Reykjavík Grapevine - 11.01.2008, Blaðsíða 38

22 | Reykjavík Grapevine | Issue 01 2008 | Article
Jonah Flicker came to Reykjavík for the 2007 Ice-
land Airwaves festival. After a long weekend of
too much booze and music and too little sleep, he
set out to see the rest of the country.
Five nights of Iceland Airwaves will wear you
down, mentally and physically. Don’t get me
wrong; as an avid music fan and critic who tends
to avoid the festival circuit, Airwaves stands out
as manageable, engaging, unpredictable, and a
whole lot of fun. But five consecutive nights of
live music, hopping from venue to venue, writ-
ing show reviews at 2am, and drinking ‘til dawn
takes its toll. This year, however, I was prepared,
and had already planned the perfect post-Air-
waves come-down.
Instead of hopping on a plane and dealing
with the seven-hour time difference between LA
and Reykjavik on top of a raging hangover and
a worsening cold, I climbed in a Ford Explorer
and drove around Iceland’s Ring Road. Over the
course of four nights and five days, I witnessed
some of the most spectacular scenery I’ve ever
seen. And it was made all the better by the fact
that I was travelling in Iceland’s off-season for
tourism, and ran into very few fellow travellers.
Finding yourself at the top of the awe-inspiring
Dettifoss waterfall or in the middle of the desert-
like Skeiðarársandur are moving and exciting
experiences, greatly enhanced when they’re soli-
tary endeavours with no one around for many
kilometres in any direction.
Of course, it’s not that easy to get the ringing
out of your ears after five days of aural pummel-
ling, but I found that soundtracks, both real and
imaginary, constantly played in the background
over the course of my journey. The few CDs I
carried along with me, the sporadic reception
of Icelandic radio, nature’s random murmur-
ing, and deafening silence only disturbed by
intensely powerful gusts of wind comprised the
soundtrack to this trip. Again and again, the per-
fect song (or perfect moment with absolutely no
sound at all) would pop up at just the right mo-
ment, either adding solemnity to or invigorating
an already majestic moment. Such is the power
of music.
Radio Somewhere
The trip began after a final night of debauchery
with other visiting writers at a family farmhouse
near Laugarvatn, about an hour and a half out-
side Reykjavik. I awoke to a morning of sporadic
sunshine, very welcome after the previous day’s
incessantly pounding sheets of rain. After a
morning spent cleaning up our drunken mess
and trying to get the smell of pan-fried pork out
of my hair, I hit the road for my first destinations,
Geysir and Gullfoss. Icelandic talk radio was this
morning’s soundtrack. By the end of my trip, you
would have thought that I could speak Icelan-
dic, or at least understand it, based on the many
hours I spent listening to chatter on the FM dial.
But alas, that was not to be.
Regardless, the blend of sunshine and sud-
den rainsqualls that morning resulted in some of
the most vibrant and beautiful rainbows I’ve ever
seen as I drew close to the geothermal Mecca
that is Geysir. I managed to catch several erup-
tions as I walked around the bubbling mud and
steaming vents, one of the main attractions of
the famed Golden Circle. After getting my fill of
Geysir, a quick drive brought me to Gullfoss, a
splendid waterfall that coated me with droplets
of mist as I gazed with wonder at the crashing
tumult and chewed my smoked lamb sandwich.
I then backtracked a bit and headed south to
Route 1, the Ring Road, making a detour along
the way at Skálholt, a cathedral that was seat of
a bishopric dating back to 1056 AD. The grounds
were deserted, and I soon became aware of a
strange soundtrack, the source of which took me
several minutes to identify. The wind, which buf-
feted me throughout the majority of my trip, was
whipping a line against a flagpole in the parking
lot. Ping… ping… ping… A perfect, eerie sound-
track for my solitary visit to this lonely cathe-
dral.
Suspicious Minds in Vík
After a few other stops at some of the Golden
Circle’s natural wonders, I was itching to get on
the road to see the country beyond the vicinity of
the capital. After reaching the Ring Road, I drove
though various suburban areas, including Hella
and Hvolsvöllur, before entering a relatively un-
inhabited stretch of road that passed through
lovely green farmland dotted with the occasion-
al cluster of houses.
My first stop on this leg of my trip was at Sel-
jalandsfoss, one of Iceland’s most famous water-
falls. What it lacked in width and power, it made
up for in height and background scenery. A sign
alerted me to the fact that it was possible to walk
behind the fall, but after yesterday’s non-stop
rain, I wasn’t in the mood to get wet and passed
up this opportunity. I have to admit that I regret
it now, as the view from the other side of the falls
must be incredible.
Tom Waits’ ‘16 Shells From a 30.6’ greeted
my ears as I got back in the car. His gruff voice
and junkyard arrangement seemed a perfect fit
as I passed towering cliffs with small waterfalls
blown so hard by the wind that their water de-
fied the laws of gravity and launched skyward.
A short stop at Skógafoss, a waterfall whose size
helps to hammer home just how puny we humans
are, and I was on my way to Vík, a small village
on the south coast.
Vík supposedly averages the highest rainfall
in Iceland, but I was greeted by sunshine and
relatively balmy weather of about eight degrees
Celsius. A quick drive down a dirt road brought
three rocky spires into view, known as Reynis-
drangar (aka the “Troll Rocks”), just offshore
from a beautiful black-sand beach. There didn’t
A Different Kind of Country Music
Tom Waits’ ‘16 Shells From
a 30.6’ greeted my ears as
I got back in the car. His
gruff voice and junkyard
arrangement seemed a
perfect fit as I passed tow-
ering cliffs with small wa-
terfalls blown so hard by
the wind that their water
defied the laws of gravity
and launched skyward.