Neil Smith

2 years ago · 6 min. reading time · ~100 ·

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Lovin' a cold climate. Iceland 2000 part one.

Lovin' a cold climate. Iceland 2000 part one.

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Iceland 2000.

The snow started to fall, the wind blew sharply across the campsite and the fabric of the tent was flapping.  I though, was flapping more as I tried to thread a second needle to fix the tear in the flysheet of the tent that was to be our home for the next month. 

In pitching our tent in Laugardalur campsite in Reykjavik, I had over-tightened one of the anchor points causing it to rip. My first attempt at fixing it ended prematurely when I snapped the needle and now, here I was trying again to sort it but the Icelandic weather had decided to take a turn for the worse which made the job both harder and more necessary. 

Eventually I managed to complete the repair although I wouldn’t be winning any awards for my tailoring skills, and I took my freezing fingers to the sheltered dining area by the campsite office where Pete was preparing our evening meal of pasta in red sauce with sun dried tomatoes thrown in to alleviate the blandness. 

The middle of May was the time that all three members of our merry band could get time off work or finish university but our dates were of no relevance to the Icelandic weather. Pete and I had landed in warm spring sunshine and were now being treated to cold spring snow with the odd touch of hail. We weren’t strangers to weather but we were both hoping that the elements wouldn’t overshadow our entire trip. Turns out that we had nothing to worry about on that score. Whatever the weather this was a country that would always had plenty to grab our attention.

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Chef at work

We had both studied community education at Strathclyde university and he was one of the people I kept in touch with afterwards.

 Colm and I had met as watersports instructors at an outdoor centre in Ireland and he was due to join us from Dublin a few days later. 

To pass the time until Colm arrived we had what a tour guide would describe as a ‘packed programme of events’ to keep us occupied. First there was the trek from the campsite at Keflavik to the Blue Lagoon. This is a massive geothermal power station that supplies hot water and electricity to a big chunk of South-East Iceland. Cold water is pumped underground in this volcanically active region. The hot rock boils the water which shoots back upwards as steam and turns a turbine to generate electricity. This silicate laden water then settles in a large, hot pool and some is piped to town for home heating.

The science is pretty straightforward but the experience is out of this world. You lie in milky, bluish water at hot bath temperature and walk around on a lumpy, uneven floor formed from deposits that have settled over decades. There is a rope barrier beyond which the water rapidly becomes way more than just ‘hot’ so don’t go too far out, all the while you lie in this pool you are right beside an enormous, industrial power station which produces an unceasing, primal shout of defiance. 

The roar is so pervasive that you only realise how loud it was when you walk away from the small changing rooms and wonder why it all went suddenly quiet. The local hospital maintains a small dermatology and psoriasis clinic here as the silicate infused water has a positive effect on several skin conditions and this continues even though a more genteel Blue Lagoon has now been opened slightly downstream. We trekked out and back from the campsite in gorgeous weather, ending up sunburnt and satisfied.

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A remarkable bath.

Next morning, we packed up and took the bus to Reykjavik where the weather took the wintry turn detailed earlier. Having pitched and fixed the tent and filled our bellies with pasta we took a very relaxed stroll around the capital to take in the sights and get a feel for the place. 

On our first full day in the capital, we visited the Ásmundersafn. This remarkable house was built by an artist called Ásmunder Sveinsson who took his inspiration from Egyptian and other classical Mediterranean architecture. It is such a light and airy construction that it feels to have been constructed entirely of sunbeams. Sveinsson’s sculpture and other artwork was, to us at least, significantly less impressive than his building skills. It is now the Reykjavík Art Museum run by the council but if it ever went on the market again It would be snapped up by someone in the Bill Gates league for an eye watering sum. 

Leaving the gallery, we did a round of churches. Pete went in to look inside while I mooched around outside watching the world go by. When he was all churched out, we went to Perlan or the pearl. This is a revolving café in a dome on top of half a dozen enormous hot water tanks filled from places like the Blue Lagoon. Hot water heating is supplied at minimal cost to buildings in the city. We got good coffee, super cake (chocolate seeing as you asked) and fantastic panoramic views of the city and surrounding hills. 

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Ásmundesafn

Suitably fortified we strolled to the nearby bus station and sorted out tickets for the next day when we would take off on a hillwalking trip. We also booked car hire for the journey east to our glacier starting point for once Colm arrived. I spent much of the rest of the afternoon in the bookshop drinking coffee and people watching.

