Day 3 - The Sickening Amount of Kodak Moments in the Eastfjords and the Douchebag Truckers of Iceland

Day 3

Svartifoss, Jökulsárlón, Hot-pots in Hoffell, Djúpivogur and Seyðisfjörður



Svartifoss

We woke up the next morning at Skaftafell, enjoying the view of the mountain peaks yet again. Before we left, we decided to head into the Vatnajökull National Park to see Svartifoss, or the Black Falls. After a short hike early in the morning we arrived at the waterfall. Quite the black view.

 We took the usual foss-selfi and headed back. Another waterfall passed on the way, but this one much smaller and less impressive. (As can be seen on our foss-selfi.)


Disgust with the inferior fall.

The first destination of the day would be that of the Glacier Lagoon, Jökulsárlón in Icelandic. (Pure mumbo-jumbo.) The drive was filled with the characteristic landscape of South Iceland, big mountain peaks and glaciers on the left and endless plains on the right.
We arrived at the Glacier Lagoon and went out to explore the mysterious Lagoon. To be honest, the Jökulsárlón is just a lake with big chunks of ice from the nearby glacier floating around. That is it. But I'd be damned if it wasn't some of the most entrancing scenery I've seen in Iceland.
The ice chunks had a magical blue light and we enjoyed a walk around the lakeside and then left.

Glacier Lagoon, chunks of ice in water. Simple.

We drove off towards the East Fjords, but we didn't really have any destination in mind. All we knew was that we really didn't wanna pay for a campsite again, but we didn't wanna get hunted down either.
Before we left Reykjavik I had went into full planning mode with very large maps and a plethora of guide books. Jakob did not share my enthusiasm regarding this aspect of the trip. I had, however, listed every single natural hot-pot on my map on beforehand and we were nearing one of them. So we stopped at Hoffell, a small little village in the middle of nothing. Vast emptiness towards the ocean and the mountains on our sides. We found the amazing hot-pots, consisting of a couple of small hot pools with a shack for changing. We relaxed in the hot water to the sound of the wind and banter from a couple of American tourists.

"Where the midnight sun and the hot springs flow."

The South had risen and we were ready to leave it behind in all its nature-filled glory. The mountains started getting darker and darker and suddenly we were driving through a tunnel and then we were in the East Fjords!
The road was carved into the mountain side as we drove with the blue ocean on our right side and crippling heights at our left.

We arrived at Djúpivogur, a small town by the sea and found a café to rest and obtain the much needed Wi-Fi. After a cop of coffee and a Panini, we moved on towards wherever we could sleep. 

It's a long way down if you wanna drive fast.


What followed next can be described as driving through one big fucking National Geographic shoot. We were presented with a sickening amount of picture opportunities. (Something which I took use of too many times, straight out of the car window while driving.)


Jakob inspecting the damages of the Douchebag Truckers of Iceland

It was like driving through the collected Instagram photos of a thousand tourists. The beauty was amazing as we drove along the big wide fjords in the most lovely weather. We were assured that grand beauty like this could not last. And it did not.
Suddenly we noticed huge dust clouds on the other side of the fjord. The car hit gravel road as the big object was closing in. Then it hit us, a huge truck train, (several trucks) was headin' our way with at least 100kmh on damn gravel road. The gravel was flying through the air like bullets as the first one passed us. And our paranoia for our windshield grew for each passing truck. The douchebag truckers of Iceland showed no damn remorse for our poor Red Shark.

We found it interesting how we were not passed by any trucks until that point, like it was some kind of East Icelandic Conspiracy. (Tinfoil hat off.)
The rest of the trip proceeded with amazing views of the Fjords and trying to avoid splatting sheep. Those pesky animals just waited for the chance to end their life at our poor car's expense. The reindeer we saw were more cautious.

Money shot

We finally hit the road that led into the country and away from the amazing reindeer-filled Fjords, but we did not miss it for long. Soon after we hit the main city (a small town in any other country) Egilsstadir, and turned East again for the small quirky village of Seyðisfjörður. (Also the place where the ferries from Norway and Denmark arrives.)


