Reykjavík Grapevine - 24.08.2012, Page 45

45 The Reykjavík GrapevineIssue 13 — 2012TRAVEL
Through green pastures and springs, we hike
for about two hours to a legendary hot spring
called Strútslaug. The spring is rarely overcrowd-
ed and is one of the few hot springs completely
untouched by amenities, tents and pipes. We
soak aching muscles and look out to a sultry tur-
quoise lake beyond the mountains; this is easily a
hidden paradise and we are not yet two days in.
Finding a tucked-away trinket
From Strútslaug we take the Fjallabaksleið nyrðri
route and head for the popular hiking spot, Land-
mannalaugar. In a last minute decision—a bloody
good one—we take a detour to the Langisjór lake.
This lonely road takes us through the first of the
wastelands that we’ll encounter further north.
These are the beginnings of Iceland’s badlands,
famed for their deep corporeal nothingness,
bleak and evocative. Jón tells me tales of ancient
outlaws that inhabited these areas in decades
passed and after hours of roaming through
otherworldly craters I begin to grow uneasy, as
if the landscape is giving way to some nagging
disquiet within.
Langisjór lake is one of the true trinkets of
this country. A sanctuary only accessible by
four-wheel drive, it is situated far from civilization
at the southwest border of Vatnajökull, Iceland’s
largest glacier. Surrounded by lonely green walls,
layers of mist and vibrant, fluorescent moss,
this is the kind of spot that will make you grieve
for nothing at all. I can’t help feeling like I’ve
stumbled upon a lost paradise. The only human
we see is the caretaker. We pass him two days
later on our way to Landmannalaugar and he
waxes lyrical about the toils tourism has taken on
parts of the island.
Landmannalaugar, a meeting spot for camp-
ers, hikers and tourists, is a busy expanse of, well,
tents suffering from what can only be described
as an unfortunate dose of co-dependence. The
hot spring at the edge of the site is packed full of
bodies and I find it difficult to relax without think-
ing of skins cells.
We reluctantly spend the night here, do a
short hike and then scuttle toward Sprengisandur
for more deserted landscapes.
Sprengisandur runs north through the middle
of the island between glaciers Hofsjökull and
Vatnajökull. An ancient and infamous highway,
it refers also to the bleak and barren desert that
spans every which way for hundreds of kilome-
tres. Sprengisandur fascinates me most about
this beautiful country, perhaps because it defies
traditional concepts of beauty—though beautiful
it is—and forces me to experience the darker side
of the island.
The land is mostly lifeless and black; only
where there is water can sparse vegetation be
found. And of course, there are no sheep, which
in itself feels strange. The gravel road is challeng-
ing to navigate due to endless rocks and crevices
and is impassable for half of the year due to snow
and floodwaters. When the weather is warm, the
glacial melt water increases and the rivers swell,
much as they do when it rains. Jeeps must cross
these rivers regularly which makes the weather a
prime consideration for those wanting to take the
journey.
The grandeur of nothingness
As I drive through the black desert I cannot
help compare it with the Australian outback. It
is not hot nor crimson nor brown and suffocat-
ing; here things are eerie and disarming. The
black rock and volcanic ash make this an almost
apocalyptic experience and I am conscious of the
need to let the landscape take me somewhere.
Sprengisandur presents no signifiers; nothing
for human consciousness to grab hold of and in
this, the challenge becomes psychological. The
mind must allow itself to become a part of the
landscape, to become still.
After a few hours, we take a detour off the
gravel path and stop on a hill to watch Hofsjökull
glacier, aloof and paternal in the distance. We
open a bottle of wine and grill our lamb. The air
is silent and still and the sky, translucent. This is
the essence of why we came, to feel the grandeur
of nothingness. We watch the sun set over the
arid sands and then set up our camp; it takes
some time to etch our pegs into the hardy rock
beneath. As Jón fills my head with old folk tales
I learn that these old superstitions are a part of
the reason this forbidding land appeals to me. I
dream of ghosts and giants, elves and outlaws
and pay tribute to the few who dared use this
route in centuries past.
As we head off the next day bound for
Siglufjörður, our fascinating journey through the
centre of the island feels like an initiation to other
landscapes. Just like the land, we become lost
in our own thoughts and I begin to think about
the things I might tell people on my return.
Many come to Iceland for her fjords, her
geothermal springs and geysers, her monstrous
waterfalls, rolling mountains and impressive
glaciers. But perhaps it is the forgotten desert
that offers the adventurer that extra mile—no pun
intended—on the Iceland experience. I encourage
others to embrace Sprengisandur and bewilder
themselves. But go with adequate supplies, an-
other human being and a good dose of courage,
for this is not for the faint at heart
We drove far. With a grand total of 2135 km’s over 2 weeks, we were deter-
mined to sample the best of the island’s hot springs. And we did. Each had its
own quirks but only one was perfect. Find our pick of the pack below.
Strútslaug
A two-hour hike from
Mt. Strútur, this is
by far the most idyllic and
untouched of them all! Simply
paradise—this is not to be
missed.
Hveravellir
Off Kjalvegur moun-
tain road, next to a
huge geo-thermal field, and
equipped with a camping
spot, this pot is in a geo-
thermal paradise—don’t forget
your camera.
Laugafell
At the north end of
Sprengisandur, this pot
is currently undergoing some
unsightly renovations but
once finished will be a good
camping stop over when trav-
elling north. The pool itself is
beautifully made.
The Shark Pool
Nestled in amongst a
coastal rock wall, we
called this unofficial (secret)
hot pot the shark pool
because of the surrounding
area, Hákarlavogur, is well
known for hunting shark.
Inside the airport, next to the
town of Gjögur, this pot is
technically private property.
We snuck in (shhhh..) but I
cannot condone this! You’d
best ask permission at the
airport security gate first.
krossneslaug
This pool in the Stran-
dir area has been
used for decades to teach
local kids to swim. Whilst
this has great facilities and
is a huge size, it is more of a
swimming pool and may be
too cold to bathe in at night.
Landmannalaugar
Come one, come all!
The surrounds are
stunning and the facilities
fabulous but be warned, if
you don’t like bathing with the
hoards this pot is probably
not for you.
Hot Pot Anyone?
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