It was a long way, but we finally made it to the camp at the base of the mountain Snæfell. When we got there there were probably like 60-80 people. We were told there were twice as many in the previous days and they even had some bands play. Fucking hell! In addition to the permanent outpost, there were a variety of tents set up by the organizers, like an information tent, a food tent, etc. A guy was playing mournful accordian music while people milled about. The atmosphere was incredible. The place definitely had a hippie vibe to it, but with a distinct Nordic flavor. Strangely, it also had a DIY punk feel. I think a considerable number of people from that scene were there, though I didn't really talk to anyone about that. Someone even had "Save Ungdomshuset" written on their tent. There were overwhelmingly more foreigners than Icelanders, which I found a bit strange. Siggi & Manon were there and it was great to see them again. We were only staying one night and didn't end up doing any hiking. I kinda thought the whole point of going to the camp was to explore and see the Kárahnjúkar area. I should've gotten more information about it, but to be honest I was feeling a bit overwhelmed at the moment and just ended up drinking wine, smoking, staring in awe at the surroundings, and soaking up the surreal atmosphere. It was magnificent. We stayed up talking until the wind and the cold drove us into our tents.

I slept like a baby in the new tent. It was infinitely better than the other. We woke up early to give some people a ride to the airport at Egilsstaðir. On the way back we saw a herd of reindeer. How apropos. As we descended from the highlands, we were beset with fog, making some of those steep grades, twists and turns a bit worrisome. We dropped the people off and got a bite to eat before setting off for Seyðisfjörður. This is the town where the ferry comes in from various points in Europe and is thus the entry port for many people. The town was stunningly beautiful as you'd expect. We walked around, I took tons of pictures, and we had a coffee and sat outside. Then it was off to Eskifjörður by way of Reyðarfjörður. We stopped and had a look at the aluminum plant being constructed (Fjarðaál). We must've raised the attention of security as there was a vehicle driving around, seemingly brought forth due to our lingering about and taking photos. No one said anything to us, though. Further down route 92 we reached Eskifjörður where we stopped at Páll's grandmother's house. She offered us coffee (about 10 times, actually) and brought out loads of food. I shouldn't've eaten so much because the same scene would repeat itself at our next stop. She was such a nice lady who I tried, with very limited success, my best to communicate with. She has a fascinating rock collection that she's acquired from venturing among all the surrounding mountains. I mean some really neat shit. I think if I had been born here I would've been a geologist. But I digress...

From there we went to his other grandparents' place where they made us more coffee and delicious pancakes with rhubarb jelly and whipped cream. Damn that shit was good! We borrowed his grandfather's Russian jeep and set out for Vöðlavík. This is about as close as you can readily get to Gerpir, the easternmost point in the country. This place was way cooler than I expected. A tortuous, rocky path leads up over the mountain and down into the broad, river-strewn valley. First we went to the northern side of the valley and walked out to the beach (got my black sand beach after all!) where we saw a herd of reindeer in the distance. After a few minutes of walking around, looking at us with curiosity, they meandered off somewhere, not to be seen again. We explored the area for a good hour or so. It was marvelous. I was very happy we had so much time to hang around this place. It was like Xanadu. After awhile we decided to check out the south side, which is where we ended up setting up camp. We didn't choose the most scenic location, but it was fine.

I decided I would climb the mountain on the southern end of the bay. After driving around Iceland for years & yearning to just run up the nearest mountain, here, finally, was my chance. I set out. The terrain was fascinatingly varied. It gave me the feeling of being microscopic, where everything is enormous and strangely complex & random. As I got higher and higher I began to get anxious. As my isolation grew I became more acutely aware of all that could go wrong. I could very easily have twisted an ankle on that terrain (to call it uneven is a vast understatement), or worse, slipped and broken a leg or cracked my skull. Of course I'm being a bit of a worrywart here, but these kind of scenarios played over and over in my head, really worrying me, as I didn't tell Páll where I was going. With a single misstep I could easily have died up there. Still, I pressed on, determined. After a solid hour I still wasn't at the top. I was almost there, but at this point I was very high, very alone, and my anxiety (good sense?) overcame my determination to ascend that last final "stage" of the mountain. So I sat down on the edge of what looked like a bunch of loose, gigantic boulders and thought of the whole mass crumbling beneath me and being ground up in an avalanche of massive stones and looked out over the open vista. I was so hot my glasses were steaming from my own perspiration. As wonderful as it was, my anxiety was boiling within me and I couldn't wait to get back on the safe valley floor. I gingerly made my way down, keenly aware of that tricky mountainside. Much to my relief I made it down relatively quickly. When I looked back on it from the bottom it seemed so tame. Man, what a wimp I am, I thought. But no. It's all about being properly prepared, which I definitely wasn't.

I got back to the campsite to find Páll reading in the jeep. We both agreed it was time for some food, so he whipped out the trusty little stove & heated up some beans, which we ate with flatbread and fresh, ice-cold water from the nearby stream. Simple and modest, but good nonetheless. After that we smoked, drank, and waxed philosophical into the night, if you can really call it that here at this time of year. He went to sleep and I lingered outside, still drinking the whole place in. I walked up to a nearby cemetary, laid down, finished my cigar, and just stared at this strikingly beautiful mountain in front of me. There were a couple of birds flying back and forth nearby, taking turns squaking. I got the distinct feeling they were carrying on because of my presence. I don't think they liked these interlopers, Palli & I. They followed me back to the campsite and were perched on hills on either side, calling back and forth the whole time I was there. It was surreal. After finishing off the scrumptious pancakes that Páll's grandmother packed for us, I brushed my teeth in the stream and went to sleep.

Another fine night in the tent. I was a bit sad to leave Vöðlavík, but as great as it was, we did get to spend a good amount of time there, and there are other things to see and places to visit. On the way back we stopped at the calcite mine at Helgustaðanáma. 'Twas a cool little side visit. When we got back to Eskifjörður we dropped the jeep off and went for a swim at the town's new swimming pool. It really hit the spot after all that walking and not having bathed since Reykjavík. Just a few weeks back at this pool, workers unintentionally mixed some mislabelled chemicals and created a near-catastophe. The resultant poison gas sent dozens of people to the hospital, some even to Reykjavík in critical condition. Luckily we encountered no such deadly circumstance. From there we went back to the grandparents' house for a delicious lunch of cream of asparagus soup, herring, potato salad, and various other items. A fine spread that was much appreciated and enjoyed. Before leaving we walked down by the shore a bit and had a look around. At the moment we're back at Miðhús for a quick visit before we set off northward.

Thursday, 27 July

Sitting at the edge of Lake Mývatn staring at one of the most beautiful sunsets I've ever seen in my life. I've officially hit sensory overload. I feel positively beaten and pummelled by all that I've seen these past few days. I can't even speak anymore. I can't even write. I'm just a quivering, hollow-eyed, awe-struck shell.