Reykjavík Grapevine - Mar 2020, Page 36

Travel distance
from Reykjavík:
150 km

Roads travelled:
Routes 41, 42, 427,
425, 44 and 41
a!ain to close
the circle

Car provided by:
!ocarrental.is
It’s flu season, which means that you
or someone you know is likely to come
down with some form or another of the
plague. And I’m talking about the nor-
mal kind of flu—let’s not even broach
the topic of coronavirus.
I, too, caught some sort of bug and
had to spend a few days cooped up.
I had the works—aches, congestion,
dizziness, general fatigue, you get it.
But after a few days inside, I was get-
ting restless. It was time for a road trip
to set me to rights. So I set out with
our photographer, Art, to explore the
oft-ignored area south of Reykjavík:
Reykjanes.
That’s a lot of fish
Just 30 minutes outside of Reykjavík
was our first stop. In an open field off
Highway 42 were racks of fish hung out
to dry. The stench bypassed any sort of
congestion that I had been experienc-
ing as crows perched on the wooden
beams, screaming into the cold air. I
couldn’t help but wonder if they even
bothered to eat these fish. There didn’t
seem to be anything to stop them from
picking the bones clean, although
maybe the edible parts of the fish had
already been sold.
There was no time to figure it out,
though, as daylight was limited and
the peninsula large, so we set back
out on the highway. As we rolled away,
mossy rocks, rolling hills, and barren
trees flew past us, set to a backdrop of
majestic mountains, covered in snow
and bathed in misty sunshine. Bright
blue skies hung above us, as storm
clouds whirled in the far distance—
perfect travel weather. In front of us,
cars whipped up clouds of snow be-
hind them, while ribbons of icy powder
snaked across the path behind us.
Cold therapy and
sinus-clearing
At Kleifarvatn, we took a quick breather
on a ridge to take in the view. Below us,
a group of people exercised in nothing
but their bathing suits. It was -2° C.
We ventured down to learn more,
finding out that it was a private work-
shop. The leader of the group explained
that they were using cold therapy,
breathwork, and mindfulness to over-
come pain and sickness. “Two weeks
ago, they couldn’t put their pinky in
the cold water. Now they are relaxing
in it. It’s very good for your health,” he
said.
Cold might be the answer for some
people, but I was personally fed up with
the cold. We made our way to our next
destination, the hot springs at Kr!su-
vík.
These hot springs are unlike any
other place on earth. Layers of earth
tones, shades of brown and grey, con-
trasted with the brilliant white snow
and deep azure sky. Slate coloured
clouds hung in the distance, promis-
ing snow. The smell of sulfur invaded
my nostrils like the fish from earlier,
and I grimaced. “In time, you will
come to love it,” Art said, smiling as he
noticed my discomfort. “It clears your
sinuses.” I thought my sinuses had al-
ready cleared until I walked through
a thick cloud of steam. “Wow, you’re
right,” I replied, tears running down
my cheek.
Save a horse, feed a cold
In Grindavík—Iceland’s happiest
town—we popped by Hjá Höllu for
lunch. Entering the town, the ocean
came into view. It was the same colour
as the sky, this deep greenish bluish-
grey, except for where the horizon
touched the water, where it was a deep
blue. Mt. "orbjörn, the newly infamous
volcano, loomed over us all the while.
The café was busy when we walked
in. We both ordered brunch, a plate
full of pancakes, bacon, eggs benedict,
and sk!r. “Are you worried about the
volcano erupting?” Art asked Halla,
after whom the café was named. “No,”
she said, a joking tone overtaking her
voice. “All that ash would be good for
everyone’s complexion, and the tour-
ism would boom.”
Legends and lore
Our stomachs full, we took our time
back on the road, stopping only to greet
some horses. They were unusually
friendly, sniffing my coat, searching
for snacks. I didn’t have any, but they
let me pet them anyway. “You guys are
healthy, right?” I asked. “What’s your
secret?”
Unfortunately, they refused to tell
me. I was probably already pushing my
limits by not bringing apples or carrots
and expecting free pets.
We had but two more destinations.
The first was Gunnuhver, a massive
mud field with geothermal gas emis-
sions. The area is named after Gunna,
an old woman who lived nearby in the
18th century. People suspected she was
a witch, and largely gave her a wide
berth. In those days, if you knew some-
thing about health or had a cauldron,
people assumed you were a witch, and
Gunna had a cauldron.
One day her landlord, Vilhjálmur
Jónsson, paid her a visit to collect
rent money. When she didn’t have the
money, he took her cauldron. Furious,
she cursed her landlord’s name. When
Gunna later died, Vilhjálmur attended
her funeral. He was found dead the
next day.
Her ghost was said to have haunted
the area until a sorcerer broke the spell
and banished Gunna to this mudfield
around 300 years ago. Nowadays, her
ghost can be heard from the massive
pit where thick clouds of steam pour
out. On the day we visited, it was one
of the only places around that didn’t
have any snow.
Our final stop brought us to the edge
of Reykjanes. There, black cliffs rose
steeply into the sky as waves crashed
into them. A large copper bird statue
stood by the edge of the cliffs, suppos-
edly marking the spot where the last
great auk was hunted to extinction.
The sky had turned completely grey,
and the snow fell slowly all around us.
As the cold, fresh air infiltrated my
lungs, I realised that I was feeling much
better than when the day started. May-
be it was the horses, maybe it was the
pancakes, maybe the sulfur, or maybe
it was the spirit of Gunna. Whatever it
was, I found it in Reykjanes.
36The Reykjavík Grapevine
Issue 03— 2020
Road Trip For
Your Health
A visit to Reykjanes is just what the doctor ordered
Words: Sam O’Donnell Photos: Art Bicnick
Travel
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“Mossy rocks, roll-
ing hills, and bar-
ren trees flew past
us, set to a back-
drop of majestic
mountains, cov-
ered in snow and
bathed in misty
sunshine.”