I cannot possibly adequately convey how profoundly this place affects me. I've tried dozens of different ways and they all fall pathetically short. We left this morning a bit later than we would have liked. We had to wait for Einar to bring us some foodstuffs for us to take to the camp (the Kárahnjúkar protest camp at Snæfell). I think we left Reykjavík around 11:30-12:00. First we stopped in Þykkvibær to pick up a bunch of potatoes (more food for the camp). 3 huge bags...over 100 kilos! The fact that we went to Þykkvibær was a very strange coincidence. I've wanted to visit there for years. Seriously. Don't ask me why. I'm fond of pouring over maps and that's just one of the places that caught my eye over and over again. There's no reasoning behind this, it just is. So, when I heard we were going there I was incredulous, as, other than to buy an inordinate amount of potatoes, I don't think one would ever have a practical reason to go there. The place didn't exactly disappoint, but it wasn't anything particularly special either. Actually, it sits among some of the most bland, unspectacular of landscapes I've ever seen here. So, in a kinda twisted, opposite way, that made it stand out.

Seljalandsfoss

A mountain betwixt the waterfalls

Skógafoss

Eastward from Skógafoss

Vík

Shortly after that, we arrived here, where I am sitting right now: Skaftafellsþjóðgarður, a national park at the base of the Skaftafellsjökull tongue of Europe's largest glacier, Vatnajökull. We got here around 19:00, set up our tent, had a bite to eat, and set out on a hike up to Svartifoss, another spectacular waterfall. Yeah yeah, ho hum. Whatever, man. It was incredible. The whole trek took about an hour and fifteen minutes up and down some pretty steep terrain. When we got back, we were a bit tired. I, of course, couldn't resist seeing my first glacier up close, so I set out to see Skaftafellsjökull. Páll hung back. I couldn't get as close as I would've liked. I didn't actually get up to the glacier itself. Not surprisingly, at the base of the glacier was massive amounts of rushing and still water, mountain walls littered with loose stones and rocks, and according to several warning signs on the way, quicksand!!!! WTF??? So, I was a bit wary when I got up close. Perhaps not enough, though, as I went possibly farther than I should have. The trail peters out gradually the further you go and there isn't a point where it's the obvious "end of the line", so to speak. So, I'm going along, and pushing foward and pushing forward, always drawn as I am by the sheer magnetism that is Icelandic nature. Next thing I know I'm basically on a mountain wall that drops off into a rushing glacial stream. I finally realized I just couldn't go any farther so I turned around. After walking for about a half hour with the ever ominous, sometimes sheer wall of this carved out mountain to my left, suddenly, it's on my right. This doesn't sound like a big deal, but it was. My dexterity was all off kilter. The footholds that were obvious to me on the way out weren't when everything was on the opposite side. Loose stones and gravel abound, I was truly scared I would slip and fall. One particular moment when my foot slipped I was certain I was going to plunge into that rushing glacial river. It was one of the most frightening moments of my life. Seriously.

I finally made it back on the path, immensely relieved, but heart still in my throat. I then wandered around the washed out plain at the foot of the glacier. It was so peaceful, serene and starkly beautiful, but it was also very ominous. I could feel the presence of the great Vatnajökull in my immediate proximity. It was awesome and intimidating. I didn't want to leave. I wandered around trying to find a way to go up and get to the glacier itself, but I just couldn't manage it. I finally turned around and meandered back to the trail, my body and mind swimming with stimulation. When I'm here I feel like a man who has just gained sight after a life of blindness. Everything is mesmerising, strange, fascinating. I feel like a child, giddy with anticipation over what's over every hill, around every corner. The complete opposite of the eyes-to-the-ground, uninspired, soulless shell of a man that I am back home. This place just blows my mind. By the time I got back to the campsite Páll was already trying to sleep. I had to write, so here I sit at a nearby bench, freezing my nuts off. Damn, it feels like mid-November. I can't believe two days ago I was lying supine on my bed, widows open, fan blowing, sweating. The swigs of 100-proof vodka I've been taking aren't helping either. OK, it's past midnight, we have a long day tomorrow, I better get to bed. Fucking Iceland. Man......

Thursday, 27 July

The night spent in Skaftafell was miserable. It was cold. It rained. Our tent leaked. 'Nuff said. Considering how late it was and all the walking I did I thought a fitful rest was assured. I hardly slept a wink. Every time I began to drift off a drop of water would plop down somewhere right near my ear making me cringe at how wet my sleeping bag was going to end up being. Did I also mention the tent was really small? It barely fit two people and you couldn't even fully sit up. It was a long night trapped in a distillation chamber. Morning eventually came and we tried to shake it off, but I for one didn't really feel human. We quickly got back on the road in need of sustinence. The nearest suitable place to stop for food was Höfn, which was a couple hours away. This section of the road is squeezed between Vatnajökull and the ocean. Amidst all the other remarkable scenery is Jökulsárlón, a lagoon full of broken chunks of glacial ice slowly drifting off into the sea. It is spectacular beyond words. I wish we could've spent more time there. They take boats out and ride out among the icebergs. That must be incredible.

Next stop: Höfn, where we recharged our batteries, both figuratively and literally. A lady there let me plug my camera battery in while we ate. I have to find a place to charge my battery every time we stop now. I've been taking an obscene amount of photos. I'm guessing somewhere around 500 in just 3 days! I hope they come out good. I got this new camera that I'm not sufficiently experienced with. So, not far from Höfn we go through Almannaskarðsgöng which is a new tunnel going through Vestrahorn, a promontory that seems to be the demarcation between the south and the east. Páll said it wasn't completed when he came this way last year and that you used to have to go over the mountain up what looked to be a pretty treacherous path. Emerging from the tunnel in the east, the road becomes more serpentine, hugging the coast, going in and out of bays and fjords. We picked up a hitchhiker not far from here. He was a teacher from Spain who didn't talk much and whose name I didn't catch. At the bottom of Berjufjörður we took the Öxi pass which avoids the long leg to Breiðdalsvík. You wanna talk about treacherous? Páll says this is the second highest mountain pass in the country. It's a narrow, rugged path snaking up into the mountains with sharp twists and turns, steep drop offs and (of course) no guardrails or anything. One false move and you're plunging to your certain and spectacular death. We soon pick up route 1 again which runs straight from here along Grímsá to Egilsstaðir, the biggest town in the east. We got some supplies here (including a new tent!!!), droppped off the Spanish dude, and visited some of Páll's relatives. They run this place called Miðhús which is some kind of craft store or something. When we got there his aunt, uncle, and cousin were painting the house. The weather was beautiful. They of course took a break and gave us coffee and cake (this is de rigeur here when relatives drop by).