Iceland: A Journey Through a Distant and Frozen Land
Nature is a glorious enigma, a mysterious and inexplicable entity seemingly limitless in its ability to cater to humankind’s insatiable desire to be awed, and, in Iceland, it’s easy to be awed.
Traveling around Iceland is akin to placing yourself at the epicenter of humankind’s tumultuous coexistence with nature. You’re awe-struck by the vast beauty innate in the landscape of Iceland, a human being that can’t help but marvel at the inexplicability of a land seemingly untouched, while being keenly aware of the fact you’re one of many awe-struck humans that frequent Iceland as a destination. Its pristine and relatively untainted land brings seekers, by the many, of the last bits of pure and unadulterated nature to be found in this world. I am one of them, and so is my wife Charlie.
This is why humankind exists, to an extent — to be awed by nature’s dominion over this earth. In Iceland, that dominion is intact, and that is why it has become a hotspot for tourists of late. Aside from the parking lots, the rushed and bustling tourists and the impatience they ALL feel when they want to see something before anyone else — something that has withstood the test of time, and will continue to exist long after the subtle snap of a shutter, flash of a bulb and light touch of a finger on “the button” — Iceland is uniquely inhuman.
If it wasn’t clear, I mention all of this not to diminish the experience itself, but more because I want to contextualize it. We all want a unique lot in life, all think we have a perspective wholly our own and all believe we are somewhat different than the rest of our human compatriots. While I believe this is true to varying degrees — I am speaking of our uniqueness individually — it is this passion to stand apart that ultimately brings us together. Iceland, and the beauty it possesses, has the ability to bring us together — that is how I want to contextualize this adventure.
Its beauty awed me, to my core, and I just hope that — even though I am striving to capture it in my own unique way — that it will awe, and has awed, other humans in a similar way. I hope that its ability to capture the essence of nature in the way that only the breadth of its landscape and the variety of its sites and wonders can, will inspire others to capture and store their memories in whatever fashion best suits their repository of awe-inspired moments.
The nature in Iceland reminds you that your life is but a single leaf in a windswept autumn forest. That you can only ever grasp but a single branched vein in its structure, if only for a second, at any given moment in time. Moments comprise our whole existence, an existence that is brief when compared to the vast and time-worn subsistence of the world that surrounds us, and the beauty of Iceland is a stark reminder of this truth.
Now, to the experiences themselves…
Charlie and I traveled around the Ring Road in seven days. Please join us on our journey. All photos are courtesy of Charlie Mitchell, founder of Earthbound Woodworks.
Day 1
Reykjavik
Rent.is
His hair sprouts from the top of his head, held tight with a hair tie near his scalp, like shrubbery leaving the ground. Everywhere else is closely shaved. “You have a reservation for a van?” he asks, his words heavy with the Nordic accent we’ll come to know. He’s affable and serious, a strange combination that seems to suit him perfectly. Charlie and I confirm our reservation with rent.is, going over the details of gravel insurance — a must if you’re traveling the ring road in Iceland — the deposit, and the price of roughly $1,000 USD for the week’s journey. He then takes us outside to inspect what will be our home for the next 7 days: the mini fridge, cooking supplies, and stove beneath our bed, the heater that will keep us warm during the cold nights, and the lights that will adorn my notebook as I scribble thoughts and observations on our journey at the end of long days traveling the volcanic, crusted, cracked, green, waterfall-abundant, glacier-stricken landscape of Iceland.
We’re ready to go. We load our bags beneath the wooden frame that holds our bed up in the back of the van, and since I am the only one who knows how to drive manual, I take my spot behind the wheel, while Charlie sits down in the front-seat. And so it begins.