Driving down to the village of Seyðisfjörður

To get there we drove way too high up (Us Danes have a small tolerance for heights.) to cross what seemed to be a mountain. The view from the top was breathtaking looking down into the valley of Egillstadir with the sun setting over the mountains.
We started driving down the slopes to Seyðisfjörður late evening (23:00). We arrived at the small town and decided to drive out of town on the southern road to find a good (Meaning free) camping site. Thanks to Jakob's excellent ability to stop the car at the right place, we found a superb spot. (All this despite my growing fear of being hunted away by a crazy shotgun-wielding Icelandic farmer or having the tent eaten by sheep. Actually both.)
We settled down for the night at the Fjords and cooked the usual Tex-Mex pot. (At this point we were practically living off snacks and rice, adulting the right way!)
Next morning would lead us Beyond the Wall up to Northern Iceland

Our campsite for the night, beautiful and free! (Don't inform the authorities about that)

Day 2 - French Film Crews and the Benefits of Speaking the Most Useless Language in the Western Hemisphere

Day 2

Sólheimasandur, Dyrhólaey, Kirkjubærklaustur and Skaftafell

We woke up to the gushing sounds of the nearby Skógarfoss. (Or, I woke up and in all my mercy decided not to wake Jakob up) I quickly got up to see the foss in all its wet glory. However to my dismay, busses loaded with battalions of tourists had started to arrive. I took this as a fine indicator to pack up and leave for our next destination. (I don’t abhor tourists, just everything they bring with them e.g. ridiculous puffin-themed shops, abundances of hotels and destruction of local culture. Of course the irony is quite clear as we ourselves were tourists, however, 5 months of living in Reykjavik had made us into burning Icelandic nationalists, and there wasn’t any other topic that could bring the Icelanders together as well as the horrors of tourist legions and how they ruined the country with all their money).
I woke up Jakob and started packing down the tent as he went to the loo. He returned with a look of bafflement and slight anger in his face. Apparently he had been ambushed by the so-called caretaker of the campsite. As he walked out of the toilet house, she ascended on him and demanded tribute for us using the campsite, something that had not been stated when we arrived. So much for the open-air act.
We left Skógarfoss enraged by the greed of the caretaker. We were promised free camping, or had thought so. We had much to learn about camping in Iceland.

Our first destination of the day would be the old US. Navy plane crash site at Sólheimasandur. We quickly arrived after driving the vast landscapes of the South. This scenery was characterized by a wall of huge black mountains on our right and long black beaches at the end of desert-like wasteland. At times it felt as we were in Mad Max, just with less Mel Gibson and more lunatics behind wheels.

Jakob starring in Mad Max: Icelandic Road Annoyance

It turned out to be a 8km walk back and forth to the plane crash. The walk through the solitary plains was commenced by a man approaching us and with a heavy French accent telling us that they were filming for a series and we could only see the plane from a distance of 150m. We decided to take the walk anyway, at worst we could always yell obscenities at the film crew aimed at their country's film industry. 

Oh so Noir or whatever.

We arrived and saw the old plane crash from 1973 flanked by French people. After taking some photos we decided to scramble since the wind was harsh and the take looked boring. So much for French avant-garde. (We presume dthat was the style of the film due to our limited knowledge of French film industry)

We walked the lonely road back to the Great Red Shark (Our Hyundai, I can dream) and prepared to go to the next picturesque site: Dyrhólaey.

Dyrhólaey is a nice rocky plateau where you can enjoy the view of black beaches and the ocean. There should apparently also be a rich birdlife, something which we didn't quite observe at the time. (In honesty, we were still looking for the damn puffins, but they were nowhere to be seen) It is also possible to see the black-sand beach of Reynisfjara, a dangerous place. Not long ago, the waves had swept a Chinese tourist away due to his lack of attention, something a local Icelandic comedian had dubbed Chinese Take Away. (Disclaimer: Not my joke)

The view from Dyrhólaey

Our next destination was that of Kirkjubærklaustur (try say that out loud). On our way we passed the cute little town of Vík, nothing noteworthy, but a pretty little dwelling on the south coast. We grabbed a panorama shot and drove on into the emptiness of Southern Iceland.

