The Iceland Travel Journal, week 4

Snæfellsjökull, windy days. Sun 19.05

Cycling has proven to be the ultimate form of transport for such an extended length camping trip. The low friction tires have probably saved me the equivalent of a whole kilo of oats in terms of energy, compared to the knobby tires of the mountain bike that would otherwise have taken its place. Best of thanks, Philip! The black steed, the Ortler, as it were called, has yet to fail me. Throughout the journey taken this morning, which led me from the visitor centre in a side road of Snæfellsvegur all the way to almost the foot of the shield volcano, the bicycle with stood some extremely challenging transverse winds. These gusts, when I was fortunate enough to have it blowing up the arse, allowed me to hit a peak speed of almost 50 km/h. From the side, of course, a different story entirely.

Time and distance pass at breakneck speeds these days. I’m over 153 km from Reykjavík now. This afternoon, which is now, I will try to get around the big, snow-capped shield, provided the weather continues to hold as it has.

The Volcano. Mon 20.05

I am now almost at the westernmost extent of my trip. The black cliffs, with their angular, jagged snarls of basalt columns, impart a true and unanticipated sense of the violence with which our planet is turning itself inside out. Similarly to comedy = tragedy + time, perhaps violence + distance = peace.

Thousands of glaucous gulls perch themselves on the cliff face in Snæfellsjökull National Park, the rocks painted white in spots of their excrement. Parachuting from great heights, circling in ways unpredictable, reaching tremendous speeds, only to land carefully and gracefully, they feed on the foamy fish-cistern set into the foot of their home like a well-refrigerated basement.

I have a long way to go until I reach Hellissandur. Well fed and well rested, the conditions are good. Wind up the rear once again! Only the most tenacious could escape this day with their atheism intact. 

*westernmost extent: blink and you’ll miss it!

Now in Hellissandur, a very attractive, non-parka.is site, which I may very well spend more than one night at. The town is well supplied and has a couple things certainly worth seeing.

Yesterday, as I was leaving Hotel Buðir, I was told by a Norwegian man that they admire what I am doing, speaking also for the people he was with. I meet people over and over who tell me that they respect this undertaking and may draw personal inspiration from it. Many of my close friends, too, via the Internet. Wren tells me he is inspired. Alex spoke of a dream he had one night, in which he tries to track me down in a rowboat, getting all the way to the Faroe Islands, which in his dream were called the Falklands, funnily. Elias speaks of his plans to do a miniature version of my trip, but in Sweden. Cyprian, Harrison seem impressed by my land speed record. Their recognition is invaluable to me. I feel elated, and optimistic.

Hellissandur. Beauty of the world. Tue 21.05

Scientists of the brain are people who have found a way to turn a profit off of looking into a mirror. This thought occurs to me on the beaches of Hellissandur, now spelt correctly, off a good 2 cups of coffee, an entire pack of McVities‘s dark chocolate digestives, three hard boiled eggs, some porridge, a menthol cigarette, and 130μg of LSD. Perhaps I’d better wait for those to wear off before I’m to continue describing. 

Today, I met a traveller from an active land. Among Hellissandur’s many small fishing huts and the vast fields of jagged rocks, fresh from within, a couple small rows of houses and sheds, old warehouses and workshops which, now disused, are the canvases of many artists choice. Beautiful murals decorate walls. Faces, birds, legends, blood and deceit. I walk to a small house with a handmade sweater shaped and set up toward travellers to the entrance of a tiny four square meter shop run by a German woman by name of Sylvane Scharapenko. She told the story of moving her family to Iceland after reaching the conclusion that the “Hamsterrädchen” of modern society could not be fulfilling for all time. I am also greeted by her son, a man roughly my age, and both were impressed at my choice of vehicle. They kindly gave me some fish they caught, which I fried up into some pasta for a delicious lunchtime.

As I returned from a long walk on the Black Gold beaches near the radio mast, I noticed two bags of treats on the bench near my tent. A gift from two campers, well on their way by then, who I had a brief conversation with the evening before. Claire & Ellie; Americans really are the kindest people alive.

One other thing I noticed about the campsite is that there are a lot of Germans here, disproportionately more than I would’ve expected to meet.

The weather rears its head. Wed 22.05

Spending another night in Hellissandur. This morning I ran into Patrick again as he repaired a part of the outside sink, and he explained that the weather was likely to deteriorate considerably. 

“Fair enough“, I thought, optimistic about the excuse to stay around here while longer, especially because Patrick had offered me a discount for the extra night, citing an intervention of a higher power; nothing I could avoid. They really are some kind souls here in Hellissandur.

Unfortunately, despite a marked lack of rain, the wind is so strong that I am unable/unwilling to leave the campsite common room. Maybe a day for the museum?

There is not much to say of today thus far, as I have only been sitting here, eating and reading. Can’t all happen at once, I tell myself, but of course, if I lose close to a week here waiting for conditions to improve, it will be unfortunate.

