Reykjavík Grapevine - 07.12.2012, Side 23

23 The Reykjavík GrapevineIssue 18 — 2012TRAVEL
pings, layer upon delicious layer of ice stacked on
top of each other. The weight of the ice pushes
down on the layers below, which then melt and
run out along the glacier tongue into a lake at the
bottom. This explanation is both informative and
mouth-watering.
As we continue traversing the glacier, I notice
how clean it is, but it wasn’t always this way. After
Eyjafjallajokull erupted in 2010 and grounded
flights across Europe, the entire glacier was black
with ash.
Curiously, the ash we’re seeing today isn’t
from Eyjafjallajökull; it’s courtesy of Katla’s last
eruption, which blackened the glacier way back
in 1918. Layers of ice froze over the top of the
ash, holding it in place before being slowly re-
leased over the last 100 years as bits of ice melt.
A collective ‘whoa’ encircles the group when we
discover the ash is one hundred years old.
Despite the relative ease of the walk, it is not
recommended to visit without a guide or group.
Conditions can change the glacier overnight,
disorienting even the most experienced moun-
taineers. Since his visit last week Arnar says the
terrain of the tongue has changed dramatically.
We learn in days of yore, this shape-shifting
landscape would bewilder neighbouring farmers.
They feared the glacier, believing the ash heaps
were trolls who would move about at night.
Legend has it today that if you touch a troll you
become blessed with seven years of good luck
and fourteen years if you go so far as to kiss one.
The plunder remains until next time
On the way back to Reykjavík we stop off at a
couple of waterfalls. The bigger of the two is
Skógafoss, one of Iceland’s largest.
Folklore has it an early settler of Iceland, Þrási
Þórólfsson, hid a treasure chest at the bottom
of the pond. His plunder is said to have been
located, but never retrieved. Nearing the water-
fall, we’re sprayed from about forty metres away.
We decide to take a raincheck on retrieving the
treasure, and resolve instead to take some spray-
speckled photos from a distance.
Next stop we refuel at Hótel Anna, a cosy
little bed and breakfast on the road back to
Reykjavík. We are served generous helpings of
Icelandic lamb soup. I ask Védís if she’s sick to
death of the soup. “No, no, I actually love it,” she
says. “I had it for lunch as well.” For dessert it’s
skyr with chocolate chips, which I devour despite
my stomach being well over-capacity.
Night falls by the time we reach Seljalands-
foss, the second waterfall, of slightly less epic
proportions to Skógafoss but no less picturesque.
Two huge floodlights bathe the waterfall in light.
Védís escorts us along the slippery track behind
the waterfall where there’s a cave.
From here, reflections of our shadows shimmy
across the back of the waterfall to extraordinary
effect. As we continue around the waterfall, the
American lady in front of me takes a tumble and
slides like a penguin front first down the grass
slope. She stands up unhurt, and decides not to
sue, but it’s a warning to potential night-time visi-
tors to walk the track with caution.
We make regular stops on the bus ride back
to Reykjavík to scope the sky for Northern Lights.
By this point we don’t particularly care whether
we see them or not. We’ve seen more than
enough highlights for one day.
ÞÓRSHÖFN
VOPNAFJÖRÐUR
THORSHOFN
ILULISSAT
ITTOQQORTOORMIIT
NUUK
KULUSUK
NARSARSUAQ
GRÍMSEY
ÍSAFJÖRÐUR
AKUREYRI
EGILSSTAÐIR
REYKJAVÍK
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