The Farmers and Adele
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Published: June 24th 2021
101 Reykjavik
Entrance to the Punk Rock MuseumI didn't think I would be in quarantine for the rest of my life, but I did worry that I might emerge from it with a terminal case of inertia. I wondered if I would ever travel again, or would anyone for that matter. Perhaps it would be time to retire my travel blog. But when my friend Adele called and asked, "Iceland?" my inner therapist gave me a sharp nudge and I agreed.
I thought of it as a kind of experiment titled "Travel in the Age of the COVID". I had high confidence in my pair of Moderna vaccinations, but I wasn't so confident that the tourism industry would be ready for me. Would flights be cancelled? Were car rental agencies and hotels still operating? Did Airbnb succumb to the disease? In addition, the regulations for entering Iceland were complex and changed weekly. Forms had to be completed, but no more than three days before arrival. I was asked if I was in an intimate relationship with a legal resident of Iceland? If so, how intimate? I should spare no details. If I was admitted, and there were no guarantees, I would be required to quarantine for five
Reykjavik Architecture
Reykjavik's Domkirkjan cathedral looks like it was extruded from a giant tube of wet cement. days at an approved hotel. But there, at the bottom of the list of exceptions, in fine print:
travelers with proof of vaccination are exempt. Getting back to the US would be a bigger problem, but more on that later.
101 Reykjavik
Despite all uncertainties, St. Christopher delivered Adele and me to a dorm-like guest house in Reykjavik's punk rock 101 district. We spent the day exploring. I was struck by how un-European the city seemed. There were no grand old castles or cathedrals. Rather it looked like a city built to withstand harsh winters. (Judging by how cold we were in June, I can easily imagine the brutality of winter.) The city's landmark cathedral was modern and looked as if it had been extruded from a giant tube of wet cement. The statues scattered around the city were gratuitously modern blobs. We amused ourselves by trying to read Icelandic signs. The first half of a typical word begins with a promisingly pronounceable combination of letters but then devolves into a tongue-twisting jumble of clashing consonants, extra syllables, and On-Beyond-Zebra letters. I can't imagine how complicated the grammar must be. (There is a movement to save Icelandic from being
101 Reykjavik
Occasionally polar bears wash up on icebergs from Greenland. replaced by English—which seems inevitable. For example, instead of the loanword, "computer" Icelanders should say "tölva" which roughly translates to "number prophetess".)
To warm up we stepped into the Ba-ba-loo Cafe. Adele ordered a bowl of tomato soup; I ordered a grilled cheese sandwich and a cup of coffee. The bill was $50! It's true that almost everything in Iceland, like coffee, is imported. But more significantly, in the 1990s Iceland's government came up with the idea of making Iceland an international banking center where Russian oligarchs, Colombian drug lords, and the Bush family could hide their money. The scheme collapsed when the 2007 recession hit, leaving Iceland in crippling inflation that is still with them today.
That night I struggled to sleep, partly due to jetlag, but mostly because the damned sun refused to go down. At 2 AM I dragged myself into the bathroom to dig an Ambien out of my kit. I could tell by the light streaming in the window that it wasn't that the sun hadn't gone down yet, but in fact, the sun was rising. A voice in my head called for coffee.
The Blue Lagoon
Baths, wine, and sex
Blue Lagoon
Soaking wet, it's a 20-yard dash through Arctic winds to the warm water. ruin our bodies. But what makes life worth living except baths, wine, and sex. – Roman inscription
The next morning Adele and I drove to the Blue Lagoon, Iceland's famous thermal baths. I became a fan of European bathhouses when I lived in Switzerland. They're kind of like amusement parks for adults, although many of them also have fun waterslides and whirlpools for kids (like me). The approach to the Blue Lagoon is on a raised walkway that crosses a field of lava rocks covered with patches of yellowish moss. Between the rocks clouds of steam rise from bubbling pools of pale blue water. Through the steam, I could see the low profile of a sleek modern building made of concrete and glass.
Once inside we were given bracelets that we could use to pay for drinks at the swim-up bar and mud masks at the swim-up spa. Showers before the bath are mandatory, which left a 20-yard dash from the locker room to the pool through icy gusting wind. The pool was a vast lake of naturally heated turquoise-blue mineral water. The lake wasn't deep, so it was necessary to walk around in a crouched position like
a Sumo wrestler to avoid exposing any part of our bodies to the freezing air. Against the advice of the attendants who warned that the mineral water would make our hair stiff, we occasionally had to submerge our heads to warm them up. The bottom was covered with slimy white mud. We weren't sure what it was, but at the swim-up spa, they gave us facials using the same mud. After several hours of crouch-walking around the pool looking for patches of extra-warm water, we got out. My body felt like it was made of rubber. "Thank you," it said to my brain.
