(readers note: I changed the format, so the pictures follow the relevant paragraphs. Be sure to read all the way to the end. Click on any picture to see all the pictures in full size)
We check out of the Fosshotel and realized we should have
booked this place for a bunch of nights.
Pulling out we notice a waterfall right off the parking lot that we didn’t
see pulling in. Anywhere else we have ever
been, this fall would have been a main event, a destination feature all to
itself. But here in Iceland we’re
becoming jaded by the sheer number and size of them.
We’re headed to the north of Iceland and on the way we pass Vatnajokulspjodgardur, the national park where we started the glacier hike the day before (an old Islandic saying that I just made up goes “why use 4 letters when 21 will do?”) There is one hike we still want to do here. You guessed it, a steep climb to a basalt surrounded waterfall. Part of this adventure is to experience as much of Iceland’s varying landscapes as possible, to get to know the place as much as we can in 2 weeks. This landscape is different then any we have seen, more lush, as somehow some vegetation has found a way to take root and nutrients from the lava rock. The waterfall is a big semi-circle with stone columns of varying lengths that look like the layers of yarn hair on a rag doll, shorter strands across the top and longer ones framing her face. The water transforms from a seemingly calm stream to a roaring beast as it falls 80 feet, then back to serenity like nothing ever happened.
Heading further east, we pass Glacier Lagoon where we kayaked yesterday. The lagoon passes under the Highway 1 bridge and empties out into the ocean. The “smaller” chunks of ice, some still the size of a Toyota, are swept out to sea here. But like throwing a football into the ocean from the beach, oftentimes these floating chunks are washed back ashore. The result is why this stretch is called Diamond Beach, the blue and white ice in stark contrast to the deep black sand. For this reason, it’s one of the most photographed places in the country.
Continuing north, we stop in Hofn for lunch. A harbor fishing village of around 2000 people on the southeast coast, Hofn is known for cold-water langoustine. Also known as Norway lobster or Dublin Bay Prawn, it’s my favorite seafood, sweeter and more tender than shrimp or Atlantic lobster. So no, it’s not an accident that we arrive at Pakkhaus just at 1pm. Being dockside at the premier place for this premium seafood delicacy, expectations are high. The dish is served broiled, lightly seasoned and brushed with melted Icelandic butter (a delicacy in and of itself!). Nailed it! This is also our first time ordering Plokkfiskur, the traditional fish stew offered in variations in most restaurants. It’s hot, rich and tasty, a satisfying, stick-to-your-ribs comfort food that makes sense in the middle of the frigid North Atlantic.
Into the car for the final leg of today’s drive, destination Seydisfjorour on the east coast. A few minutes down the road, we see our first heard of wild reindeer. I always wondered what they did in the off season. It’s a good place for the guys when they need to get away from the ho-ho-hos.
We follow Route 1, Iceland’s main highway that rings around the entire country. At one point, 1 makes a hard right to continue following the outline of the craggy coast around the peninsulas and up and down the fjords. Google Maps takes us instead via Route 95, a straighter line that reconnects with 1. What Google maps fails to say (what it always fails to say when we adventure travel) is that a) 95 is unpaved, b) all of 95 is an insanely steep, twisty, narrow passage over an entire mountain range and c) this goes on for 40 miles. I have owned 4WD vehicles my entire life, and have logged plenty of miles off road. Readers of this blog already know that we have done unthinkable things with rental cars, including, but not limited to, driving a Suzuki SUV through a river. Twice. With all that in my repertoire, and with all the bravado that comes from being an American with an F150, this stretch of “road”, qualifies as the most butt-puckering hour I have ever spent behind the wheel. Of course, Mandy is losing her mind, so I do what men do. Stuff all that down and laugh it off in a way Burt Reynolds himself would have been proud of. Just to make things a bit more interesting, most of the road is single lane, nearly every turn is blind and the entire thing is two way traffic. If you’re keeping score, that’s 60 minutes of not knowing when another vehicle will be coming at you head on, as you navigate dirt paths with no guard rails and an average drop off of 300 feet. Against the odds and Mandy’s frequent predictions of doom we arrive back at Route 1 unscathed. Ten minutes later we turn onto Route 93, which turns out to be another mountain overpass, but at least this one is paved, so should be no problemo. Not a mile into the ascent, the snow starts falling and its accumulating fast. Mandy is literally holding her breath as we wheel through the tight turns over the apex and start our dissent. I’m not fan of our stripped-down Kia Sportage, but it’s all-wheel-drive system performs admirably and we make it surefootedly down the mountain into town.
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