On to our four-day hike, the Laugavegur.  It's about 35 miles in the Southern highlands of Iceland.  Most hikers take the route from North to South, from the hot springs at Landmannalauger to Þórsmörk; we opted to start in the South and go North, ending at the hot springs.  By this route, we would have two fairly flat 9-mile days, followed by two 8-mile days, one ascending, the other descending.  This had the benefit, we thought, of putting the shorter days at the end, and also would allow us to soak in the geothermal hot springs after our hike.

Jenna writing here: we disembarked in Þórsmörk, had a quick snack, and set on our way.  It was past noon.  We were expecting to do 15 km (9.3 miles) and we were starting late, so we knew that this day was going to be challenging.  In addition, due to hanging out with our Icelandic friend the night before, we had only gotten about 5 hours of sleep.

We had assumed the trailhead would be well-marked, but we had some difficulty finding it.  We walked for about 20 minutes back the way we came on the bus, looking for a sign.  We met up with a German couple who had already hiked from Skógar, 16 miles away.  "Oh good," we thought, "here are some people who know what they're doing."


Unfortunately, I think they were as lost as we were.  We walked down the road along a river for about 20 minutes with our loaded packs, only to be told by a passing motorist that the only bridge was a quarter-mile behind us.  We backtracked, crossed the bridge, and found ourselves in the middle of a vast flat lava-rock field with no sign of where the actual trail began.  Perplexed, we set our eyes on some distant buildings and set out there hoping for a clearer indication of the Laugavegur.

At the buildings there were signs pointing towards the trailhead, though at this point we'd already walked at least a mile without actually going anywhere.  To add insult to injury, there was a Trex bus right there, leading us to believe that if we'd stayed on our bus a little longer, it'd have dropped us at the actual trailhead.  Nevertheless, we finally set out.  The German couple dropped out at this point to buy bread.  We didn't see them for the rest of the trip.  I think she was mad at him for not being able to find the trail.

Aram typing now.  The alien homeworld in Ridley Scott's recent (mediocre) film Prometheus was actually a lava field in Iceland, and being here, it makes sense.  The geology seems fused from altogether different elements from the rest of the planet.  The scale of the landscape is dramatic: volcanic extrusions and rocky spires of impossible scope thrust out of the ground at jarring, sudden angles.  There are no trees, which multiplies the impact of the vistas.  We saw very little animal life, or droppings.  No rabbits, squirrels, weasels, mink, or mice.  Birds and insects are even scarce.  For the most part, there are no grasses, either.  Most of the Laugavegur is carpeted in black volcanic sand, speckled with tiny flowers and mosses.

It's a well-traveled route, and this fact is more obvious when walking against traffic, as it were.  On the first day, especially, we met a lot of tired-looking hikers coming towards Þórsmörk.










We had been hiking through this awe-inspiring scenery for a couple hours when we encountered what would turn out to be the first of several points where the trail would come up to the banks of a stream, and cheerfully resume its winding way on the other side, with no indication of how to get from one side to the other.  This stream was maybe 12 feet wide.  It was hard to determine its depth because the current was quite fast.  It made me nervous.  Jenna took her boots off and rolled her jeans to the knees.  With eyes of fire, she charged in, like a beast.  Although the temperature was about 60 degrees, the streams are glacial runoff, only marginally above freezing.  I don't think she realized just how cold it actually was, and neither was she prepared for it becoming almost waist-deep.  Her jeans were soaked with ice-water.

Jenna, proud of having just crossed the ice-river.

Armed with the information I'd gained from my cowardly indecision, I took my trousers off and went in.


The only good thing I can say about this experience is that almost immediately after stepping into the water, I was so distracted by the current that threatened to pull me down-river that I hardly noticed the searing pain of the cold.  It's hard to describe just how agonizing ice-water can be.  That's why it's used as a torture device, I guess.

The terrain was pretty challenging: a lot of up and down, and often pretty steep.  I wished we hadn't started so late, and had slept more.  Every person we asked on the trail had a different answer, in broken English, about where the next huts were.

Some of the crossings had bridges:



It was getting late, and we were getting tired.  Finally, at 6:30 or 7:00, we were pointed in the direction of the first checkpoint, Emstrur.  Unfortunately, between us and it was probably the longest, steepest hill I've ever seen.  It was also made out of sand, which offers poor traction and is very hard to walk through.  A fellow hiker said, "It's like walking a beach with a 20 kilo pack."  Only beaches usually don't tilt straight upwards.  Finally, at 7:30, we trudged into Emstrur, exhausted but happy.