 

On our way to Kirkjubærklaustur (I, too, wonder how the hell they name these places) we passed through the Eldhraun, or the lava stream. (Solidified of course, this ain't Indiana Jones) The endless fields of solidified lava was an extraordinary view and gave an almost science-fiction-like feel.

Eldhraun, lava, but cooler.

 We arrived at Kirkjubærklaustur (it's starting to feel like a bad joke repeating this name) and made stop at the info center. For the fun/politeness of it, I asked what language they 'd prefer conversing in, whether it be English, Danish or Russian, to my surprise they choose Danish. My hopes started running high that this could be the way to unlock local secrets as the language could create a more intimate bond between me and the Icelanders. It did not. I got a fine walkthrough of the area, a map and the info, that the local waterfall was "turned off". (Her Danish was excellent except for this, but I cannot blame her. They get forced to learn the most useless language in the Western Hemisphere, and just the fact she wanted to speak it yielded gratuitous amounts of respect from me)
Jakob and I set out to hike the area and was not disappointed. We quickly got up on the hillside and was presented by a magnificent view of the coastline. On the other side was a small cozy lake and a few exotic birds. The hike was an hour and excellent after sitting in the car. We drove off to our last destination of the day: Skaftafell. 

Jakob showing the elegance of a Dane in altitudes.

The drive to Skaftafell was of course pretty despite us getting dangerously accustomed to spectacular views. A small waterfall Foss á Sidu presented us with the opportunity of yet another foss-selfi. We were really getting into the whole social-media-attention-whoring-culture of our generation. 
After an hour of driving we came to the small green pocket that was Skaftafell, gracefully placed at the foot of the Vatnajökull National Park and surrounded by mountains and glaciers. (The highest peak of Iceland is right next to it.) The car got parked at the Visitor Center and I headed in to enquire about camping. I was tired and tried shamelessly to hear if free camping in the area was a possibility. The clerk would have none of that. I was told that it was illegal and we would've been hunted down like wild animals. I did not doubt her. It was apparent that our plan of camping in the wild wherever we found the most picturesque spot was slowly going down the drain. I gave up and went back to the car to get the money for a campsite. During the details of camping I had to state where we were from and suddenly the before-threatening clerk switched over in Danish and the atmosphere got both better and quite more strange. The poor woman had spent 5 years of her life studying to become a music-therapist in Aalborg. After hearing that I felt nothing, but compassion for her. (Sorry to my friends living in Aalborg, Im sure it has gotten better, but 5 years in a city like Aalborg could break any nature-accustomed Icelander.) I got the sticker for the tent after a 10min conversation with the Danish speaking clerk. (Mainly me declaring my sympathy)

Cooking beneath Mt. Hvannadalshnúkur.

Jakob and I then proceeded to find the most beautiful camping site and put up the tent. We cooked our Tex-Mex Pot to the view of the most grand peaks of Iceland. The food was all right, but the view even better. A nice end to a long day of road trippin'.

Next day would show us the rest of the South and the entrance to the Eastfjords. 

Mt. Hvannadalshnúkur - Highest peak of Iceland, also the hardest to pronounce.

 

Day 1: Vertigo Islands and the Beginning of the Foss- Selfi-Culture

Day 1
Westmannaeyjar 

 

It all started with me waking up at Jakob’s place 8:00 clock for the trip. I had gotten somewhere between 6-8 hours sleep from the night before due to a couple of Irish tourists deciding on a late St. Paddy’s day at my bar. I was definitely ready to leave Reykjavik and drive around the entire island on the Ring Road.

