In order to relax into and fully appreciate the scenery, it was necessary that we go trekking 50 kilometers through it. Our first trek was a guided, 4 day, hut-to-hut venture on the Laugavegur Trail. This trail is considered one of the walks of the world, and before we’d even stepped onto it, we could see why. The mountains around us were painted in earthy yellows, golds, and greens, and the valleys bubbled and belched with natural hot springs. Everywhere you looked there were jaw-dropping, eye-popping landscapes, not to mention an 8″ camera lens in your face, for our international group of 12 included one excitable and enthusiastic German professional photographer. It was like having our own paparazzi on the trek. In addition to the U.S. and Germany, our group had representatives from Canada, Britain, Australia, Portugal, and Belgium. A regular traveling United Nations we were, as we slept side-by-side in mountain huts (what ear plugs were made for), forded rivers arm-in-arm (think wedding march … right, left, right, left), and listened carefully (for evacuation instructions) as our wonderful Icelandic guide, Harpa, told stories of massive mudflows and other cataclysmic events that shaped the very ground we were walking … and which could occur again without any warning whatsoever. Never a dull moment in Iceland.
After our final hut stop and saying our goodbyes to everyone except Diane, our new traveling companion from Boston, it was time to enter into the rental car/road trip phase of our trip. Rental cars in Iceland are super expensive. We suspect this is because they can easily get damaged no matter where you drive, and it’s not just the sheep and likely volcanic events we’re referring to … it’s also the narrow roads, nonexistent shoulders, and the unexpected dirt surfaces upon which no upstanding Icelander would drive less than 120 km/hour. Wanting to fit in, we put the pedal to the metal in our Ford Focus and zipped to the West Island, where we enjoyed Snæfellsnes National Park, with its superb coastal hiking, black sand beaches (one of which will need some replenishment, as a chunk of it went home in Diane’s purse), fashionably mandarin-colored lighthouses, a yellow sand beach upon which toes were designed to frolic in the icy North Atlantic, and then the first of a few rainy days.
To keep our spirits up during the inclement weather, we forged ahead with outdoor activities in and around Stykkishólmur, including a ferry ride to Flatey Island. It was here that Diane took a cue from Harpa, marching us around the entire island in search of puffins, despite all hazards and dangers, which surfaced primarily in the form of hordes of dive-bombing arctic terns. There’s nothing like an unexpected flap of wind (or was that a wing?) on the back of your head, coupled with an incessant piercing shriek in your left ear, to keep one’s feet moving forward. And quickly, I might add. Never mind the land-based obstacles in front of you – piles of sheep dung and an incoming tide – you just keep moving. But puffins we saw, so the trip was most definitely not without its rewards.
Sadly enough, after only 4 days on the road, it was time to say goodbye to Diane and prepare for the final phase of our Icelandic adventure – more trekking, this time in the East Fjords, where we would catch up with Brenda and Peter, our friendly Canadian neighbors from the Laugavegur trek. Now the fastest way to get to that region is by small plane. It’s so fast, in fact, that there wasn’t even time for the flight attendant to finish walking the aisle closing overhead bins, as this task was still underway while we were taxiing down the runway. The flight attendant seemed nonplussed, so we tried not to look like American wussies afraid of a little bit of luggage falling on our heads.
Met at the airport by a very sweet and young Icelandic girl, we were ushered along our journey, joined now by both our Canadian friends and a most delightful couple from Holland. As we flew across the unpaved mountain (fjord) passes into the tiny fishing village of Bakkagerđi, it was hard not to be reminded of the fertile green flanks of Kauai’s Napali Coast. It was also hard not to be reminded of what you’d had for lunch, given the hairpin curves and dizzying drop-offs (and how about a little pea-soup fog at the top to keep it interesting) that were professionally, if not a little crazily, navigated by our young driver. I think even the Hidden People came out to marvel at the supersonic dust trail we left behind.
The East Fjords were all about hiking straight up, straight down, and oh boy, straight back up and down again. Our guide, Arngrimur, who we simply called “Art”, as neither of us mastered even the simplest (if there is such a thing) of Icelandic words, was rich in knowledge of the area, its stories, and its inhabitants, most of whom were family members of his. In a town of slightly more than a 100, that’s not such a far-fetched notion.
When not on the trail, Art kept us entertained with folklore and food and front-row seats to the Strongest Man in East Iceland competition, where we witnessed a new world’s record be set by a large man walking back and forth with an even larger stone. Grunting is a universal language, so the gist of it all was not lost on us, despite our lingua franca inferiority.
From the East Fjords it was back to Reykjavik for our return trip home. Having learned from this phase of our trip that the etiquette around flying is different here in Iceland, it should have come as no surprise when our 757 Icelandair jet was being pushed back from the gate while a frantic flight attendant bolted to the back of the plane TO CLOSE THE REAR DOORS. This was followed by her request for Gina to go ahead and change seats while we were, once again, taxiing down the runway. Much to our continued amazement, there also was no safety briefing, perhaps because buckling your seat belt was clearly optional, and why bother with a life vest if the plane goes down in the frigid North Atlantic? If we learned one thing on this trip, it’s that these Icelanders are a hardier bunch than us.
But actually, we learned even more than that … that the people are personable and rightfully proud of their past and present, that their country’s scenery is beyond spectacular, and that the uniqueness of their lives and the landscapes in which they live are enviable and inspiring.