Costco
We take to the roads of Iceland, which are easy to drive on, across most of the country, and make our first stop at Costco. This is where we load up on food and drinks for the journey:
a pasta salad that will surprisingly last us the entire time
a red pesto that will become our lifeblood
whisky (of course)
baby carrots
water jugs, lots of water jugs
cans of assorted vegetables, pasta sauce, etc. that we’ll use in meals throughout
dried meats and fruits
bread, lettuce, deli meat and condiments for sandwiches
hummus and pita chips
granola for breakfast
Sausages
Eggs
and bars we can use for snacks while driving
By the time we leave Costco, the rain has picked up, and we’re getting close to the end of our first day of gray. We set our sights on finding a good place to park the car for the night so we can get some shuteye. Still, we want to make some good progress down the ring road, so we can start our first full day early with some of the majestic beauty Iceland has to offer. I drive through the rain, and the early evening, until we find a nice campsite.
Photo courtesy of Charlie Mitchell, founder of Earthbound Woodworks
Note: You used to be able to just park camper vans on the side of the road, or up some road jaunting off to the side of the main road, and sleep, but a nix has been placed on this sort of behavior. As such, it’s necessary to park camper vans at campsites, and you can usually find a good one for about $25/night. That said, Charlie and I broke the rules a couple of times and parked our camper in discrete areas where travelers were unlikely to find us. We didn’t do this often though, and if you can avoid it, I would recommend doing so.
Day 2
The Geysir, Gulfoss, Esljalandsfoss, DC3 Plane Crash, and Dyrholaey
We awake to rain, the whir of the heater, and the gentle hum of the refrigerator. We want to get the journey started early, but first breakfast. With the van, meals are where you’ve been, where you are, and where you’re going. The skillet sizzles and pops with sausage. Eggs fluff up beside the sausage. We eat, and then we’re off.
The Geysir
Our first stop is The Geysir, or what some call The Great Geysir. There’s a moment right before it goes off that is mesmerizing — a bubble of blue water pushing against some indefinable barrier that holds back the eventual explosive release of water spray and sulfur steam.
This is a great place to start your journey. It’s not uniquely Icelandic because geysers can be found all over the world, but the fact that it is the first geyser ever recorded in print, and seen by modern Europeans, contrasts starkly with the landscape. People seek to capture and share their own slice of beauty, and The Geysir was one of the first parts of beauty in Iceland captured in a shareable fashion. Yet, it’s only a small piece of that beauty, almost unrecognizable against the whole. That’s why it’s good to start here. You’ll quickly understand there is so much more to be awed by, and that becomes known quickly on day 1 for Charlie and me.
Gulfoss
We drive to Gulfoss, and along the way, I focus on the pavement, the shifting gears, and the clutch beneath my foot. Every now and again, I steal glances to marvel at the views around me. Birds flying high, tiny white blurs moving fast against the mammoth-sized rocks and mountains on all sides of our van, sheep dotting the green, volcanic-marred landscape, and there’s always one black one among them, horse-ponies, what Charlie and I come to call Hornies, huddling close to one another against the rain, and houses with grass roofs built into rocks, the very structures of this land providing the shelter for the walls of the houses.
Photo courtesy of Charlie Mitchell, founder of Earthbound Woodworks
We arrive at Gulfoss. Majestic. Powerful. Dangerous. The water rushes over the rocks and then dissipates into a canyon below where it meets its river water companion, taking the cascading water far away. It will return someday, I am sure, via the cyclical nature of life. When the water bounces and rolls over the hard surfaces below, it causes little spirals of vapor to rise into the air, like pillars of smoke twisting and turning and flitting about until they are consumed by the air around them. It’s like watching threads of thought become part of the nebulous unknown of collective consciousness.
Photo courtesy of Charlie Mitchell, founder of Earthbound Woodworks
Looking around, you feel impermanent. The gray, brown, and black rocks that jut from the green lush landscape are cracked like dry lips, a testament to the volcanic volatility that created this landscape millions of years ago, and the inexplicability of life that sprouted from that chaos. You feel small and insignificant. It’s wonderful.
