Reykjavík Grapevine - 08.02.2008, Side 41

Article | Reykjavík Grapevine | Issue 02 2008 | 21
me as I gazed at the towering cliff walls, supposed-
ly an impression of Óðinn’s horse’s hoof. No rea-
son not to believe this particular myth, especially
on a day when I was virtually the only visitor in
the park. This feeling of being utterly alone contin-
ued as I headed down through the park, passing
through a desolate landscape whose features (or
lack of) help one understand why it was the per-
fect place for training NASA astronauts.
Naturally, the thunderous waterfall, Det-
tifoss, demanded a stop. This is a breathtaking
natural monument, unlike anything I’ve ever
seen. The most powerful waterfall in Europe lived
up to its name. It seemed that Dettifoss’s show of
strength challenged the elements to step up and
prove their mettle, as the wind fought me every
step of the way to the rocky edge far above the
river.
Back in the car, safe from the wind, a curi-
ous soundtrack of what I can only describe as
field recordings of Icelandic children playing and
chattering greeted my ears. I headed south into
driving rain, and before long I was safely back
on the Ring Road. From here, my destination lay
westward towards Myvatn. First up, though, a stop
at Krafla, an active volcano near an active geo-
thermal power station, as well as the incredibly
stinky bubbling mud of Hverir. The gut-wrenching
stench here and the icy rain coming down forced
me to cut this stop short, as I also wanted to see
some of the lakeside sights before dark.
I rolled into Reykjahlíð about two hours be-
fore dusk, stopping at the sensibly named Hotel
Reykjahlíð, where I’d be spending the night. The
constant supply of complimentary coffee in the
dining room was welcoming and inviting. To top
it off, the excellent dinner of Arctic char I would
indulge in later that night made this an excellent
choice of accommodation in the area. Racing to
beat the oncoming night, I made my way down
the eastern shore of the lake, stopping at amazing
natural tourist sites like Dimmuborgir and Hverf-
jall, remnants of the powerful volcanic activity
that has taken place here over the centuries. At
this point, the nasty cold I was battling seemed
to be winning the fight, so I decided that the only
remedy would be a stop at the Jarðböðin nature
baths, a sort of smaller-scale and less flashy ver-
sion of the infamous Blue Lagoon. My visit here
was pure bliss, as I spent almost an hour soaking
in the slick, geothermal, hot water and sauna, as
the cold rain pissed down from the skies. The
woman at the front desk even offered me a free
towel for my visit, good-naturedly indulging my
assumption that they were included in the cost of
entry (about 1100 kr).
But the highlight of this night would come
after dinner back at the hotel, when I had my first
encounter with the Northern Lights. The only
other guests staying there, a vacationing British
couple, and I scurried outside to revel in the beau-
ty of the drifting fields of light sweeping overhead
against the dropping temperature and a sky that
was finally clearing up. This was a nightcap better
than a potent shot of Brennivin.
Húsavík, Without Phallus
By morning, the temperature had dropped to
nearly 0 degrees Celsius, but I resolved to bundle
up and explore the rest of the lake. I made my
way down to the southern shores, and took a
hike through the pseudocraters near Skútustaðir,
whimpering as my Southern California-weakened
constitution dealt with an icy wind chill factor.
From there, I headed over to climb Vindbelgjar,
a smallish peak that rises about 530 metres above
the lake. Again, the wind and cold proved to be al-
most unbearable, and I literally cursed and swore
my way up the mountain. But the view made it
well worth it, as the clear morning air allowed me
to see for kilometres in every direction.
From here, I headed north to the small town
of Húsavík, where I had only one goal: to visit the
famed Phallological Museum. To my dismay, I ar-
rived to a note pinned to the door saying that the
museum was closed for the season. The owner
left his number to call if one really, really wanted
to get in, so I did, but he was out of town for the
next few days. I headed down to Akureyri, the last
stop of my trip and Iceland’s second-largest city.
My accommodations here were at Gistiheimilið
Gula Villan, a sort of dormitory-style arrangement
with a shared kitchen and bathroom that seems to
be popular with students who are attending uni-
versity in the city.
After wandering around for several hours,
seeing the few sights there are to see, I met up with
two students, Balli and Bjarni. We walked down to
Strikið, a rooftop restaurant overlooking the har-
bour, where we indulged in pizza and a couple of
Vikings. After establishing an acceptable level of
inebriation to break down social barriers with my
new friends, we headed over to a local bar called
Café Amour, where a bunch of students were
drinking after attending a lecture. Rounds came
and went in a blur, and before long we stumbled
over to some underground club which I believe
was underneath an art museum… but here things
become slightly hazy. I do remember a bunch of
musicians and artists, thick clouds of cigarette
smoke, good Icelandic rock music, and more beer.
Before long, it was time to head back to my room
to fortify myself with some water and sleep before
an extremely early departure the next morning for
my drive to the airport and my flight back to the
States.
My final day of driving was definitely the
longest and most tedious, although I did make
several stops and detours along the way at various
churches and vistas (including one unexpected
stop in suddenly blizzard-like conditions). Al-
though the main focus of this final leg of my jour-
ney was to not miss my flight, I had ample time
to reflect upon my four days travelling around
this beautiful country, and the soundtracks that
accompanied me along the way. This was truly
the perfect wind-down after the hectic musical
debauchery of Iceland Airwaves, and I can’t wait
to explore parts of the country that I missed if I’m
lucky enough to come back for another round this
year.
Text by Jonah Flicker
– Part Two
EDDAS AND SAGAS
Iceland’s national treasures
The Culture House - Þjóðmenningarhúsið
National Centre for Cultural Heritage
Hverfi sgata 15, 101 Reykjavik
Tel.: +354 545 1400, www.thjodmenning.is
Open daily between 11am and 5pm
The admission fee grants entry to all exhibitions at the Culture House. Adults ISK 300. Senior citizens ISK 200.
Students ISK 200. Free entry for children 16 years of age or younger. Admission is free on Wednesdays.
An open guided tour of the Manuscripts exhibition is offered every weekday except Wednesdays at 3:30 pm.
MEDIEVAL MANUSCRIPTS – EDDAS AND SAGAS. EXHIBITION AT THE CULTURE HOUSE.