Upcoming storm. Thu 23.05

Eight days left this May. Scarcely believable. One additional night in Hellissandur. Nice enough here, but I am getting tired of eating digestives and sitting in the common room kitchen.

I should spend the latter half of this excursion trying to return to the ring road, probably by getting to Bifröst. The way back will include a trip to Stykkisholmur, where I might become reunited with my bike lock, lost almost an entire week ago.

A voice in my head is nagging me, telling me to get moving sooner, but I am certain that staying here was the right decision. My preparations for the weather included a barrier of rocks to prevent wind from getting under and uprooting the main material.

Storm. Fri 24.05.

The night was interesting. I dreamt I was back in some version of home, albeit with very different inner furnishings and outdoor architecture. Throughout the night, I began lucid dreaming, incorporating the sounds of rain and wind attacking the tent into a plate of dimly lit phantoms, set in eigengrau.

I awoke twice during the night. As I fell asleep to SAW vol. 2, my first end to end listen of the record, it was already lightly raining. At around 230, the show truly began; the side of the tent serving as its entrance was the least well tensioned out of the six faces. It’s slapped and bounced against all the items in the storage gap behind it, spraying them lightly.

As I woke the second time, some five hours later, the intensity had somewhat decreased, but now a small part of the tent stood at the edge of a large puddle which had formed overnight. I find myself checking the precipitation report/forecast to try to predict whether or not my sleeping bag will become drenched.

I have a feeling that this storm will be the last real challenge that this trip will pose me, because everything after will feel within my capabilities once this is withstood.

Birds frantically chirp outside as I write. The winds blow them towards Greenland, into the eye of the storm.

Once this cloud has emptied itself, which is said to be this midnight, the strong winds which will push it for a couple hours longer, will hopefully dry the tent somewhat. I will not be able to get moving today, but tomorrow I simply must. Five nights spent at Hellissandur are more than enough, nice as this place is. I have some distance across after all! I doubt that “Blönduós or bust” will come to fruition, but at least I will see a brand-new lava flow.

*later* Patrick’s offer to come crash on his couch becomes the only option, as I am forced to disassemble my tent to avoid its complete flooding. Luckily, the only real water ingress happened after I had already moved my most important equipment under the roof area of the campsite, and I also managed to get my tent inside and outside very dry, considering the severity of the water stresses it was exposed to. Still damp, but workable.

The weather is meant to persist at this sort of type until Sunday, so in two nights I will hopefully be cycling once more. Of course, it would be a true privilege to have a windstill week as we enter summer, but I tell myself explicitly that even if it continues to rain like this until the very day the ferry sets off, I will still have had my fair share of amazing experiences here in Iceland, and plenty to tell when I get home. I don’t know how much talking I will do, though.

*later* now at Patrick’s. A very relaxed evening spent drinking good, hot coffee, eating microwaved food, and accompanying Patrick to his early evening duties at the two campsites that he operates. Beer afterwards.

Patrick is a German in his late 30s who moved to Iceland eight years ago, having lived in many places around the world doing various different things.

The most inspiring thing about him is his passion for humanity in spite of, or perhaps even precisely because of, various hardships. As a child he lived in the east, he was six years old when the iron curtain fell.

His experience gives a staggering perspective and invaluable insight into how diverse life path can really be, and how different people deal with the various shortcomings of modern society, what they may. If only for his sake, I must visit Iceland again to say hi. He let me use his extremely well fitted bathroom.

Last days in Hellissandur. Sat 25.05

Only 12 days left on this journey. I had better figure out how to get the last set of journal entries published before taking the ferry again. 

Patrick is letting me stay another night, for the wind is still strong despite the cessation of rain. The bins in the driveway of Patrick’s home are tied to a small hoop shaped section of fence to avoid being carried away by these gusts. Patrick lives in a wood house which audibly creeks and strains under this weather.

The short drive to the supermarket in Olafsvík takes us past a massive mesa with waterfalls, the wind so strong that these seem to fall upwards into the sky. This gale whips the sea into a pale mist above the surface, even the ponds lining the road are heavily combed. A distance which would scarcely take more than five minutes by car would easily take an hour with perfect headwind today. No use cycling. With his excellent music taste, Patrick’s home is a welcome stead.

Patrick has cooked us a tremendous pasta dish with traditional icelandic meatballs. Every house here has a treasure trove of a freezer, he tells me, which is to ensure that every house is sufficiently stocked in the event of supply interruptions in winter. He also recommended I try something called “Malt og Applesínur”, a lemonade/brew which is consumed here on Easter and Christmas, especially. I also brought some fish jerky at his instructions, and to show my gratitude for his hospitality, I bought the round some cans of Icelandic pale ale, which is to be among the best beers here. The aftertaste of prohibition leads to heavy taxation on the; Patrick says the three ways of payment here are money, beer, and chocolates.

Tonight, I will be watching football with him and a good friend of his. There is food, beer, TV, Internet, coffee, truly all of the cornerstones of comfortable living. Outside, the natural landscape, the volcano, and seas harsher than any I saw while on the Norröna.