Date traveled: February 21-22, 2017
On the third day of an Icelandic road trip, we drove from the east side of the island to the north. We were gradually moving from the remotest part of the island, where some of the minimal traffic was people taking the long boat trip to Norway or Denmark, back towards the more populated west side. At the northern end there didn’t seem much going on that we could tell.
We stopped to look at these rock formations kind of like inukshuks that were used to guide travellers before highways were made. Then we stopped at one end of some kind of underground volcano that spewed sulfur in a handful of spots (the associations of sulphur with hell now make all sorts of sense – it smelled absolutely nasty).
When driving in and out of the ‘parking lot’ by the sulphur streams, the car got stuck once but it wasn’t too hard to push out. I have a vague memory of feeling proud that we managed to get unstuck. I don’t imagine calling a tow truck would’ve been easy if it came to that.
As always around there, the drive was surreal. At the most uninhabited parts of the island, the fear of being so alone and in perpetual danger adds to the look and feel of the landscape, like you’re on a frozen planet.
Looking at these pictures now, it actually looks rougher than it felt – it wasn’t that cold, from Canadian standards – but the driving conditions were frenetic. There were blizzards where you couldn’t see more than a few metres in front of you, and all around were giant snow mountains that you sometimes pass by and sometimes drive up, down, around, and even through.
There were a series of single-lane tunnels that go through mountains, which is where I received my first and only speeding ticket in my life. The speed limit signs were covered in snow, and I didn’t realize that they’d have speed cameras when you entered these tunnels that were freaky enough on their own, especially when they’re winding. You had to drive slowly around them and if a car was oncoming, one of you had to pull over to the side and wait.
When we finally arrived in the small town, we had to ask various neighbours where the guy running the airbnb was. We tried calling, knocking on doors, and eventually he showed up. It felt like such a small town thing. We did end up getting the whole hostel to ourselves for the night, not surprising considering it was February in small town Iceland.
We went for a drive scouring for the northern lights to no avail. Apparently people had been waiting all year to see them but it was too cloudy. (We did end up getting lucky the next night and seeing them for a half hour or so.) We had a drink at this fancy hotel (the only thing open after 9), and as we were leaving Cheryl asks where he thinks we’re from, and he said Canada but not because of our accents, but because all nice Americans are from Canada, to which we thanked him for confirming the stereotypes we have of ourselves.
Aside from the hotel, the other notable thing about the town was that they appear to have a disdain for playing soccer in the streets, or they’ve had significant problems with soccer-playing in the past.
Although there was nothing particular about this town worth seeing or doing, for me it serves as a representation of small town Iceland.
The fun of going to this place was in the road trip and being such a stranger in the place. It was the feeling of being in-between when you’re already so far away. It felt as much like I was on another planet compared to almost anywhere I’ve been, and it’s funny thinking about it, that in this case I was the alien.
describing space 