Iceland 2001

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Friday, 16th March

Up early, armed with multiple layers of clothing for the day. I had heard all about the time people had taken Alan on one of these trips, so came prepared.

At 9am precisely, we gathered outside the hotel. Me, Alan, Cathy and Eric. And Sigurjon, sundry others and three very large vehicles. They had once been four-wheel drive vehicles of the sort common all over America and various posh areas of Britain (where here they are generally used to drop the children off at school but of course should school not be happening one could take off for the wilds with the hamper full of wine and cheese). Then they had been imported to Iceland and modified. The bodywork gets carved up to allow much bigger wheels, the chassis gets raised so that you can get through the snow, and gigantic wheels get inserted. Apparently Iceland now exports these mutations to the rest of Scandinavia, too.

We pootled around Reykjavík collecting Bjarni, Einar, Eggert and others until we numbered twelve, rearranged ourselves and set off out into the country.

Þingvellir

First stop was Þingvellir, the home of Iceland's parliament for centuries. Iceland was ruled by Denmark for many years. After some degree of self-government was granted, a date in the future was set for consideration of further self-government. That date was 1940. Of course at that stage, Iceland was occupied by Britain and Denmark was occupied by Germany, so getting together to discuss the issue was impractical. Iceland opted simply to declare its independence. The place chosen for this declaration was Þingvellir.

After reading so many stories which involve the place, I knew it had to be big: politics in Iceland were vigorous enough for pitched battles to have occurred there before now. And I knew it was on a crack between two plates on the earth which were moving apart. But even the photos had not prepared me for it.

Huge amounts are roped off: it's part of a national park now. You arrive over more volcanic rocks and look out to find a great gap between two towering blocks. At the bottom of the gap is the Alþing plain itself. And it is covered with colour. There are innumerable lichens and mosses bearing testimony to the clear air there. The rocks are widely varying in shade and texture. And no two parts of it are the same. It is an amazing place.

Despite its constant presence through the stories, Þingvellir itself has changed. The fact that it lies directly over this gap in plates means that this is one of the areas where Iceland is growing. Earthquakes in the past have dropped the level of the entire valley by metres at a time.

Thorvaldur pointed across to the other side of the valley and told us that he had been a cow boy on the farm there when young. We were interrupted by the sound of hissing: the jeep drivers were letting the air out of the tyres, and it was time to move on.

View looking out over Þingvellir

People looking out over Þingvellir

The rocky road to..?

Þingvellir was actually some way off where we wanted to be: the glacier was in the other direction, off a different road from Reykjavík. So to save time (and, I suspect, Because We Could), we swung onto a road signposted with the cheerful legend "Impassable". This proved not to be true, although it was not the fastest road in Iceland. The landscape was different from the black soil with small round rocks in that I had assumed was that all volcanic soil must look like. Now it was more grey, with grey-greens, and bright greens by small rivers we passed over. Looking up at the mountains, it was like looking at one of those pictures which are drawn by many dots: the combination of the grey slopes with the dust of snow in regular drifts on the ridges made it hard to focus on them: there was no way to judge size or distance at all.

After about twenty minutes, there was some discussion and we swung over and off the main road onto a track which led to an outcrop of rocks. Einar was out of the jeep and on top of the rocks before we were fully standing up. This was rather like a bright red chimney. Well, it wasn't -that- red. But it was a very reddish brown. I was cheerfully heading off to stand on the top myself when Einar explained the interesting thing about this construction: it was where lava and gas had poured out through a great hole. He pointed down: and sure enough, there was a deep hole. I didn't have my mini-torch with me for once, but I suspect it would have made little difference and that it would simply have gone down and down. There was also other little lava tubes sticking out, which were a slightly more comprehensible size. After this, it was back into the jeeps.

The rock with the lava vents

What a view

We continued along the short cut and the land changed again. Now I was looking out over what I thought was scrub and bushes. But apparently not. This was the Icelandic idea of a forest (the joke is apparently "how do you find your way when lost in an Icelandic forest?" "Stand up"). Iceland has such a short growing season and such strong winds and harsh rain and snow that it doesn't have many trees. What it did have was cut down for wood centuries ago. Apparently there's dispute about whether the ancient word referring to forests meant "trees" or "willows" (says my book) but Iceland is resolutely attempting to reforest some areas, although this is going to take a good length of time. The 'trees' I saw were probably birch, which I recall being a 'pioneer species', but they really were very short: maybe a metre tall, if that. The trees vanished out of sight as we turned onto a main road and the road out to the glacier, by way of some of the most well-known names in Iceland.

Geysir and Gullfoss

Alan had been this way before, and had told me about these, too: how the trees which lay in the prevailing wind direction near Strokkur were noticeably higher than any others in Iceland (they get the warm water and air), how Geysir now never went off any more, and how Gullfoss was a series of overlapping waterfalls with a path which wasn't safe to use when he was there. My guidebook had reinforced the fact that Geysir no longer blew, adding the dubious-sounding information that when it was felt 'necessary' to make it perform, people poured soap powder in.

