No sign of Bjork yet, disappointing, I thought we had an understanding going back to the mid 90s when she was my virtual girlfriend. Since the restraining order things haven’t been the same. And then, even worse, the puffins have already pissed off to warmer climes and Abby is distraught. The Northern Lights are still a possibility but I we’d have to drive into the boonies in the middle of the night and we’d need a driver as I’m dead on my feet.
Most things are hella expensive here, but that’s not so for water hot or cold, which is entirely free courtesy of the sodden weather and geothermal activity. Scalding sulfurous water comes pummeling out of the faucet, so watch out. In fact, the smell of sulfur continually comes and goes, particularly in the countryside where numerous fumaroles dot the landscape.
Today’s outing is to the puffin-less South Western Coast starting off with a stop at Reykjadalur, a geothermal area where you can soak in the river and warm springs. There’s no shortage off hardy, young outdoorsy types ready to doff their kit in the cold. We chicken out, not out because we’re uptight, but because it’s a fair hike in and we need to put in the miles to reach the famous waterfalls Seljalandsfoss, Gljufrabuifoss and Skógafoss. Check out the photo gallery to see how awesome they were.
They would have been even more awesome were it not for the United Nations swarm of expedition gear clad tourists, and one guy in shorts. If we came again, we’d stay outside Reykjavík and hit up anywhere except the SW quadrant, but I’m not sure Abby will agree to this return as the weather has been really vindictive for August.
Complaints aside, Iceland is still a unique place, not apocalyptic but, rather, the genesis of the planet occurring before your eyes with steam, mud, lava and endless open panoramas of black jagged rock and ominous mountains. Mordor comes to mind.
Our final stop of the day is the Dyrhólaey overlook and the black sand beach Reynisfjara: I’m probably overusing the word “epic”, take a look. The weather goes in the dumper, and I’m falling asleep at the wheel, so Abby gets a chance to drive the stick shift in the driving rain with enormous trucks and buses barreling down the road at us. Good times.
Back in town, we’re committed to a night on the town even though we look like something the cat dragged in. Reykjavík is known for nightlife and the first stop is Cafe Vinyl (All vegan! Turntable tunes music snob approved! Craft beers!). It’s like we never left home except it’s 25F colder. Dillon’s is the next stop with live music and a very aggressive heckler who told the band to stop speaking Icelandic and to stick to instrumentals, yet was not removed from the premises or punched up the bracket.
We end up at Gaukurrin, a queer friendly bar, but the drag show had been cancelled and it’s only a quiet drink and we’re off to bed. Still, we tried. Will we get more than a couple of hours sleep tonight, I hope so?
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