland, we stopped in Hólar (pop. 89), an important ecclesiastical

Large farm vehicles were parked nearby. We discovered that it was a livestock

center for almost seven centuries. Founded as a diocese in 1106 by bishop Jón

sale. The event appeared to be a family affair, with babies in strollers and little

Ögmundsson, it became one of Iceland's main centers of learning and

kids running around. From the clamor they were making, the animals, corralled

remained the last stronghold of Catholicism during the Reformation. The

into pens, did not seem to be particularly happy about it. We struck out a

Hóladomkirka cathedral, built of red sandstone and completed in 1763, is the

third time when we stopped at Sauðárkrókur (pop. 2,612), the largest town

oldest stone church in Iceland. A sign posted outside stated that it was closed

on the Skagafjörður, to visit Iceland’s only tannery. With sheepskins, fish skins,

for the season. That was especially frustrating news when we had read that it

and other leather goods, it sounded like interesting shopping. Again, closed,

“brims with historical works of art,” quite unusual for Iceland. As we returned

perhaps permanently.

Hólar

We took an 8km detour to Glaumbær, an 18th century turf farm museum. It was open! A complex of small separate turf buildings was connected by a dark passageway. As we explored the various rooms, filled with handmade furniture and humble household tools, it was easy to imagine the rough life that those early settlers endured.

Shortly afterwards it started raining, very innocently at first, but the sky was packed tight with cloud and gradually the drops grew bigger and heavier, until it was autumn’s dismal rain that was falling—rain that seemed to fill the entire world with its leaden beat, rain suggestive in its dreariness of everlasting waterfalls between the planets, rain that thatched the heavens with drabness and brooded oppressively over the whole countryside, like a disease, strong in the power of its flat, unvarying monotony, its smothering heaviness, its cold, unrelenting cruelty. —Halldór Laxness, Independent People

Glaumbær

Víðimýrarkirkja

Hidden away on the Skagafjörður is the Víðimýrarkirkja church, a beautiful relic of old Icelandic architecture. Although there has been a church at Víðimýri since the 12th century, this church dates from 1834; like every old structure in the country, it has been refurbished and repaired many times over the years. Again, we found that it was locked and had to settle for peering in the windows. 78

This evening we are staying in Blönduós at Brimslóð Atelier. The guesthouse, on the shore of the North Atlantic, is owned by Inga Elsa Bergþórsdóttir and Gísli Egill Hrafnsson, who have published several books about cooking and life in the region. We enjoyed talking with Inga in the kitchen about their life in Blönduós, their experiences owning an inn, and the Covid-affected world we live in now. When we commented on the high vaccination rate among Icelanders, Inga asked us why so many Americans choose not to be vaccinated, preferring to ingest the horsewormer Ivermectin. Our room, this time with shared bath, is simple and immaculate. Inga and Gísli served a three-course dinner at communal tables in the main room that had a large picture window overlooking the ocean. We enjoyed char and barley soup, mussels, and chocolate cake in the company of an interesting young couple from Washington, DC.

Monday, September 13

to Djúpavík

We slept well during the stormy night, the wind rattling the windows as we burrowed into our duvets. I have loved having the windows open at night, relishing the cold, clean air. After a communal breakfast, we were on our way. Off the main road, we followed a gravel road 6km to the Þingeyrarkirkja, a stone church named for the assemblies that were held there during the Commonwealth period of 930-1264. A monastery was established in the 13th century; the present church was built in 1877. Construction of the church took 13 years. As there was no suitable building material in the area, the stone had to be hauled in by sledge over a frozen lake in the winter months. We were not surprised to find the church locked, but through the windows we could see the 13th century alabaster altarpiece and a pulpit of Dutch origin from 1696. In the churchyard, weathered tombstones were covered with orange lichen; ravens flew overhead.

Þingeyrarkirkja

We’ve often encounterd horses grazing in the fields. Icelandic horses are small but hardy, having evolved from ponies brought there by Norse settlers in the 9th and 10th centuries. The breed is mentioned in literature and historical records throughout Icelandic history. William Morris traveled by horse during his trips to Iceland in 1870 and 1873, as depicted by his friend Edward Burne-Jones. These graceful horses are known for their sure-footedness and ability to negotiate rough terrain. They have developed a unique trot-like gait, known as a tölt. 84

The sky turned ominous and we encountered intermittent rain as we followed Rt. 68 along the Standir Coast, the remote and mountainous coastline of the eastern part of the Westfjords. It was nearing 1:00 when we reached the village of Hólmavík (pop. 375) where we visited the Strandagaldur (Museum of Icelandic Sorcery and Witchcraft). Opened in 2000, the museum presents a history of the region’s unique folklore heritage. With the help of an English pamphlet, we went through displays of magical shields, spells, and amulets, and read about the feats of sorcery, some of them (like the necropants) quite grotesque. We learned that most Icelandic sorcerers were men.

At Staður, we turned onto an undulating, unpaved road with steep slopes, evidence of landslides, and sheer cliffs and drove 50km to the remote hamlet of Djúpavík (pop. 3). Our first sight was a hulking industrial building with a rusty shipwreck in front of it. A scenic waterfall tumbled from the cliffs high above. This once thriving town was known for its herring factory until the building was abandoned in the 1950s. In 1984 Ásbjörn Þorgilsson and his wife Eva Sigurbjörnsdóttir bought it. They also own the Hótel Djúpavík, which had been the living quarters of the women who worked in the factory. As we climbed the steep, uneven stone steps and came inside, we were greeted by an amiable old bulldog named Solí. A smiling young Basque man, a seasonal hire, introduced himself as Imanol and led us up worn, narrow stairs to a small room overlooking the fjord. Just then, the sun came out and I ran down to take advantage of the light and get some photographs. Later that evening, as we sat in the wood beamed room over drinks and dinner, we chatted with Magnus Petursson, Eva’s son, who manages the hotel and offers tours of the factory. We learned from him that his family members are the only year-round residents.

Djúpavík

1934

Tuesday, September 14

at Djúpavík

There is a family feel to the Hotel Djúpavík. There are few guests; most, if not

Particularly considering its location, its construction was remarkable. There

all of whom were Icelandic. Everyone seemed at home, working on a laptop,

were no roads in the area at the time, so everything had to be brought in by

reading, or quietly enjoying the fresh bread and hot coffee. I enjoyed the lilt

ship—the giant boilers, the engines, and all the other equipment, much of

of softly spoken Icelandic as Eva chatted with Magnus. I asked her if I might

which weighed tons. All of this was accomplished in 15 months, using only

purchase a small box that was in our room. She seemed surprised that it was

manual labor. Once the factory was completed, the men processed oil and

there and told me that she had owned it since she was young girl. Always on

fish meal while the women salted the fish intended for human consumption.

the lookout for an antique souvenir, I would have loved to have bought it;

By 1948, herring was becoming fished out and soon after, the operation was

Magnus commented on my good taste. At 10:00, we met him for a tour of

closed down. The details of how the factory came together are incredible,

the factory. He told us its history, aided by large photographs displayed on

and a testament to the Icelanders’ resourcefulness, resilience, and ambition.

the decaying walls, before taking us through each room and explaining the

They set out to build a state-of-the-art factory in one of the most remote

purpose of the various machines. The factory was built in the 1930s during

corners of the world, and they succeeded. Magnus obviously had a great

the “herring boom” and was the largest concrete building in the country.

pride in—and love for—the factory.