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.