Reykjavík Grapevine - 24.08.2012, Blaðsíða 44

When I met Jón Bjarki six years ago, we talked
about the idea that our countries knew a sort
of mutual loneliness. Both strung out in absent
parts of the ocean, they barely know one another.
But Iceland and Australia possess inescapable
similarities. Our penchant for coastal living, for
instance, our empty lands that sprawl for miles,
alive, haunting, and irregular. We occupy little
space in the minds of others and our people
engender a historic apprehension of the land.
Perhaps a harsh land breeds a resilient people.
Yes, we are closer than we think.
Over two weeks, my ‘tour guide’ and close
friend Jón Bjarki takes me on a tour de force road
trip into the highlands, bound for the black desert
of Sprengisandur. Our aim is to go wild, to subvert
typical tourist routes, to feel ‘lost.’

Driving into virginal isolation
Four-wheel driving in Iceland is rife with thrills;
it is no easy feat. Even the most well primed
jeep will feel the pressure and we feel anxious
as we settle into the nascent stages of our trip.
We cross from the Ring Road onto Fjallabaksleið
syðri, and the road is as un-refined as roads
come: extremely narrow, loose gravel, and littered
with big rocks and potholes.
We knit our way through green paddocks and
up into wandering valleys. Free roaming sheep
graze far and wide and demarcations to the land,
such as fences, seem non-existent, something
that drives the impression of virginal isolation.
The Icelandic landscape is ever changing; we
pass through snow capped mountains that give
way to muddy expanses of sodden sand.
As we drive into the night, the sky grows
dull and scattered rivers and puddles of water
are illuminated. Here we are faced with our first
river crossing, a monstrous thing at least two
and a half feet deep. Every crossing is a risk and
one must proceed with caution and supplies
and ropes in case something goes wrong. I find
myself gripping the dash and short of breath as
we heave the jeep into the gushing waters. We
take it slow, hobbling and heaving over loose
rocks at her bottom, and I can see that Jón Bjarki
is breaking a sweat behind the wheel. We make it,
thank god and hope the river’s geniality is a sign
of things to come.
From here, we continue along the west side of
Katla, the infamous volcano that lies underneath
the Mýrdalsjökull glacier. The beast looms like the
elephant in the room, so to speak, and as I watch
the piquant sun bathe her in light I am struck by
just how precarious a little world Iceland really is.
We spend our first night camping under a moun-
tain by the name of Strútur and wake to angelic,
emerald surrounds.
Words and photos Mia Wotherspoon
At just about 17,000 kilometres and 30 hours of flying time from Mel-
bourne, Iceland isn’t the most obvious destination for a road trip. But
Iceland sponsors sights and experiences that are truly unique to the
island and I am conscious of its inimitable value.
44 The Reykjavík GrapevineIssue 13 — 2012TRAVEL
Destination Desolation
A road trip to the black desert of Sprengisandur
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How to get there?
It seemed like most of the effort was just driving here, but the walk amongst the
desolate moonscape of the Icelandic Interior was only about 10-15 minutes each way.
Distance?
8 hours 43 min.
500 Kms
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