Reykjavík Grapevine - 23.05.2014, Blaðsíða 37

Words John Rogers @brainlove
Photos Alisa Kalyanova
Seeing Iceland from the air can be an astounding experience. From the soft
blue-grey washes of coastal estuaries and floodwater, to black flatlands with their
gleaming silver rivers, to expanses of blinding white glaciers—a flight over the
Icelandic heartland is often as much of a treat as the destination.
37The Reykjavík GrapevineIssue 06 — 2014 TRAVEL
Grapevine sets off towards the North
on a particular blustery April morn-
ing. The weather is against us, and
we take off into a turbulent sky that
stays swathed in clouds for most of
our northward flight. But before long,
familiar abstract snow patterns and
muted green-grey hues appear below
us as we descend towards Akureyri.
Along with a group of three hardy
tourists who’ve decided to veer off the
well-trodden routes of The Golden Cir-
cle and the Southern coastline, we’re
to spend the day taking in some of
North Iceland's natural wonders.
The flight takes just 45 minutes
from Reykjavík, with AirIceland planes
going both ways several times a day.
Upon landing, we’re met by our guide
and driver, a local named Trausti, who
leads such trips several times a week.
From his years as a tour guide, and via
a generally inquisitive nature, Trausti
is a wellspring of knowledge on a
broad range of topics. As we pull away
from the airport, he's already drawing
laughs by saying perhaps a country
the size of Iceland just needs a well-
qualified manager instead of the appa-
ratus of government. Over the course
of the day, his engaging monologue
continues over the speakers of his
comfortable people carrier, telling tall
tales of folklore and the sagas, asides
on genealogy, geology and geography,
as well as facts on flora and fauna, lan-
guage and aphorisms, conservation
and industry, and more. Trausti offers
lively insight into the life of the area
and, indeed, the country as a whole.
As we arc away from the airstrip
around the fjord opposite Akureyri, he
points out some large-scale construc-
tion work. A torrent of steam pours
from a gaping mouth in the mountain-
side—some heavy machinery has hit
a seam of hot water whilst digging a
tunnel to the neighbouring fjord. This
will create a long-awaited solution to
the perilous pass ahead, which is often
impassable during the long Northern
winter.
Under Hill And Over Dale
But despite the deep and glossy snow
around us, the road is clear today, and
before long we’re zooming past farms
and frozen lakes as we traverse the
Reykjadalur valley towards Lake Mý-
vatn. Our tour will include geothermal
hotspots, a famous tumbledown lava
maze, and vantage points overlooking
over various lakes before a final stop at
the Mývatn Nature Baths.
At the first stop, we crunch across
a field of untouched ankle-deep snow
to Goðafoss, so-named after the pagan
idols that were cast into the water at
the dawn of Icelandic Christianity. It’s
a thundering triple waterfall that looks
particularly spectacular in the winter,
the torrent spray having sculpted the
surrounding ice and snow into a series
of natural artworks. There’s nobody
else around, a boon of the off-season
for anyone who likes to avoid crowds.
During the worst weather we’ll see
all day, we’re dropped off for a walk
up to a nearby viewpoint from which
practically nothing is visible in a sud-
den ferocious blizzard. After glancing
at the white wall of snow that masks
the vista below, we beat a hasty re-
treating to the car, shaking the ice from
our coats and the chill from our limbs
in a conveniently located shop that
has, of course, anticipated underpre-
pared visitors—several of us buy extra
woollen garments for the remainder of
the day.
Exploring The Dark Castles
After a walk around an impressive
geothermal area featuring cauldrons of
bubbling, molten clay, vast steam jets,
and a Rothko-esque range of bright
natural greens, ochres and reds in the
muddy ground, we arrive at a place
that’s quite the opposite. Dimmubor-
gir translates as
“dark cities” or
“dark castles,”
depending on in-
terpretation. It’s a
sprawling area of
wild lava, formed
when the ceil-
ing of a volcanic
cavern collapsed
long ago, leav-
ing jagged pillars
standing over a
maze of smashed
jet-black rock.
This place is
rich with Icelan-
dic folklore, and
still now plays
host to an annual Christmas festival at
which the Yule Lads run around to the
delight and terror of local kids. It was
also thought to have been a gateway
to Satan’s netherworld in the past, and
it's easy to see why—there’s a spooky
stillness amongst the vivid outcrops
and yawning cave mouths, all threaded
with silver birch trees, and the whole
area evokes a feeling of sublime age
and vastness. It’s one of those special
locations in Iceland where the land-
scape seems to whisper, somehow—
the atmosphere of Dimmuborgir is im-
mersive and affecting, and clings to me
for hours after. The visit is all too short,
and I resolve to return and explore fur-
ther come summertime, perhaps mak-
ing use of the nearby campsite.
Our final stop is the Mývatn Nature
Baths. Entry is priced at 3,000 ISK, not
included in the price of the tour, but
with tempting steam clouds jetting up
from behind the entrance, minds are
made up quickly. The water of the Na-
ture Baths has a different quality to that
of the Blue Lagoon—it’s a vivid, clear
aqua-blue instead of that distinctive
pearlescent white. The water seems to
coat the skin with a silky layer within
minutes, and the natural warmth feels
wholesome and enveloping. It varies in
temperature from lukewarm to alarm-
ingly hot, with unpredictable draughts
passing through the water. There are
only a few other people in the vari-
ous hot pools and
steam rooms dot-
ted around the main
outdoor pool at this
off-season time,
giving a pleasing
sense of privacy. As
I sit basking in the
hotpot, lost in my
thoughts, I realise
my hair has frozen
into icicles without
me noticing, and
head in for one last
steam.
After some lo-
cal harðfiskur, and a
sip or two of Reyka,
the group sits in
awed silence on the return journey
to Akureyri. Mývatn has given us an
unforgettable day—the North has a
Golden Circle all of its own.
Distance from Reykjavík
487 km
“The Dimmuborgir
lava maze is one of
those special locations
in Iceland where the
landscape seems to
whisper, somehow.”
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