Esljandsfoss
Standing behind this waterfall, and watching the water cascade in front of you, is…refreshing. Esljandsfoss’s misting descent is soothing and powerful at the same time.
Plus, it’s an enjoyable sight to see as you make your way to what I felt was the culminating representation of humankind and nature juxtaposed against the backdrop of our impermanence.
DC3 Plane Crash
This plane crash is advertised as a great photo op. And it’s hard to disagree. As one of the few attractions of Iceland that is decidedly unnatural, there is an overwhelming sense of nature’s triumph here.
The parking lot is about 45 minutes away from the crash, and the walk is well worth it. Once you arrive, you’ll see a barren black beach extending along the coast, and the remnants of a bygone era marring an otherwise untouched volcanic landscape.
Photo courtesy of Charlie Mitchell, founder of Earthbound Woodworks
At first, I was upset at the graffiti on the plane because, to me, it symbolized the innate desire human beings have to make their mark, even at the expense of what people can enjoy undeterred. But…then I was fascinated. The plane, in and of itself, is a representation of graffiti in its own way, an unintended scar on an otherwise unscathed and unremarkable landscape, especially in terms of how the landscape represents many beaches and coastal areas in Iceland. In other words, what better way to bring people together around the natural beauty of Iceland than to bring them to a representation of their follies, on a land that intentionally mitigates the reaches of that touch.
Dyrholaey
Charlie and I take the walk back to our vehicle, and seek our sleeping destination for the night: the top of a cliff where the views spread in the distance and the oil and water of land part at a horizon dominated by a setting sun and rolling seas.
This is our first four wheel road experience. On the way up the road, Trucking by the Grateful Dead hits its moment on Charlie’s playlist, and it’s perfect. The road is potholed and treacherous, and Charlie tells me to “just go until I can’t go any further.” ‘Further’ ends up being the end of the line, at the top, where the Dyrholaey lighthouse is.
We sit and watch the sunset together, as we crack the beginning of our whisky bottle, share carrots and hummus, and the first bites of our sundried tomato pesto that will become our most coveted food item.
Day 3
Moss Lava Field, Fjadrargljufur Canyon, Skaftafellsjokull, Diamond Lagoon and Diamond Beach, and Hofn
The windows of our camper fog in the early morning. The heater hums along and the wood slats that support our mattress creak beneath our weight. Charlie and I emerge from our sleeping bags and scratch a plan together for the day ahead. Breakfast sizzles, time’s beads drain, and the sun tries to burn away the clouds that have made a low-holding residence all around us.
It’s time to move on…
Moss Lava Field
I have no other name for the field of moss and lava rock mushrooms that crop up on either side of the road during the drive to Fjadrargljufur Canyon, other than Moss Lava Field. But, I can say that stopping to take a moment to notice and indulge in the sheer incomprehensibility of the bubbled mounds with their prehistoric moss coverings is worth it.
Fjadrargljufur Canyon
This is a rather quick stop, with the car park just a few minutes from some of the best views of the canyon, but it’s definitely something I’d recommend making time for, if it is open, that is. Due to weather and erosion, sometimes they close this canyon to visitors in order to give the vegetation time to recover. But, the archaic nature of it, with the wending river and the broken-in-half land, dropping sheer to the river below to create the canyon, makes for some fantastic photos.
Photo courtesy of Charlie Mitchell, founder of Earthbound Woodworks
Skaftafellsjokull
Here, we are met by the true power of what has shaped this land, and what continues to shape this land: one of the 269 named glaciers on Iceland. Hiking across the path from the car park, and down into the basin directly in front of the massive glacier is a unique experience.
