Reykjavík Grapevine - jan. 2019, Blaðsíða 48

48 The Reykjavík Grapevine
Issue 01— 2019
The idea of having any part of Iceland
to yourself has, in recent years, be-
come increasingly unlikely. At every
spot, from the misty Skógafoss to the
colourful hills of Landmannalaugar,
you’ll be greeted by brightly clad
groups of other travellers, or at least
the signs of tourists having been there.
As a result, the awe-inspiring feel-
ing of connecting to wild Icelandic na-
ture—rather than being one of many
spectators in an Instagram-driven
crowd—has become elusive. At least,
so I thought, until the welcome sur-
prise of unexpectedly finding it once
again on an ATV tour in southern Ice-
land.
Rumble of the wind
The words “ATV” and “calm” might
seem oxymoronic, but spend more
than ten minutes on the machine and
the at first jarring rumble of the en-
gine fades into a soft purr. As you ac-
climatise to driving, the vehicle slowly
becomes an extension of yourself, al-
lowing you to whizz through nature
with the cool morning breeze on your
face. After a while, it feels like a form
of meditation similar to long-distance
running.
It is in this breathless haze that I
find myself traversing the southern
coast of Iceland astride a bouncing,
bumbling quad bike. Three of us—my-
self, my guide and a photographer—
race along a dirt path, winding around
patches of moss and large rocks. We
pause only to balance ourselves during
the occasional river crossing, during
which we rest our legs atop the ATV to
avoid getting soaked.
An undisturbed coast
After twenty minutes of off-roading,
we arrive at the shores of Sólheima-
sandur. However, this yawning, pan-
oramic stretch of black beach seems
fresh somehow, and unlike any other
time I’ve ever seen it. The reason dawns
on me: it’s completely abandoned. Not
only are there no signs of other people
in any direction, but no roads, or re-
minders of civilisation. On each side
of us is only black sand as far as the
eye can see, undisturbed but for the
tracks of the ATV, and soundtracked
by the methodical crush of the ocean
waves on the shore. Behind us, the
shining peaks of the Eyjafjallajökull
glacier glare down protectively, and
at our feet, the Atlantic stretches out
without end. It feels like there’s noth-
ing blocking us from staring all the
way to the other side of the globe.
In that moment, the late Icelandic
winter sunrise begins, and the horizon
morphs into a spectrum of bright am-
ber and peach. The glacier is suddenly
illuminated, as is the ocean, and what
had just moments ago felt so imposing
and detached now seems softer and
friendlier. We stand in silence, admir-
ing a view that feels ours, and ours
alone.
Active participation
It is almost a shame to break the mo-
ment and continue to our next destina-
tion—the famous ghostly DC3 plane
wreck that sits on the beach, close to
the shoreline. Of course, there is a
crowd of visitors surrounding it. After
our earlier moment of peace, the site
has lost some of its lustre. Standing
among graffiti-covered wreckage and
camera flashes, I just want to be back
at the beach, to feel once again that I
am a participant in nature, rather than
a bystander.
My wish is granted soon enough.
On the ride home, the sun shines on
our backs through rocky fields and
mossy crags, and I experience that
same elusive sense of joy once again.
This was why I’d first come to Iceland.
That escapist beauty hasn’t been lost to
the crowds. It was right in front of me
the whole time—I just needed to put
the key in the ignition.
Distance from
Reykjavík:
160km
How to get there:
Route One South,
turn left onto
Route 222 and
drive to the end of
the road
Trip provided by:
Arcanum Glacier
Tours—book at
mountainguides.is
How To
Be Alone
Finding unexpected solitude on Sólheimasandur
Words : Hannah Jane Cohen Photos: Art Bicnick
“On each side
of us is only
black sand
as far as the
eye can see,
undisturbed
but for the
tracks of
the ATV,
soundtracked
by the
methodical
crush of the
ocean waves
on the shore.”
The DC-3 plane wreck: too famous for its own goodYEAAASSSSSS Drinking fresh water from the river