Iceland review - 2002, Síða 16

14 ICELAND REVIEW
rocky grade divorces us from the refined dirt route I was growing attached to. A few
arbitrary winds in the road later, two well-equipped jeeps make their slow way toward
us, lurching over a set of shallow, silver river beds. The first driver raises his hand in a
grave salute to the deeper solitude that lies ahead.
As we pass the 10 km mark, the wide valley comes to life as the sun reveals itself and
dispersed obsidian catches the sudden light. Far off the road, columns of steam mark
the distant hills. The road dead-ends at a looming, black-striped cross section of a gla-
cier, where the ground sizzles like a frying pan. Under the wall of ice, two large caves
have been melted by the hot springs that rise up from the earth. The hollowed caves
rain heavily at their entrances, hissing where it meets boiling puddles of ground water
below.
Hrafntinnusker is a frequent first stop on the famous Landmannalaugar-Thórsmörk
Highland trek. Though it isn’t visible from the road, a few hundred metres away is an
overnight hut that lodges hikers. Some stay here, and some press on to another desti-
nation, claiming this area is too forbidding and inhospitable.
Kyra Beuermann, a policewoman from
Berlin on a solo three-week bicycle tour,
struggles up Núpsheidi, not far from the
Hólaskjól hut on F208.
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