Clans, Desert, Rain and Ice

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The Island

Our stay on the island was just for a few days, but it was great. Time became unimportant, just the tides and wind mattered. Everyone settled in: Rosa's little lads, Jakub and Isaak set to helping us bash the angelica with gusto. The allotment had been overrun by this herb, which grew with strong stems over a metre high, so good is the soil (birds and basalt, at a guess, to thank). Kasia introduced a fine Polish recipe or two, Placki (potato pancakes) and Sorrel soup. The Sorrel was growing outside in the grass, and has very much been seen as a weed. But the proof was in the tasting!

Above us the whirring noise of a snipe bird and the calls of the terns. The goslings mooched about nibbling the grass and got spoilt by Lilja.

We managed to walk to the next island when the tide was out and we were taken on a tour of the fjord with Lilja and Bigni in the boat. We visited an island inhabited by comorants and tiny islets of rock; on the way back a spot of fishing was done, so Kasia and me sat out the fishmongery down below.

In Reykjavik

We set off back to Reykjavik in more blustery but bright conditions. Our long journey back was much more spectacular as this time we could see the mountain peaks. No sooner had we arrived in Reykjavik it was time to prepare for the next stage of our travels. But for Kasia and me, travelling light, that allowed us a bit of time to see the city, which so far we hadn’t seen much of. We borrowed a couple of bikes from Rosa and Erling and headed into town. A handy bike path follow the shoreline for much of the way. The old town is really pleasant, with period houses and lots of cafes, and, even nicer, a bloke stopped on the pavement to ask if we were enjoying our stay, and then bade us welcome to Iceland. Nice touch, and one that I will try to repeat for visitors to England.

First stop was the “871 ±2” museum. This museum lies under a modern building, but had the excavated remains of an old longhouse, one of the first in settled Iceland. There is a pretty smart audio-visual interpretation there and we spent a fair bit of time. Next we headed out to the peninsular on the bikes with a grand view of the bay. We then turned along the south side of the peninsular where the posh houses were, it felt more like coastal Spain there with these villas in the sunshine.

We pedalled on for a bit, losing the cycle trail for a bit, and then regaining it near the inland airport, before striking off through a cemetery, which has lots of nice woods around it. In the sun and pine trees it suddenly didn’t feel like Iceland, but something rather more Slavonic. After a bit of faffing about, we found our cycle pavement along a grim dual carriageway which took us back. By the time we got back, Rosa & Co. were ready for the big off.

South Coast Tour: Rough tracks and Rain

It turns out that departing when we did was indeed the big off: most of Reykjavik also were heading out of town and upcountry. We joined the lines of traffic out heading east towards the south coast. Our first destination was Vik, the southernmost place in Iceland, and site of a clan gathering for Rosa’s relatives who came from far and wide. Vik lies at the foot of a steep slope and by a small bay overlooked by a very steep promontory. This time we were camping out and had our first taste of an Icelandic campsite. We got to know how to put up a six-person tent, though we had that just for us two - Rosa, Erling and the kids had the camper trailer. That evening we got to test out the showers - which had an abundant supply of cold water. With the light nights, no one was to keen on going to bed too early, most kids included. People were celebrating the start of the holiday so it took a while to get to sleep. The early hours did signal their presence not so much by subdued light conditions, but by very subdued temperatures. I found myself staggering with several layers over to the toilet block, bleary eyed past the multitude of caravans and camper vans. Many were from mainland Europe, which meant a very long ferry journey from Denmark up to the east coast of Iceland.

Next day we set off on a road trip up some track up the hill - it felt weird as I normally walk up such things (But then Jakub and Isaak might not be up for it being 4 and 6). A quick stop at the top for the views over the south coast and to watch a paraglider swoop over the cliffs before dropping down the other side; this was done quite gingerly as the track was what might be described as “challenging” in some quarters. On the other side was a cove, and a coach stop. The cove was used by some of Rosa’s antecedents in the past as a base for setting out into the ocean for fishing trips. Being so very close to the water was apparently necessary - so short were the opportunities of getting out into the water. Today the Atlantic belied its usual behaviour and was relatively calm, but a few days after we were there, some other foreigners had been cut off by the waters by the cove.