The Great Red Shark

 We grabbed our gear under the mantra: Less is more. We left our stuff at the apartment and headed down to the car rental Budget (The name clearly reflected the nature of our trip.) Me sweet talking the Lithuanian clerk in Russian didn’t yield much results besides a recitation of his favorite joke on the price not being in our native currency and therefore not more expensive. We got a new red (Another subject of humor of the clerk) Hyundai, lovely little thing with what we needed, which was an AUX cable to avoid Icelandic radio. Icelandic radio will play you the same 7 hits during an hour and then fill the rest of time with what I presume is entertainment. It is therefore not very advisable.
We headed out of Reykjavik blasting what some online magazine had celebrated as the 50 Ultimate Roadtrip songs! First stop of the day would be the Westmannaeyjar (Westmann islands) where we would spend the day exploring the island. After a quick grocery stop at Bonus in Hveragerdi (The main grocery chain of Iceland) where supplies were gathered, we set off for the ferry at Landeyhöfn. The weather was horrible as fog enclosed the landscape with occasional showers. However, the weather got better when we got to the ferry as Icelandic weather changes in matters of minutes.  

The trip over to the islands was beautiful with the black islands getting closer. It felt like sailing into a pirate cove, except for the lack of pirate ships and an abundance of trawlers. (The port of Heimaey in the Westmannaeyjar is one of the most important fishing harbors of Iceland) We got off the boat and found a café where we obtained maps of the island. Since both Jakob and I are from one the flattest countries in the world, we decided on climbing the tallest mountain there. (It might have been a hill to Icelanders, but for Danes it was a different story.) The ascent of Heimaklettur was filled with small steps, ladders and other unpleasant contraptions for people, who call a hill of 147m the Sky Mountain.(Heimaklettur is 286m) We stopped at what we would call the summit and enjoyed the mandatory Skyr snack.

The terror in our eyes is evident up on Heimaklettur

 

 

After we got down from what could have been the end of us, we decided to climb yet another moutain. This time the ascent was much easier and we quickly reached the top of Blátindur and enjoyed the beautiful view of the city and island.



Jakob enjoying the view. In a safe manner at Blátindur.

After our second mountain of the day (quite the feat for a couple of flatland Danes) we concluded that the island had nothing more to offer. We found a local restaurant known for their use of fresh produce (Subway) and enjoyed a sub and free refills of the Fanta-copy-yet-superior Appelsin Soda. As we were ordering suddenly we found ourselves surrounded by a flock of local teenagers craving food, but straight after our order they ran out of bread. A quite imperative ingredient of Subway.
Living on an island is tough indeed.


Jakob enjoying the last sub on the Westmann Islands.

We parted with the isles of Puffins (we didn't see one single of those damn birds) and had a relaxing trip back to the mainland.
We got into the car and blasted our roadtrip-music. It had at this point become clear that the main portion of the trip would become one long carpool karaoke, something we were strangely comfortable with.
The clock was 9:00PM and we were heading for Seljavallalaug, where a hot-pot was located and a possible campsite could be occupied. Nearly immediately after the ferry we passed Seljafoss, a big waterfall. Both Jakob and I were strangers to the whole selfi-culture, but decided that being young in the 21st century required us to partake in it. With this started the Foss-Selfi-Culture, a tradition where we would take selfis at every single foss/waterfall.


Young, free and somewhat wild

It was getting dark as we arrived at Seljavallalaug. (Or as dark as it gets, since Iceland in the summer enjoys Midnight Sun. At this time it wasn't quite at full strength, but enough to fuck greatly with your day rhythm.) First thing we noticed was a No Camping sign, so we would have to move on after bathing in the hot-pot. After a 10 minute walk we arrived at the old pool from 1923 filled with natural hot spring water. (Since our budget was low, these hot-pots would serve as our main source of hygiene) We quickly dived in and enjoyed the hot water and the surroundings in the little river valley that surrounded the pool. 


Bathing in Seljavallalaug

We walked back to the car while pondering about where to sleep. Hearing about the Open Air Act which should give us the right to camp wherever we wanted, we headed out of the Ring Road.
It was getting late (00:00) and desperation was starting to show.
Finally Skogarfoss appeared, a large waterfall with a campsite beneath it. We were amazed by the prime location of the campsite and marveled of it being free! We quickly set up the tent, decided it was too late for cooking (We had been hardcore snacking on chocolate crackers anyway. We were indeed adults) and went to sleep to the sound of the bouldering waterfall. Next day would take us through the rest of the South.

Skogarfoss