Emstrur is a Nordic house with an outbuilding offering toilet facilities.  Those so inclined can stay inside, where a meal is served.  We had planned to camp on site, which is substantially cheaper (some people camp for free along the trail, but you're not supposed to).  We pitched our tent and heated up our food.  After the long day, it tasted like ambrosia and manna all rolled into one.  It gets very cold fast around 9PM, although it's still bright.  We gave each other quick massages, stretched, and fell deeply asleep under the midnight sun.

Jenna and I expected day two to be the hardest; we would be hiking the same distance as the day before over a similar vertical rise, only not on fresh legs.  We ate oatmeal and instant coffee and were packed up and moving by 10:30.  We both felt pretty rested, but we'd steeled ourselves to be pushed to exhaustion.  The landscape was much bleaker and less interesting: flat black volcanic rock-plains spanning the expanse between mountains.  This was mentally taxing, but we gritted our teeth and pushed onward.




We had to ford an even deeper, equally cold river near midday.

This isn't even the deepest part of the river.  No Suzuki Vitara has ever lived up to its potential quite like this.

We kept going, with pretty high spirits.  The terrain was still flat.  Suddenly, we rounded a bend and there was our camp, Álftavatn, an alpine lodge on the bank of a glittering glacial lake.  The grueling day Jenna and I had prepared ourselves for turned out to be the least challenging of the four.

Álftavatn

We asked a German girl to take our picture at Álftavatn, and she said, "Okay, but only if you jump."

In spite of the climb ahead of us, we were almost the last hikers out of camp the next morning.  I had packed instant just-add-water vegan sausage mix, which was pretty good, but maybe more trouble than if we'd stuck to oatmeal.  It also burned onto the pan, which I tried to clean off using a spork.  I don't think the pan will ever be quite the same.  The scenery on this day was the most spectacular yet.  We crossed a lot of snowy sections and small glaciers, and began to see a lot of geothermal vents.



Early in the day, we faced a very long, steep ascent.  It went up for hours.  I think this constituted the majority of the elevation increase.  It began to drizzle and get cold, and the weather, which had been great to this point, started looking sort of threatening.  We got out our waterproof pack covers and rain coats.


Around 3PM, surprisingly, the next camp came into view in the far distance.  It was motivating to be able to see our goal.  Every time we crested another hill, it was a little closer.  We arrived at Hrafntinnusker a little after 5PM, earlier than I expected - and fortunate, too, because at this altitude, the highest point of the Laugavegur, the north wind was formidable.



Hrafntinnusker was nestled on a hillside strewn with volcanic boulders.  Just to the side of the hut was a large geothermal vent, making the whole camp smell faintly of sulfur.


The tent area was compartmentalized by circular rock walls, delineating each tent site.  These walls were about three feet high and composed of chunks of obsidian big enough to stove your head in.



They provided a meager break from the constant, bitingly cold wind.  It got much colder, much earlier than it had on the previous two nights, and Jenna and I were soon wearing all our layers.  The hike hadn't been long, but it had taken a lot out of us, and the inescapable cold damaged our cheer.  We ate and climbed, miserably, into our sleeping bags.  Neither of us slept well, because it only got colder and windier later in the night.

Jenna again:
Even though the evening had been freezing and tough on our spirits, day three was by far the most interesting terrain. It was also rewarding to climb so far and look down after our first long ascent, and see the big river we had crossed earlier look so tiny and far away.  We were so high up it was easy to see Álftavatn.

It's by the lake in the distance.

The landscape was constantly changing, growing more alien and foreboding the higher up we went.



On day four, we attempted to get up early.  We wanted to get up and out of Hrafntinnusker at a reasonable time so that we would have time to dip into the natural hot springs at Landmannalaugar.  Our original plan was to camp a final night at Landmannalaugar and then catch the bus back to Reykjavik the next morning, but the campsites were a little expensive, and we were pretty sure Alex wouldn't mind having us as guests for one more night.  We had barely spent half a day in Reykjavik before the hike, and wanted to see more. We hadn't bought bus tickets back yet and had no idea what time the buses left, but we figured we would see what we could do once in Landmannalaugar.