Here is what I wrote at the time:
White waterfall lines dripping slow down the hills surrounding the glacier…the cold chill in the wind. The steady rush of bubbling water that betrays the presence of a river nearby. Jagged fingers of ice curling and protruding tense spires toward the sky. Deep grooves carving lines into the mountainous rocks of ice that form the splayed hands of the front of the glacier. A distant sound of ice separating from the mass that supports it, crashing to the water below. The soft sunlight, obstructed subtly by the clouds above, dances and shimmers off the blue water beneath the glacier. The cracked remnants of ice that sit in the lagoon, waiting for the sun’s slow deterioration to set in, so they too can join the depths of the cold, deep-blue embrace.
Traveling around Iceland’s ring road, you can see many glaciers in the distance, you can feel their impact on forming the land as wide and far as the eye can see, but here, you get to see the power of these monochrome structures up close.
Diamond Lagoon and Diamond Beach
It’s pretty wild to think that the beauty of these two locations is wholly dependent upon the melting of a gigantic glacier. The lagoon features these beautiful, disjointed scoops of ice cream, structures pocked and melted into smooth vestiges of that which they have left behind. These glacial icebergs sit in a wide basin as the sun slowly chisels away at their rough edges — preparing them for their journey along the current, and to the sea.
Once they get to the sea, they are tossed and churned along the coast, breaking apart beneath the stonemason hands of the waves, so the remains can join the throng of diamonds on the beach and melt away the final moments of their shimmering existence. They say diamonds are forever, but not here.
Photo courtesy of Charlie Mitchell, founder of Earthbound Woodworks
They are stark against the black sand, and they leave you feeling melancholy because these twinkling remnants of a once dominating mass will not last the hour, most on the beach are already teetering on the brink of collapse, or breaking, or melting away…entirely.
Hofn
We drive into Höfn tired and hungry, and with a hankering for lobster. Höfn is the lobster capital of Iceland, and we’d heard pretty good things about Pakkhús, a local restaurant with the best lobster in town, so we decided to give it a shot. It’s amazing, and while it’s a bit pricier for travelers balling on a budget, if you can choose one day to spend a little bit more, especially after living in a camper for most of the trip, then the lobster in the coastal town of Höfn is most certainly the ticket.
As we prepare to leave the restaurant, our waiter tells us that he saw one of the most transfixing and amazing aurora borealis’ in a long time. Charlie and I had been setting our alarms every night in anticipation of seeing the northern lights ourselves, but we hadn’t had any luck so far with the cloud covering. He tells us that it had been cloudy for him as well, and then at 1am it cleared up and then he saw the lights. We thank him for the advice, and head out to find our campsite for the night, setting our alarm for the darkest hours of the night…
Day 4
Seydisfjordur, Krafla Viti, Grjotagja Cave, Storagja, Godafoss, and Akureyri Aurora Borealis
Photo courtesy of Charlie Mitchell, founder of Earthbound Woodworks
On this day, depending on how quickly you’re doing the ring road, there is a lot of driving. Plus, the landscape is pretty barren on this stretch of the ring road, from Höfn to Akureyri. But, there are some nice stops along the way. All told, I’m behind the wheel for about 8 hours of driving, including the stops.
Seydisfjordur
In this town, there is a famous rainbow cobblestone pathway leading to a baby blue church with white trim. Plus, the drive down to the town, along the coast and in a bay, features an incredible waterfall along the curving and winding road. This is also where we get rudely introduced to the Great Skua, a bird in Iceland that likes to attack cars, coolers, backpacks, etc.
From here, we begin the long drive through fly-infested territory, shrubbery-ridden landscape, and dry-heap contours. Eventually, we make it to the end of the drive, or near the end of the drive, and the first stop of many to close out our long day.
Krafla Viti
Viti, in Icelandic, means “hell,” a reference to the violent volcanic eruptions that suddenly and catastrophically occurred to create the two famous craters in Iceland, the vitis in Krafla and Askja. The Krafla volcanic area has seen over 20 eruptions since Iceland was settled, and still remains extremely active, providing the resources for a geothermal power station and electricity to residents.
