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Published: August 19th 2008
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Midnight Arrival
It was a murky, misty arrival close to midnight. Out of the window, there had been solid cloud all the way, and now we were treated to our first real glimpse of Iceland - bare rock, lava and mist. My first thoughts were: how do people scratch a living off this?
In fact, what were we doing flying from one damp island off the Atlantic to another more northerly one, situated at the edge of human habitation? Well, visiting the Vikings of course, our good friends Rosa and Erling from Iceland, who had lived in Leeds for several years and we finally had taken up the offer of visiting them.
We landed at Keflavik airport, and we were met there by Erling who drove us to their flat in Reykjavik. We coursed on through the gloom in a large 4x4, (this thing having an engine which could probably power a medium sized maritime craft), and onto Iceland’s dual carriageways - not so much land of the midnight sun as midnight murk. We didn't see Reykjavik at it's best - warehouses, flats, and graded separated junctions.
However our arrival with some choice goodies from
Britain and Poland cheered up proceedings on our arrival. We have not seen Rosa for years.
Hot Rocks and a trans-continental meeting place
Next day we did a bit of poking around the local neighbourhood and on Sunday set course for our first trip. The weather was decidedly damp still, but fine (well, no, adequate) for a trip inland to see a geothermal power station. With Erling at the wheel, we headed up along a plateau passing several cyclists on the long tour round, who were getting absolutely drenched in the rain. Respect. Then the road went up a pass, following a pipeline that carried geothermally heated hot water to the suburbs of Reykjavik. We stopped off at the top to admire the plumes of steam emanating from the outlets from the geothermal plumbing, which was accompanied by suitable whooshing sound effects too. We also got the chance to test our waterproofs for a few minutes in the by now howling wind and rain. Then we headed back in the vehicle to the power station which has an exhibition centre. By being on a pretty hot set of rocks not too far below the surface, the
Icelanders have worked out how to capitalise on this and tap into the hot salty water to heat up fresh water for domestic use and spin a few turbines for some power whilst it's at it. So once it was all built, pretty cheap, and relatively clean electricity.
Next we made our way to Þingvellir, the ancient seat of the world’s first parliament. In 930 Icelanders chose a suitably central and geologically significant site for the parliament: on a cross roads and also the junction between the Eurasian and North American tectonic plates. We had a walk around at the site, and up to nearby waterfall that chucked its water down, before the water takes a sharp turn to the right, and continues suspended on a shelf above the main valley for a bit. Even in the greyness, the site is truly spectacular. We returned back via a spectacular valley and fjord.
Road to the Isle
Next day we packed up for the proper outing, to the island which belongs to Rosa’s family out in the north west, in a large fjord called Breiðafjörður. The forecast was favourable, in that despite the rain, the winds
were light, and that is crucial for a boat trip across the fjord.
Getting there meant a long road trip, up the west coast, so we had a trailer for supplies up there as well. Part of the journey involved going 235m below sea level too, through a tunnel under the sea. Included in our supplies for the trip was a decent bit of Dutch Romantic Gothic Metal “Within Temptation”, which goes particularly well with Icelandic scenery (even more so with good weather, as on our return trip). After some spectacular climbs through mountain passes, the route followed an unsurfaced road down the fjord. We dropped off some equipment for a neighbouring farm before arriving at a little jetty someway down the fjord, where Rosa’s sister Lilja was waiting for us. We piled everything on the little boat, and puttered out into the sea, mist and drizzle making for a subdued setting, it felt very Hebridean. On our journey over, which took an hour we were surrounded by puffins and eider ducks. We landed at the tiny island (about 1km by 1 km) in the middle of the fjord, the tiny jetty filled by the tide for only a
few hours so we had to be timely. Once unloaded, Birgni took the little boat back out to be moored, and returned on a dinghy. We moved the stuff up to the house and out of the rain.
Next morning we helped out with the angelica invasion. Despite these parts being not far off the Arctic Circle (at a latitude of 65°N not far indeed) stuff like rhubarb and, er, angelica, grew. Like weeds. Tall weeds. A big scythe (sadly no dark cloak with hood provided - it’d be useful on the Gipton scaring off the vandals, that) was the main means of cutting down the angelica, which grew a least a metre high in the short growing season by the time we were there - that is May to July. Our industry earned us the title of Yorkshire slaves, though in Kasia’s case it would be more accurate to dub her Yorkshire Slav.
In the afternoon, the weather dramatically improved so I took the new camera out for a stroll around the island. The island is home to hundreds of Arctic terns, so we had to be careful where we walked, (they dive-bomb intruders), and also another
bird there made a whirring noise with its wings. The atmosphere was perfect - the light fantastic, and air crystal clear. With just us, Rosa’s family and three goslings for company on the island truly we were privileged visitors.
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