The packing-up and getting-ready part, however, did not come nearly as easily as it had our previous mornings.  For one thing, having slept rather poorly, both of us were reluctant to get up at the early hour we had set for ourselves.  It might have been easier to fight through this had it not been freezing and windy outside.  It was agonizing to remove ourselves from our protective cocoons, and once we did, the cold and the wind made simple tasks like getting dressed, making oatmeal, and washing dishes difficult.

Day four took us from the Laugavegur's highest point, the mountain huts in Hrafntinnusker, to the hot pools in Landmannalaugar. It was a descent of about the same length as our ascent the day before.  Still, it included some climbing over tall, steep hills of loose rocks, icy mud, and volcanic sand. We had trouble keeping our balance when descending, and found ourselves slipping often. We took each step slowly and carefully, leaning into the hillsides for support.



The wind on day four was especially tough.  It was challenging to keep our balance on the taller peaks. The landscape was a mix of huge chunks of obsidian rock, hills covered in strange moss, and monstrous, still-snowy peaks rising in the background.





About three hours into our day, we were told by a fellow hiker going in the opposite direction that we were a little over an hour from Landmannalaugar.  Moments later, we could see the huts in the distance, which stood at the edge of an enormous field of volcanic rock.  Even though a lot of walking still lay between us and the hot pools, including one particularly long, rocky ascent, it felt good to see our final destination.





On our way around the volcanic rock fields, we passed some sheep.  I was able to get a fairly close shot of them, which I was really pleased about - what nice animals.


Landmannalaugar came up just like Álftavatn - we thought we had a while to go, but all of a sudden, we were through the rock fields and it lay right in front of us. We arrived around 2:15 and quickly found out that the last bus of the day back to Reykjavik left at 3:30, and we decided to try to catch it.  We changed and went for a dip in the natural hot springs - a wonderful reward at the end of the hike.  The steaming mineral pools were welcome on our sore feet and legs (though not so great on our sunburns!) and we both got enough of a soak to enjoy the experience before making a mad dash for the bus, which we managed to catch just in time.



We weren't sure, on the ride back, if we'd made the right decision in leaving that day instead of camping another night, but soon after we got back to Reykjavik we were glad we had decided to go.  Alex was more than happy to accommodate us for another night, and Heiða actually insisted on letting us sleep in her charming, cozy practice space next to Alex's apartment, which had two little mattresses already set up.



We dropped off our backpacks and enjoyed another round of beer and coffee (the former for me, the latter for Aram), which has become a nice tradition for the two of us on this trip.  After that we had dinner at Cafe Babalu, an eclectically decorated upstairs restaurant that served vegan carrot cake.


We met up with Alex for a bit after that, and then headed off to bed.  The next morning the three of us shared a wonderful breakfast of toast, avocado, muesli, bananas, and tea before parting ways for the day.  Aram and I had more coffee/beer and then headed to the Reykjavik Art Gallery, which had some interesting pieces.

Magnús Tómasson, Tvenna

Julie Langsam, Floor Plan Prototypes

Couldn't find a listing for who the artist was for this unsettling piece

Aram again.  Our hostel for the final night in Iceland was called Kex, Icelandic for "cookie."  It's one of the "coolest" spaces I've ever been in.  It's an interior designer's hipster wet dream.  Every square foot is filled with antiques, interesting books, kitschy tchotchkes, and quaint knick-knacks.

Obviously, the Bingo room was undergoing renovation

Although most consumer goods in Iceland are breathtakingly expensive (avocados are like $7 each), Kex cost only about $44 per person, including an all-you-can-eat breakfast.  In addition to being a backpacker's hostel, Kex maintains a restaurant, bar, library, barbershop, gym, and music venue.  It's a unique salon of high aesthetic and tactile pleasures.  At the same time, I'm aware that Kex is a self-aware simulacrum: not thrown together slapdash from thrift stores, hand-me-downs, and dumpsters, but carefully curated from auction lots, antique stores, and eBay.  Similarly, we've spent all our time in Reykjavik in the trendy 101 commercial district, which has painted a picture of a vibrant, creative, international city devoid of crime or poverty, but I'm sure that this isn't a comprehensive view of life in Reykjavik, and I wonder what we're missing.

After leaving our packs at Kex, Jenna and I ate late lunch at Kryddlegin Hjörtu (Spicy Hearts).  We ordered the soup and salad bar.  The soups were exquisite, and the salad bar was also filled with an assortment of fresh-tasting, well-crafted options.  The homemade spelt bread and hummus rounded out the meal.