That afternoon we sampled Vik’s swimming pool which also had a thermal tub and a sauna. Not bad for a village. Swimming pool provision in England is appalling in comparison, those that we have are often crowded, noisy, and on occasion, dirty.

That evening we got some food ready for our participation in the clan gathering in the village hall. Over a hundred folk turned up, but because of a late start (the weather had been unusually fine) people didn’t really go for it, like a Hagar the Horrible cartoon go for it, it was fairly laid back. Another chilly night under canvas followed, and the forecast was now for rapidly deteriorating weather. The clouds hinted at the rain later, so we made a trip a little further down the coast to a narrow valley overlooking a huge basalt outwash plain. So bleak is this plain that it is named the Black Desert. One of the main attractions of the desert it that during strong gales, it is a cheap way renewing the paintwork of one’s car, in a paintless sense. Warnings are issued by the Icelandic Weather Service when is there is a risk of getting sandblasted when crossing the black sands. On our way up to the valley, the track passes the remains of a film set- apparently for Beowulf. The location was suitably bleak, and also unfortunately a bit too dark when filming commenced in September. At such a latitude, past the equinox here doesn’t mean a few hours less light - it means a few hours of twilight and that’s your lot. We arrived at the track end, which had a campsite and a cave providing roofed facilities for mealtimes. At this point Rosa noticed a disconcerting hiss from one of the 4x4’s tyres, which meant a job for Erling and Rosa’s brother fixing the tyre. Even with such a tough vehicle, punctures still happen on these tracks. Kasia and me set out to follow the beck to a waterfall. Rosa had asked if we could get beyond. It seemed a reasonable enough challenge until we saw the sheer rock wall by the waterfall and so we decide we had had a nice stroll.

That afternoon the cloud sheet thickened and I grabbed some more photos before we set out over the coastal plain and under the glaciers for our next overnight. With heavy rain forecast we stayed over in a hotel, near Kirkjubaejarkslaustur, rather than have soaking camping gear. The hotel was fine, despite its unfinished look and there was good food on offer. Interestingly, in a place so far out in the sticks many of the staff working there were from Poland.


The next day was blast through the rain day, but we stopped off at the Ice River for a boat trip amongst the river borne icebergs. Like the River Bain (a 3 mile long river in Yorkshire), only much, much shorter, a river flows from the icy lake into the sea disgorging its cargo of icebergs into the sea: many are washed up onto the black sands of the beach.

We set off again as the rain got serious, Rosa taking the lead on the motorbike. After a good 100km or so, we stopped off for some farmhouse ice cream which was very tasty. The circular road Route 1 has unsurfaced sections in south east, and we crossed these as the rain and wind got into a vile combination - particularly if you were on a motorbike like Rosa. With only one month’s experience on the road she was having a baptism of fire - and a faceful of wet gravel when a lorry past a high speed without slowing down. Into the fjords with just a narrow ledge supporting the road above the ocean, and a long steep scree slope stretching 1000m up. We continued up to our next stop, and it was on the last kilometre that Rosa came off the bike, where the farmtrack went up a very steep bend. By this time, Rosa was a very pissed off damp Viking. But she got back on the bike, and soon afterwards we were at the hostel unpacking our stuff, and Rosa could have a hot shower, as opposed to a cold one with a headwind.

That evening we cooked a big meal, and with Rosa off to bed early, Erling got the cards out and taught us some card game. Stina, aged 10 going on 20, wisecracked our tactics. It must have been quite a sight for the two North Americans who came in very late that night to check if there was space, only to see Erling, Stina and me with cards, a bottle of rum, and Polish vodka on the table. They must have wondered what they stumbled on: Dodge City Icelandic style, maybe, because they had chosen to overnight in a camper rather than find some space in the hostel. In the morning everything had changed; the sky had cleared, it was bright and warm with a breeze and I went out to look at the landscape of Eastern Iceland.

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Photos

Get Your Motor Runnin'
...with the lady from the Ministry, Rosa!

Black Desert
...or glacial outwash plain.

Route 1 Highway
towards the great Vatnajokull glacier

view to the BlackDesert
...with rain on the way.

A frozen heart
made of water about 1000 years old.