Fagradalsfjall Volcano
The Mid-Atlantic ridge runs through eastern Iceland, creating an area of thermal springs, volcanoes, boiling mud pots, fumaroles, and other neat stuff that would bring a geologist to orgasm. It made sense that the Fagradalsfjall volcano that's been erupting for the past few months wasn't far from the Blue Lagoon, so we decided to drive there after our baths. Well, at least the trailhead wasn't far. The trail itself is an hours-long uphill hike. Occasionally we would meet a hiker coming down the mountain. They would stop and eagerly show us videos they had
taken of a blob of red-hot lava sizzling toward their camera. It was cloudy at the top, they warned, so we might not have a chance to see the volcano itself. When we reached the top, I was astonished. As far as my eye could see in all directions pillows of smoldering gray lava covered everything in a hellish landscape. It was possible to walk right up to the lava, to actually see, hear, smell, and feel melting rocks.
The clouds lifted and we realized that we weren't at the top of the mountain. Even though we were exhausted, we decided to continue climbing. When we reached the summit we could see the volcano about 1000 yards away. A ranger told me that it had been possible to get closer until a few days ago when lava blocked the trail. It was expected that in a few more days the place where I was standing would also be blocked by lava. There was even concern that soon the lava would block the famous Ring Road that circles Iceland. I quietly hoped that this wouldn't happen before Adele and I completed our planned circuit of the island.
At first,
the volcano looked like an uninteresting mound of gray mud. But then a small glowing orange patch appeared on its side. The patch started to grow. It was joined by a stream of lava trickling out of the top of the volcano. The trickle widened until it stretched across the entire mouth of the volcano and began pouring down the sides. I could see huge dark slabs of rock surfing on top of the lava. Then, a rumbling fountain jetted into the air. I felt a moment of fear. Were we too close? Were people starting to run? Was there any point in running? Should I simply stand there until I was overtaken? When I was young my father took me to see a museum exhibit of corpses uncovered at Pompeii. I resolved then that being engulfed by hot lava would be my least favorite way to die. (Number two: drowning in quicksand.) But the people around me just oohed and ahhed at the firework display being put on by the mountain. It was erupting every 15 minutes we learned, so we stayed for a few more eruptions. One of our fellow volcano enthusiasts deftly flew his drone over the
Berg Farm
I felt sorry for the ponies standing in the blow all night long. mouth of the volcano while it was erupting. He got some amazing videos, brought the drone back, and simply plucked it out of the air. On our way back to the car Adele and I stopped everyone we passed and excitedly showed them our photos.
Berg Horse Farm
We began our clockwise circumnavigation of Iceland's fractal coastline by driving to the end of Snæfellsnes Peninsula, about three hours from Reykjavik. There are only 300,000 people living in Iceland, so we didn't need to drive far before the population density dropped to near zero. Along the way I saw waterfalls cascading over massive walls that looked out over vast wind-swept plains, plenty of room for Norse Frost Giants to play a friendly game of football, I thought. Occasionally I would spot a farm at the base of one of the walls and would be overcome with a peculiar feeling of loneliness.
Towns with hotels are few, so Adele arranged for us to stay on farms along our route. (A few years ago, Iceland's farmers figured out that they could supplement their incomes by putting a little cabin in their field and renting it out to tourists, "little" being the
Berg Farm
Adele in her element. (One of them, anyway.) operative word. These income streams dried up during the pandemic. In some cases Adele and I would be the first visitors in over a year.) Our first stop would be two nights at the Berg Horse Farm.
We were befriended by Sola, the Berg's 14-year-old daughter. She's living the 14-year-old girl's dream life. The family raises and trains Icelandic ponies. Sola's days are taken up caring for and riding the 40-some ponies on the farm. The horses are sold, mostly to America. Sola told us that Breyer, an American toy company, had modeled one of their toy horses after a pony from their farm. That night I felt sorry for the ponies who stood out in the pasture being whipped by the freezing gale-force winds that violently shook our cabin.
In the morning we drove out to the national park at the end of the peninsula. There was simply nowhere I could rest my eyes from the onslaught of gorgeous foreboding scenery. It's no wonder that so many
scenes from Game of Thrones were filmed in Iceland. The Snæfellsnes glacier sits on top of the mountain overlooking the sea. It was here that Jules Verne located the passage to the center of
Journey to/from the Center of the Earth
Adele emerges from drinking from an ancient Viking well. the earth:
Descend into the crater of Yocul of Sneffels, Which the shade of Scataris caresses, before the calends of July, Audacious traveler, and you will reach the center of the Earth. I did it-- Arne Saknussemm.