Photo courtesy of Charlie Mitchell, founder of Earthbound Woodworks
All said, the crater itself is an interesting sight, with deep blue water residing in the middle. However, the power station closeby disenchants the surroundings, and visitors should be prepared to be swarmed by black flies.
Grjotagja Cave
“You know nothing, John Snow.” This is where they filmed one of the iconic scenes in Game of Thrones, where John Snow and Ygritte first “get it on,” as the great Marvin Gaye once said.
It’s a really quaint cave, with a clear pool of water steaming endlessly and jagged rock fingers hanging low from the ceiling above.
Storagja
Paradise. Here, you can find a completely secluded pool of warm water that makes for a unique dip, and a majestic, yet unheralded, experience. Charlie and I had read about these pools you could climb down to, a ceiling of rock above, and a clear pool of shining water below. It was difficult to find, and I certainly won’t be exploiting the location by sharing precise details of how to find it. However, the name above should be enough with which to work.
We weren’t the only ones looking for the pools, as a group joined us immediately after we got out of our van and were trying to find the same location. We were all reading the same description, and couldn’t find anything. Then, the group walked ahead of us, and Charlie and I were able to find a ladder. We hid, as their voices came back around the bend looking for us. It was like hiding from a squadron of enemies seeking to snuff out an experience we wanted to ourselves. We succeeded in our endeavor, and were able to enjoy the pools unhindered by other companions. We swam all around the canyon, cracks in the ground above shedding minimal light to guide us.
Godafoss
The days of gray won’t always go the way you want them to. Here, I lost my pair of glasses to the torrent of crashing water as Charlie and I were taking a picture. It made driving that much more difficult, but not impossible.
Regardless of the ill misfortune, Godafoss is gorgeous. The water comes from three different exit points into the continuation of the river below, and it booms. Two of them thunder with the cascading power of unchecked water meeting gravity, and the other spouts from a cracked lip in the middle of a rock face. It was this gaping maw that most drew me in. It looked like something out of primordial time, an ooze adorned with hanging moss and lush green fauna all around.
Aurora Borealis in Akureyri
This was the main event of our journey — the moment many chase when they come to Iceland during this time of year. It is what we wanted to see more than anything else, and we were gifted with a glorious display. I have no doubt that it gets better than what we saw, but to us it was nothing short of wondrous.
Photo courtesy of Charlie Mitchell, founder of Earthbound Woodworks
Green waves danced across the sky, gathering in a roiling, thunderous mass and then rolling over the expanse of the black night as if to claim dominion over the emptiness of space above, saying with emphasis this is “no man’s sky”. They would wax and wane between bright filaments of floating dust and the wandering white noise of fleeting green film barely noticeable against the black backdrop of the twinkling night sky.
When they would transform into the latter, it was as if a light inside you went out, as if you were missing something you had only just begun to understand — taken away too soon. Then, these roiling waves would return once more, filling you with joy all over again, making it impossible to sit down. It was like watching the sky you’ve known your whole life morph into an artist’s canvas built specifically for the subtle watercolor strokes of green, the whiplash tail of a quick brush stroke. The painting moved as the artist worked above you, and something inside you moved as well.
Honestly, words don’t even come close to doing the experience justice, and neither do the images. This is something you must see, that you must feel, when it is happening all around you and above you, and you might look to the sky, moving forward, thinking you’re just a bit closer to understanding why you’re here, why you exist. Perhaps it’s for nothing else than just to experience the beauty of life.
Day 5
Te & Kaffi in Akureyri and Holmavik
Charlie and I needed to download some more music, as we had blown through our other playlist after long hours behind the wheel. I also needed to put some pen to paper, so we stopped at a local coffee shop in Akureyri and got some coffee and wifi.
Te & Kaffi in Akureyri
Whilst we were downloading new sound waves for our journey, and I was scribbling away, a gentleman entered wearing butterfly wings and carrying a glockenspiel. He sat down and began to play sweet twinkling nothings for us all, fae notes out of the nether. This was our highlighted viewing of the day.