We met up with Alex after she finished up her bartending shift.  After a few drinks, we headed back to her building.  Heiða and her husband, Elvar (also a member of Alex's band) had some Belgian friends over.  Their son, Óliver, was also hanging out.  We drank tea and listened to records.  Once the guests had departed and Heiða retired to bed, Alex, Elvar, Jenna, and I went to a gently-lit, quiet French-style bar, Dix Gouttes, for a nightcap.


Kex' continental breakfast spread was sumptuous: homemade breads, jams, and skyr (Icelandic yogurt); hot and cold cereals; good coffee; tea; boiled eggs; dried fruits; and fresh fruits served in attractive little canning jars.  With just a few hours before our airport shuttle scooped us up, Jenna and I had set our sights on one of Reykjavik's most unusual attractions, the Icelandic Phallological Museum.

The Phallological Museum began as the bizarre collection of an idiosyncratic Icelandic professor of Latin American Studies, Sigurður Hjartarson.  As a boy, he had been given a whip made from a bull's penis, a somewhat common tool used to herd farm animals.  He soon began amassing a collection of other animal members, including whale penises donated by local fishermen.  This collection formed the core of the downtown Reykjavik museum's holdings, which features scores of male genitals, ranging from mouse to elephant, and an eclectic variety of penis-related sculptures, paintings, prints, toys, and various uncategorizable bric-à-brac.  There is one set of human genitals, preserved in formalin, donated by an Icelandic gentleman last year.  Also on display are three letters from other men willing their penises to the museum upon their deaths.  The Vagina Museum, in case you were wondering, is located in Rotterdam, Holland.

Sperm whale, cross-section

Hooded seal

Sperm whale, hollowed

Whale penis bowtie

Jenna vs. bonus-size sperm whale penis

Pig

Elephant

Reindeer

Human

Jenna and I also ducked into the Living Art Museum, which was displaying art by Níels Hafstein.  Much of his work uses reflective and translucent materials to create optical illusions and dynamic pieces that appear to move or change with the light.

Jafnvaegi 2011 (Equivalent 2011)

Vá 2011 (Vow 2011)

Taeming 1992 (Exhausted Subject 1992)

We waited outside the Dead Gallery for someone to come back from lunch and unlock it, but after a quarter hour chatting with a German film student by the front door, we left.  Too bad, because it looked interesting.  I gathered that the gallery's personnel are connected to the psychedelic/indie rock bands Dead Skeletons and Brian Jonestown Massacre.



The flight home went well; we arrived back in Edinburgh very hungry, and were met with an excellent hot meal as soon as we stepped into my aunt Joan's kitchen.

We've been here a few days now and are getting into the swing of Edinburgh life.  I helped Joan and Stephen, my uncle, out at their garden allotment yesterday, picking raspberries, beets, and onions; weeding and tilling the soil.  Joan and Stephen live a very ecologically concerned life.  What they don't grow, they buy almost exclusively from local farmers, and they bike everywhere.  They don't own a clothes drier, or a toaster.  They're the kind of people who make Britain's cultural superiority obvious.  Their depth of knowledge on every subject is tremendous, and their tastes are developed and refined.  Everything has its place in their kitchen, and meals are more formal - you wouldn't think of serving food on a plate that hadn't been warmed in the oven, for example.  In comparison, my lifestyle and interests seem crude and prosaic, and my skills and knowledge unbelievably limited.  I feel like a non-stop blundering idiot, which is unfamiliar and frustrating.

On Friday, we catch the Megabus for 20 hours to Amsterdam.  We still haven't found CouchSurfers to stay with.  Onward to more adventures.

Some final thoughts on Iceland:  Cats roam freely around Reykjavik.



There is, for some reason, a Big Lebowski-themed bar in Reykjavik.  Not in Brooklyn, or London, or Portland - Reykjavik.  They serve 18 different varieties of White Russian and the decorating prominently features Oriental rugs, which really pull the room together.



Old Land Rovers don't die, they just move to Iceland.

Icelanders adore licorice.  Almost all Icelandic candy is licorice flavored, as is a great deal of their liquor.

All the urinals in Iceland are placed inexplicably high on the wall.  They're all placed at about the level of my belly button.  Icelandic people don't strike me as unusually tall, either.  One of them had a helpful stool in front of it, but that really just deepens the mystery.