We parked our car at the tip of the peninsula and walked the coastline. At one point the trail dipped down to a beach where a make-shift restaurant served us bowls of creamy fish soup. After lunch, Adele went down to the beach for a quick nap while I topped off my soup with beer and a waffle. With Adele rested and me fatter we continued along the trail. Somehow the subject of who had the car key came up. Adele's face turned white. "I think I left it on the beach!" she said. Scenarios raced through my head as I broke into a trot back to the beach. We could call the emergency number on the rental contract. But the contract was locked in the car's glove compartment. We could take a cab back to the farm, but do they have cabs here? And what would we do once we got to the farm? Maybe someone found
the key on the beach and dropped it off at the restaurant. Or maybe the key was still there. But what if the tide was coming in? I quickened my trot. When I arrived at the spot where Adele had been napping I noticed something shiny and half-buried in the sand. The elves had saved us.
Hagi Farm, Husavik
From Husavik, located at the top of Iceland, it's a straight shot across the Arctic Ocean to the North Pole. Occasionally polar bears drift into town on icebergs. It was snowing when we arrived. At home, it was 80° and people were sunning on beaches. What was I doing here, I thought to myself? Oh yes, I remembered, this was Adele's idea. She often conflates authenticity with suffering and should probably open a travel agency for masochists. Our "cabin" on the Hagi farm was literally a box with plumbing, electricity, and a flat-screen TV that wasn't connected to anything. We had to take turns standing in corners like punished children to allow the other to do simple tasks like wash a dish or open a suitcase.
That night I forced Adele to watch Will Ferrell's
Eurovision Song Contest on
my iPhone. It was filmed in Husavik and features the song
">Husavik (My Hometown). I appreciated some of the subtler jokes on my second viewing. The big joke is that no one really cares about the actual Eurovision contest except for Iceland, which has never won it. It's a big deal, right up there with Christmas. People hold Eurovision viewing parties similar to our Academy Award viewing parties. The people of Husavik fondly remember when the movie was filmed here. Some were extras. Our host's daughter-in-law excitedly told us about the time she saw someone walking down the street who looked like Will Ferrell (but wasn't).
The next day, after a breakfast of fermented trout and lamb pate, we visited the whale museum in preparation for our whale-watching excursion. Armed with the knowledge of the dozens of species of whales that live in the Arctic Ocean, we boarded our ship where we were given foul weather gear that made us look like arctic explorers. Without it, we were warned, we'd freeze. Even so, after 10 minutes at sea, I lost all feeling in my hands and toes. For our efforts, we saw two humpbacks. The same kind of whales
Husavik Thermal Baths
A better whale watching experience: view them from the bathhouse! on offer in Monterey Bay and Maui. The more exotic whales promised at the museum—the belugas, narwhals, and bowheads—didn't materialize. As soon as we made shore Adele and I headed for a bathhouse overlooking the ocean where we could spot spouts while sipping white wine and pickling ourselves in hot water.
Lake Myvatn
From Husavik we headed a couple of hours south to Lake Myvatn, aka "Midge Lake", named for the millions of flies that cloud around the faces of fishermen during the summer. We only saw a few midges. They weren't out in force yet. I guess they had more sense than we did. Myvatn was still in the grip of winter weather. We stayed on a farm that was halfway between a farm and a hostel. There were nice, clean common areas. The internet connection was good. The rooms were spacious. But the entire complex looked like an arctic research station— squat, no-nonsense structures built to withstand harsh conditions and surrounded by a vast, barren, snowy volcanic plateau.
Namaskard Pass, about 20 minutes from the lake, provided us with another Dante-esque vision of hell—steaming fumaroles and sulfurous pools of boiling mud. A meager string hanging between
Ice Station Zebra
Accommodations at Lake Myvatn looked like a polar research station. wooden stakes indicated where it was safe to walk. One misstep might plunge a foot through a thin crust of earth and into a pot of boiling mud. In places, the string and stakes had simply been blown away by the steady jet of wind that howled through the pass. For warmth, Adele and I stood in a cloud of rotten-egg-smelling steam blowing out of a fumarole. After an hour of wandering around, we had had enough. We correctly reasoned that any place with this much volcanic activity must have thermal baths nearby.
