We have our first big communication breakdown in the group. It's hard to coordinate seven people, seven agendas, seven big personalities. We end up splitting into two groups, even though we're going to some of the same places. Joe rents a car, and he, Becca and I drive north. Joe has some points of interest to drive toward, and our plan is to stop whenever anyone wants to take a picture or use the bathroom.
The landscape is beautiful and alien. The mountains are so close, but they don't remind me of anything I've seen in the states, except maybe parts of Montana. But only a little. The scenery is really changeable, too. One minute it's brown grasses and volcanic rocks. A few miles (or a few more kilometers) later and the rocks are covered with the softest green moss imaginable. It's cloudy and foggy, but starts to break up as the sun rises.
Vesturland, Iceland. (As far as I can tell, Vesturland just means 'land to the west.' I don't know the exact town we were near.)
Vesturland, getting a little less cloudy.
Mountains. Me.
Just on the other side of the street from those mountains.
More beautiful views.
We stop at Rauðfeldar Canyon in Snæfellsnes. From the road, you see a cleft in the cliffs across a field. There's a sign at the start of the trail that tells the story of how the cleft came to be. Bárðer Snæfellsnes was half man and half troll, and lived with his daughters. One day, his brother's sons Rauðfeldar and Sölvi were playing, and accidentally pushed Snæfellsnes' daughter Helga onto an iceberg, and she drifted all the way to Greenland. Snæfellsnes was so angry that he killed the brothers: he pushed Rauðfeldar into a canyon and Sölvi off a nearby cliff. Snæfellsnes went into the glacier in the canyon and never came out again. Today, the Rauðfeldar Canyon and surrounding cliffs are home to hundreds of gulls. It's supposed to be a place of great power, perhaps a gateway to the hidden world. You can walk through the cleft back into the canyon some ways, and some people report feeling uneasy back there.
Rauðfeldar Canyon from the road.
Getting closer.
The canyon.
Rauðfeldar Canyon and gulls.
We walk to where the snowlike starts, and I waiver about going all the way to the mouth of the canyon. Joe goes and comes back, saying it's a little tricky. So now I want to try it. The trail is skinny and steep: falling down would be a 30 foot slide into an icy stream or rocks. I see deep holes where other hikers have unwittingly stepped into small caves under the snow. I slip once, but make it to the mouth of the cave safely. Other people who have written about visiting the cave say there are dozens of dead birds inside. I see one sick or injured gull sadly flapping in the water at the mouth of the cave. It's too steep for me to comfortably get down to him, and the water is too deep for me to want to walk through it back into the cave. Sadly, I leave the gull be. Happily, I leave Snæfellsnes be.
Joe, hiding on the slopes.
We drive some more. We go through a tiny town and stop to take photos of the small inlet. It's a beautiful drive, but I'm tired of being in the car.
Inlet somewhere northwest of Reykjavik.
Moss-covered rocks.
Most of the small towns we pass have a parish church and graveyard. We stop at the graveyard in this tiny inlet town. Two men on horses ride past, and are met on the road by two other men on horses. I walk and read unfamiliar names and old dates, white cross after white cross. Becca calls me to a gate and tells me to listen. There's music, strange, strange music. It's quiet, and I can't pick out a tune, but it's definitely melodic. We can't tell where it's coming from. It honestly sounds like it's coming from the gateway itself. Becca records the gate for a few seconds while we stand and listen to the music. When she plays it back, there's only the wind.
Cemetery, and strangeness.
We make it to a beach covered in black rocks. There's a lighthouse nearby, but I care a lot more about finding beach treasures. I find some sea urchin skeletons, and when I pick them up a hundred fleas jump out. The ocean is some of the wildest surf I have seen.
Black rock beach and lighthouse.
Urchin bodies.
Our last stop is Helgafell. I see a small church down a lane and a sign that says Byli Farm. I walk down to see it, and I'm greeted by a family and their two exuberant sheepdogs. I take photos of the church and walk up back up the hill to Helgafell with the dogs.
Small church at Byli Farm.
Dog friend number one.
Dog friend number two.
Helgafell is only 73 meters, but it's the most powerful mountain outside of Reykjavik. It's a gateway to the afterlife, although I won't read about it until after I'm back home in Seattle. What I do know is that it's said that if you climb to the top, not talking or looking back the whole way, and when you get to the ruins at the top face east, you will be granted three wishes. I made my wishes and I think they'll come true: looking around for your dog friends does not count as looking back in my book.
The view from the top of Helgafell.
I sleep on the way back to the city. I'm starting to feel sick with a sore throat and congestion and I stumble in to my hostel about 7PM. I sit in my bunk for two fitful hours, trying to decide if I take my miserable self to the grocery store, or make my miserable self just go to bed. At about 9PM, I decide to do neither and take my miserable self to a nearby restaurant for dinner. It's a place called American Bar (appropriately next-door to a place called English Pub) and specializes in burgers and beer. My friend Selina says going to places like this is the American equivalent of going to a Mexican restaurant outside of Mexico: you see that country's interpretation of a different culture's food, decor, and priorities. According to this place, Americans like burgers and beer, of course, but also neon signs, lots of platforms in the dining area, and televisions. Pretty accurate, really. They announce that a singer will be performing acoustic versions of American hits, and at first I'm annoyed because I wanted to eat in quiet-ish. But the singer is actually good, and very clearly loves to sing these songs even if he doesn't know all the words quite perfectly. My favorite part is when he covers Nirvana's Teen Spirit.
"Lhoad up on guss! Bring your friends! And worse and worse and worse until ze end! Oh no, oh no, oh no, oh no, I know!"