Holmavik
Holmavik is a quaint town along the northern coast(ish) of Iceland. It’s sort of the gateway to the westfjords of Iceland, which we unfortunately didn’t have time to see. It’s a great place to see the puffins of Iceland, but they are also extremely rare during the time of year that we visited, so we decided to make time for other excursions. However, we did see the northern lights in Holmavik again. The display was not as fantastic this time around. Yet, the night sky with no lights to blot out the twinkling stars above is always a wonderful view, especially in Iceland. Either way, it was great to get two viewings of this amazing phenomenon while on our journey.
Day 6
Hellulaug Hot Pot, Gudrun’s Bathing Pool, and Kirkjufell
At this point in our travels around the ring road, we were nearing the end of our journey in Iceland. We had mostly seen everything we really wanted to see, so we started to take it a bit slow as we approached Reykjavik, enjoying some of the hot pots — hot springs — and meeting new people who were doing the same.
Hellulaug Hot Pot
Here, you will find a nice small pool of hot water overlooking the ocean and coast in the distance. It’s certainly a great view, but I think the highlight for Charlie and I was the company. You see, there were already a few hot-pot-goers embalming themselves in the warm water…and with the embrace of a drink that makes you warm inside.
There was a professor from Canada with some students, one from Sweden and the other from Canada. They offered engaging conversation about the geothermal nature of Iceland, and shared some of their warm drinks with us.
There was also an eccentric, long-haired blonde…man from California, who had wholly embraced the euro-style swimsuit of a revealing banana hammock. A hammock, mind you, that didn’t fully manage its purpose. This is not to say that the banana was exposed, thank goodness, but more to say that the movement of the man exposed other areas mostly confined to the backside of the human anatomy. We were “treated” to many a view that day, but at least the coastal view from the hot pot outshined the crack where the sun doesn’t.
Gudrun’s Bathing Pool
This bathing pool has some Icelandic mythology attached to it. Gudrun was a heroine famed for her beauty and wisdom, and was married four times — each time representative of four foretold dreams recounting the four marriages she would have. And the site of the hotpots is where these dreams allegedly were interpreted.
This hot pot is really nice. It’s very hot, and the algae floats easily on top of the tranquil water. There is a changing room in a hut above the hot pot as well. Charlie and I spent our time conversing with travelers, sharing whisky and other hot drinks while enjoying the overcast low fog and steaming pool.
Kirkjufell
One of the main attractions of Iceland, Kirkjufell is stunning. Photographers from all over the world come to Kirkjufell seeking the perfect aurora borealis photo with the mountain standing tall in the foreground. There is also a slow moving waterfall landing in a stream below, meandering its way toward the coast in the distance.
Photo courtesy of Charlie Mitchell, founder of Earthbound Woodworks
This is definitely worth seeing, and a nice place to go near the end of your trip around the ring road, depending on which direction you start your journey from Reykjavik.
The Days of Gray Fade Away
We ended our journey in Reykjavik. Charlie’s parents joined us on their way back to the US from England, and we spent the day checking out some of the sites in Reykjavik. There is nothing much to note, to my estimation, especially for the purposes of this piece. It served as a nice bookend to our journey though — our final moments in Iceland before boarding a plane and traveling back to our daily lives.
Daily life for me was a flight back to the grind of content development. But, for these moments in Iceland, I was able to once again journey down the crinkled expanse of pages left too long beneath a sweaty left hand holding the page steady as the right moves furiously, sometimes, and other times at a creeping, delicate pace.
Iceland provides a snapshot of a time when nature reigned supreme and we were but a minor mark on the timeline of human history. There is so much to see, so much to revel in, and so much to remind you of how insignificant we truly are in the grand scheme of things. So much time to ponder who you really want to be, who you really are, at least in one moment while you wait for the next.