Einar and Sigurjon promptly disputed the parts applying to Geysir, except for the soap story (which is true!). It seems that Geysir stopped performing decades ago, but there was an earthquake in the area last year, and ever since then, Geysir has been spurting boiling water and steam again, two or three times a day. It sounded unlikely we'd see it in our meagre half an hour, but as we neared the steam boiling up from the ground (and you can see it as you're driving there: it's really strange), I couldn't help hoping.

This is probably a massive tourist site in summer, but it was a weekday, it was March, and we had the place practically to ourselves. The first thing is the sheer sight of it. The rock has a strangely layered appearance around the actual geysir holes themselves, and you can get extremely close. Pools of water from spray and steam lie close enough to touch, but we refrained. And within metres, there were great tranches of snow and ice left from the winter.

But you don't see any of this at first. You have to wait to see anything because there are huge clouds of steam and smoke drifting everywhere. As you make your way onto the path, you pass a great bubbling pool, plopping contentedly away to itself and making industrious little gurgles.

And over this all hangs the pervasive smell of sulphur. It is one of the most uncanny things I've ever experienced. Phrases like "witch's brew" leap immediately to mind.

As you walk past this pool and up the path, you are approaching Strokkur, which is almost Geysir's understudy, has been venting regularly every five or ten minutes in Geysir's absence and which continues today. We went on to Geysir first, in hope, and then clustered around Strokkur. There are countless postcards of this all over Iceland, and they capture single seconds onto camera. It actually happens a lot faster than the photos imply. There is steam, and then a great whoosh, and then steam and water shoot out to thirty metres or so and then it subsides after a couple of seconds. Then it either does it all again within a minute or two, or that's it for ten minutes. It's quite unnerving, even standing right behind the tapes warning you where you're safe, wondering whether at this moment, the wind will suddenly change direction and deposit all the steam and water on your head.

I said it was cloudy...

Up it goes!

Geysir failed to rise to the bait, and we took off for Gullfoss, the Golden Falls, Cathy commenting drily that in America, you'd need a lot more than just a few (rather prominent) signs warning of steam and 100°C temperatures to keep people from hurting themselves. I found out later that even the tapes keeping you back are arrivals from only a few years ago.

Gullfoss is a series of waterfalls which are quite impossible to describe, but I'll try. It's in a chasm which is the only split and way down between the two sides, and this gap twists, so that the falls themselves twist. From the car park looking down, there is a wonderful view of them all, but it's apparent that the deepest cascade of water is at an angle to all the rest. You can pick your way down a path which gives you a view of this deep one head-on, if you care to deal with the steepness, the roar of the water, the (sticky, thick, gloopy) mud which gets in your shoes so they lose any purchase they had, and the slush and ice which remained. Several of us did, and were rewarded by getting altogether too close to the thing. I consider it well worth it, but Eric took the better part of valour and watched us instead.

On surfacing, we discovered the tyres were being dropped in pressure again, and we piled in to aim for the glacier.

Snow and sun

There was some fumbling around, and Einar produced a laptop with maps of the area and GPS information on it. This was attached to the GPS paraphernalia and added to the other electrical and electronic goods (at one stage I wondered how much of the battery went on the engine and how much on the location-finding equipment and radios between the jeeps).

The jeeps ploughed on, and it became extremely rough going. We were still on roads, but now there were increasing swathes of snow on the ground and on the road. What I found especially odd was the way the ground had long streaks of snow on it, but the roads, although only a foot higher than the ground, were covered with snow. Presumably the ground heats up better than the roads do. Other than the roads themselves, there was now no sign of human habitation or presence, except once, where Sigurjon pointed to jeep marks on the ground itself in disgust. "This is why we drive only on roads or snow. Those marks stay. We do not appreciate that kind of thing". Seeing that in such an untouched area made it all too plain why it is not appreciated. At one stage, as we were in the lead jeep, Einar and Sigurjon both exclaimed in surprise, and Alan and I both caught sight of something racing along the road ahead of us. It wasn't the stereotypically white-coated Arctic variety, or we'd never have seen it on that road, but we have now seen an Icelandic fox: a great surprise to all concerned. I subsequently learned that most Icelandic foxes don't change colour and are brown the whole year round.

We were climbing gently, and with very little warning, we were now surrounded by snow. Quite how Sigurjon knew we were on a road at all I have no idea. Suddenly, everywhere I looked, it was snow and bright. Alan reached for his sunglasses and looked smug. I sighed. The only noise at all was the clatter of the jeeps. As it became harder to make headway, we stopped for more air-removal from the tyres. It seemed an appropriate time to pause for refreshments. Eric and Cathy had gone native and produced the dried fish. Someone else brought along smoked lamb: the kind you don't cook, just smoke. I didn't like mine that much and gave most of it to Alan, who eats anything. I was to regret that later.