The night before our scheduled departure from Myvatn, disaster struck. Our thus-far trusty Jeep Suzuki rental wouldn't start. I decided to deal with the problem in the morning. Twice before I've been in a remote area with a car that wouldn't start, once in the parking lot of a Colorado ski resort after hours, the other in a game reserve in Zimbabwe. Both times I had to battle massive anxiety attacks in order to snatch a few moments of clear-headed thought. This time I stayed calm. I envisioned my future self sitting at home in Santa Cruz, writing this very paragraph. That moment might be weeks
Namaskard Pass
Fumaroles and boiling mud. or months away, but surely it would come to pass. That night my mind ran through scenarios. Were there buses that served Myvatn? Were there other guests at the hostel? We hadn't seen any, but if there were maybe one would give us a ride. Would we be able to stay at the hostel indefinitely? Perhaps the car rental agency would send a helicopter for us.
The next day I confidently packed the car to leave, then used the technique I used in Colorado. I willed the engine to start. At gas and bathroom stops we would leave the car running.
Hólmur Farm, Vatna Glacier
From Myvatn we descended to the eastern fjords of Iceland. By comparison, this part of Iceland makes the western side feel crowded. We drove for hours in a blizzard across a seemingly infinite plane of black pumice. We saw no sheep, horses, farms, or other cars. Even the ubiquitous spongy yellow moss that covers the rest of Iceland couldn't manage to find a toe-hold here. It was a relief to finally see the ocean again, although there were still not many signs of life. Now the road hugged the fjords, down one side
Driving East
Driving through snow and ice across a vast empty plane. of each inlet and up the other. The mountains lined up between the fjords like giant loaves of bread on a bakery rack. Each inlet was another Yosemite or Switzerland. Adele and I tried to think of words we could use to describe the beauty we saw to friends back home: sublime, stunning, unworldly. What word describes a vista that gives the viewer a feeling of awe mixed with an anxious sense of insignificance? Perhaps there is no such word.
In one place a steep talus cone sloped down to an avalanche fence that guarded the road. Looking up the mountain I noticed numerous puffs of smoke. Perhaps some kind of thermal activity, I thought. I was in the middle of pointing this out to Adele when I realized that the puffs of smoke were being caused by the impact of boulders hurtling down the mountain toward us. Within moments I was swerving between boulders the size of microwave ovens that defiantly lept over the avalanche fence.
Eight percent of Iceland is covered by the Vatna mega-glacier, 3000 square miles of ice that's 3100 feet thick in places. Numerous James Bond films and Game of Thrones
Eastern Fjords
Mountains like giant loaves of bread on a bakery rack. episodes have been filmed on Vatna. Along its eastern edge it seeps through the mountains to form four glacial tongues that almost reach the ocean. From the road in front of Holmur farm, our last farm-stay, we could see all four tongues. It was a mere 4-mile off-road drive to the nearest one, Fláa glacier. (This was the reason I paid extra to rent a 4-wheel drive vehicle.) We were within 100 yards of the thick ancient ice at the front of the glacier when we came to a fast-flowing river littered with the twisted wreckage of a bridge. No problem, we just moved on to the next tongue, Heinberg Glacier. This time a frigid lagoon separated us from the ice. We tried to walk around it but were repelled by an Arctic Tern defending her nest. Icelanders hate these birds. They call them Devil Birds. I had already been attacked by them several times over the past two weeks, but this one was particularly aggressive. I only became aware of her presence when I heard a plaintiff squawk and looked up in time to see her release a stream of shit at me. For a moment I thought she
When Nature Attacks
The aftermath of an arctic tern attack. had missed, but then I looked down and saw that my raincoat was covered in a white gooey mess. She continued to attack and eventually succeeded in driving us back.
Home?
When I bought my ticket to Iceland, United Airlines warned me that I would need to have a negative COVID test taken no more than 72 hours before returning to the US. They suggested I buy a six-pack of home test kits for $150, which I did. (So now I have to go on five more trips!) The boxes warned me not to open them until I was instructed to do so by a companion app I had to download onto my phone. Now, sitting at the kitchen table in our old farmhouse at the far edge of civilization, that time had come. Adele and I activated our apps, which connected us to real people who instructed us to open our boxes, swab our nostrils, seal our swabs in special cards-- all while on camera-- and then wait for 15 minutes. After 10 minutes a single pink line appeared on our cards indicating a negative result. Nervously, we watched for a second pink line to appear, which would've
Glacial Lagoon
Access to the Heibnberg glacier is blocked by a freezing cold lagoon. indicated a positive result. After 15 minutes another person spoke to us through our apps. We held up our cards to the camera. He declared us to be COVID-free, then flipped a switch that caused a certificate to appear on our phones. Without that certificate, we would need to start learning Icelandic.
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Home and Away
Bob Carlsen
Thanks for posting...
I love Iceland. And thanks for the information about testing before returning to the States. I'm hoping I won't need this information when we return from Scotland in Sept.