The bus driver called to us and opened the door. Once again, the weather had changed for the worse and we weren’t exactly keen to dismount on the side of a road in the arse end of nowhere during what had become a pretty heavy snow shower. This was however our destination and so we gathered rucksacks and set off across a rocky lava field covered in thick moss. 

We were headed for a mountain called Hengill. Picked from a map simply because the valley beyond seemed to be very volcanically active and we wanted to find a hot river, fumaroles, boiling mud and any other volcanic exotica we could fix our eyes on. 

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Hengill summit.

After plodding through cloud for the morning it all cleared as we reached the top of the mountain and we got good views out toward Langjokul in the East and then descended to the Hengladalir valley beyond. 

Well! This was utterly wonderful. The weather had turned snowy again but we couldn’t care less. The smell of sulphur was all around and there was steam all over the place. The rocks were brightly coloured and in various states of disintegration and the stream running down the middle of it all was suitably hot.The only negative was the lack of mud holes for wallowing despite Pete’s best efforts at enlargement.

We dumped our bags on the deck of a mountain hut that was closed until later in the year and stripped off. The initial pool was warm but not warm enough so we headed upstream where the water got hotter. We were now two albino brits stumbling, naked up a steamy, smelly river in search of the ideal pool for soaking in. The wind picked up and the snow became sleety but it didn’t matter because we could just duck down and warm up before exploring some more. 

Eventually we reached a point upstream which got too hot for comfort so back down we went. Settling in for a serious al-fresco bath that we were in no hurry to end.

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Hot rivers make any day a great day.

When there was a break in the weather, and we had finally had enough, we made a run back to our gear to get changed. And changed very quickly indeed. The contrast between the water and the land was stark and we were freezing. 

Once dressed the stove went on for a brew and some food which we ate in our bivi bags as we chatted. Bedtime was precipitated by the start of some serious hail falling so we zipped up and settled in for the night.

The hail overnight turned to snow and we awoke to find ourselves covered in about four inches of the stuff. After a fast breakfast we headed off in the direction of a town called Hveragerði. More moss coated lava, some interesting descents and then we were there. It was tidy and friendly, like a perfect middle American town transplanted to the edge of the world. 

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Peeking out on the very fresh new morning.

The place is full of active volcanic features and has several greenhouses where all manner of exotic fruit and veg is grown. Sometimes a street just ends at a roped off hole full of boiling water. It’s a place where you would learn to be very careful on your way home from the pub if you want to see old age. The local bakery did coffee, bread rolls and cake so we waited there until it was time for the bus back to Reykjavik. 

After a leisurely start of coffee followed by more coffee we split up. Pete goes to pick up the rental car and I start packing. By the time Colm gets in from the airport it is six o’ clock and we are instantly ready for the off. 

We cruise out of town in a stuffed to the gunwales, Toyota Corolla and drive along the south coast past the town of Vik until we spot a very photogenic waterfall and decide to stop for the night. Now the holiday part of the trip was nearly over. In twenty-four hours, the adventure part would be well and truly under way. 

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Ready for the off. I have no idea why I'm the only happy looking person.

This is the first instalment of stories about two trips to the Vatnajökull Icecap and other parts of Iceland. The other two articles can be found here on Bebee.

Glacier Days. Iceland 2000 part two. - beBee

Windswept and interesting. Iceland 2000 part three. - beBee

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Overnight bivvy stop.
Comments

Neil Smith

2 years ago #7

Neil Smith

2 years ago #6

Neil Smith

2 years ago #5

Zacharias 🐝 Voulgaris

2 years ago #4

As much as I enjoy the temperate climate of the Mediterranean, I'd be happy to take a trip to this gorgeous island nation. Thank you for reminding me of the beauty of this place that matches the remarkable ingenuity of its energy engineers. Cheers

Pascal Derrien

2 years ago #3

Wicked article. Iceland is high on my bucket list :-) 

Neil Smith

2 years ago #2

Ken Boddie

2 years ago #1

As I sit here reading this, @Neil Smith , in the coldest ‘winter’ weather that South-East Queensland's semitropical climate has to offer, I shiver at the very thought of travelling back to cold climes.  Your tale brings back memories of life in New Zealand's geothermal region of north island, where I initially raised my family a few decades ago, after escaping from the depressing UK weather. The smell of rotten eggs gas and the accessibility to natural hot springs and mud baths had more appeal back then, as the air temperatures were much more balmy than subarctic Iceland.

Looking ahead to a post COVID, lockdown-free world, not even copious amounts of geothermal water, good coffee and picturesque waterfalls, could entice me to visit a land naturally geared to induce noses to drip, feet to freeze, and appendages to shrink.  🤧

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