Alan looking smug in shades

Elevenses, some hours late

We pressed on into the snow. It became harder and harder, for an odd reason: there had not been enough of the right kind of snow! Iceland had a very mild winter. The areas where I had been noticing great swathes of snow covering the land were areas that Alan had seen under two metres of snow last time. This snow was light, feathery, and even with nigh-on flat tyres, it was almost impossible to float over: instead we in the first jeep became mired in the stuff. We jumped out to lighten the load as the other jeeps passed us, and I sank to my knees and discovered a hole in my boot. Paah. However, floundering around in this quantity of untouched snow when you know you have a ride home at the end of it was fun, or it was at first. I discovered it's terribly hard to stay balanced if you're just standing watching jeeps pull each other with great ropes. Every time you shift your weight, you have a good chance of one limb sinking further and overbalancing completely.

"I may be some time"

Not the place to get stuck on your own, really

After retrieving the jeep (to mutters from Sigurjon about the wrong kind of snow, and last year's jeep being lighter, and when he got back, he was putting yet bigger tyres on this one) we tried again, and forayed onwards and upwards. Alas. Onwards, we could do. Upwards, not in this snow with this jeep. We were brought to the realisation that even if we made this hill, there were more coming, and this was as far as we'd get today. Sigurjon was downcast, although sustained by his thoughts of tomorrow's excursion (an overnight trip involving an emergency hut which had had to have three feet of ice removed from the door last time. Sounded delightful...) but we took time to eat more food (except for me) and then headed back.

Geysir revisited

We spent a lot of time chatting on the way back. And pausing to repressurise tyres. Both Einar and Sigurjon had worked extensively in geology and geophysics, and knew lots of fascinating volcano-lore: from how to get an hour's warning of an eruption (the earth sinks, apparently) to what to do with that hour (we had surmised, "run away", and they chorused in unison "or towards it..")

Given the quantity of air we'd removed from the tyres, it was necessary to stop somewhere with an air pump to put it all back in. That somewhere was the petrol station at Geysir. We were coasting down towards it and I was thinking it was about time to declare a loo break when suddenly Sigurjon ejaculated "Geysir!", and swung the jeep to the right and down a small road, screeched to a halt, and was off before Einar had finished saying doubtfully "It doesn't look that active...". We all followed anyway, and my gods, Geysir erupted as we ran towards it.

I was stunned. At first I thought, "well, I thought it was supposed to be taller than Strokkur, was that really Strokkur and we're just confused?" But we'd come from a slightly different reaction, and yes, it was Geysir, which then responded to the attention by doing it again.

Demonstrating a fine disregard for the safety they'd practised everywhere in the jeeps, Sigurjon and Einar hopped over the tapes marking the safe area, ran right up to the thing, and as far as I could tell from my cowardly ("if I do that, some very hot water is going to get into my leaky boot") angle, leant right over to get the bird's eye view of the next gush. Strokkur promptly went off behind us, just to get in on the act, and I watched Alan turn himself in circles frantically with the camera.

Geysir went off again in the end (so much for "two to three times in a day") and the two locals declared it "probably finished for now" and we went down to repressurise the tyres.

Geysir go gush!

Geysir go gush 'gain!

Return to Not-Normal

It emerged that most of the jeep drivers had seen Alan's comments about them last year: something to the effect of "they looked pretty normal at the start. Then we got outside Reykjavík". Rather than leaving him behind on the ice, they took this in good part, and made various remarks of "no, out there is where we are normal". As we returned to busier roads, Sigurjon commented sadly to Alan that alas, "we are now back to not-normal".

The remainder of the drive into civilisation was largely uneventful. I say this with some trepidation, since various events occurred. We saw rock formations called "false craters"; we saw Snaefellsnes -- which is over fifty miles away -- clearly through the clean air; and Alan suddenly mumbled "stop the car" and upon this being achieved, was unwell in the extreme. I would not normally mention this, but it explains why we started turning down things we'd agreed to attend the next day.

Various people were deposited in various locations. Eric, Cathy, Alan and I were dropped off at the hotel with injunctions to eat at the hotel restaurant, and we headed in. Cathy was now feeling ill, and we agreed to postpone eating for everyone to recover from mad jeep rides.

The appointed dining hour reached, I went down to collect Eric and Cathy and apprise them of the fact that Alan didn't want to eat (which means he must have felt ill) only to discover that now Cathy was opting out, also not wanting to eat.

So Eric and I sallied forth to dinner, where I proceded to tax him on "you're awfully rude about Marxism; do you in America have a different understanding of it from what we have in Europe?", "you talk about anthropology but you seem to hate sociology: what's going on there?" and other such dinner-table delights. He responded with snippets from evolutionary psychology, and we later got onto the perennial "where are all the women in free software?" (open source, IT, whatever). One day I shall stop being surprised by that question and have some idea how to answer it.

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