On our first visit to Iceland, last year in March, the things that grabbed us were the grand raw landscapes, the geothermal spas, the northern lights, the food, and the relaxed welcoming people. We experienced the dramatic parts — waterfalls, mountains, geysers, tectonic rifts — via organized day trips out of Reykjavik. Even as members of bus-loads of people, we had a great time. (Four posts: 1 2 3 4)
However, we had expected to see lots of snow and ice in Iceland, but what snow we saw looked down on us from the mountain slopes. Our landscapes were black and brown.
Each day began and ended in Reykjavik. Reykjavik is a really nice small city: welcoming, easy to navigate, full of shops and restaurants and attractions. But it is a city.
Iceland is mostly countryside, much of it uninhabited or just barely inhabited. During our day trips out of the city, we saw some of open-land Iceland; we longed to be able to stay out there, see what dusk, night and dawn are like away from the city.
That’s what inspired this second trip to Iceland. We, along with our fellow Iceland-loving friends Kay and Marissa, targeted the north side of the country. Together, we prioritized visiting the bold countryside, soaking in geothermal baths, and catching some northern lights — if the sun’s charged particles and local weather would permit.
We did our research and found a great small tour company based in Húsavík on the north coast of the country: Travel North. Our interlocutor, driver, guide and entertainer was Francesco. He drove the four of us around in a Toyota Landcruiser. He was full of information and stories and lots of patience with us.
Francesco probably doesn’t sound like an Icelandic name to you. Italian, right? You’re correct! He along with his Italian girlfriend came to Iceland about ten years ago on an internship for a whaling-focused museum in Húsavík. One thing led to another and to another. Today they live in Húsavík with their 14-month-old son. They work together at the tour company.
It was immediately obvious that Francesco loves this northern, rather wild part of Iceland. (Check out some podcasts he and a friend have produced.) He is, unsurprisingly, a good-natured gregarious fellow, so he has connected with lots of Icelandic as well and immigrant folks all over the country. The hospitality industry in the country attracts quite a few foreign workers. Most come for a few seasons, get their exotic experience, and go away. Francesco and his partner are a bit unusual: they have committed themselves to this country that they love. But don’t worry, they can still tell tales of quirks and oddities of the natives!
The late-March weather had graced us with a thorough coating of snow. Two days before our arrival in Akureyri, which is the big little town in the north, a big storm had barreled through the region. Francesco said that he’d been a little concerned that the roads wouldn’t be cleared enough for him to get from Húsavík to Akureyri. Fortunately, the plows had done their work in time.
So, for us, snow was everywhere. On this visit, we got our white Iceland. In addition, after this type of storm, it is common that there be a few days of clear weather — which is exactly what happened. The temperatures stayed below freezing for our entire visit; white Iceland stayed white for us.
Our base for four of the nights was a nice modern hotel in Húsavík. Húsavík has about 2500 residents. It’s a little harbor town. Not quite the out-in-the-landscape accommodations that we had hoped for, but very comfortable and easy.
Our typical daily routine was to head out in the Landcruiser in one direction or the other.
We drove through snow squalls, blowing snow like horizontal blizzards…
…as well as clear brilliantly sunny hours.
We saw clusters of Iceland horses grazing on piles of hay. Iceland horses insist on staying outside, no matter the weather.
We stopped for a stroll in a village of Grenivík. Some of those charming Icelandic horses seemed glad to have a little human diversion in their snowy day.
We passed by isolated farms. There’s usually more activity there than meets the eye. For example, many of the farm buildings shelter sheep and cattle; they sensibly stay inside until at last summer arrives.
Traditional mud and thatch houses: Many people lived like this until even the 1960s. Collections of structures were connected inside by passages; that way you didn’t need to go outside at all when the weather was bad. There was probably no consistent heating inside. Wood was extremely rare, so if there was fuel, it would have been dried dung. Insulation and hunkering down into the earth were key. Since the prevailing winds come from the north and south, the few openings face only east or west.
Have you heard of The Bieber Effect? In 2015, a Justin Bieber music video was filmed in Iceland, including at the site of a crashed American plane on beach at Sólheimasandi. Soon after the release of the video, tourists flooded to the video locations.
We visited another recipient of The Bieber Effect, although the engine this time was a local commercial. This is Stuðlagil canyon.
While this canyon has certainly been here for a long time, we were able to see all the way into its depths because of the upstream Káranhjúkar hydropower plant and dam. The dam was constructed in 2008 to provide power for an aluminum smelting plant. Industry comes to Iceland for low cost and, perhaps, green power. Iceland invites such industry to boost local employment and revenue. However, we heard of quite a few factories that had been built, used and then abandoned. Not all agreements with the government apparently include provisions to remove the factory once it no longer functions.
When we visited, not much water was being released from the dam. In spring and fall more water flows through here, but not as much as before the construction of the dam. As you are probably already thinking, the dam’s modification of the water flow has wreaked havoc on the ecosystem.
The Bieber Effect here is due to a local bottled-water commercial (if we recall correctly). After the commercial, visitors from abroad and from Iceland thronged this spot. The authorities had to respond by building a new parking lot, a cafe and facilities, and safer access stairs..
A famous waterfall in North Iceland is Goðafoss waterfall. Worthy of every selfie.
Icelandic greenhouses create amazing growing ecosystems thanks to plentiful geothermal energy. However, way up here near the arctic circle, they are energy hogs. A complex like this one uses more energy to operate than what the town of Húsavík (2500 residents) uses.
One destination was particularly otherworldly: the Náamafjall geothermal area near Mývatn Lake.
Náamafjall is a high-temperature geothermal area with fumaroles and mud pots. At a depth of 1000 m, the temperature is above 200°C. Along with the steam comes fumarole gas, such as hydrogen sulfide which is responsible for the characteristic hot spring smell in these areas. The hot springs rpoduce considerable sulphur deposits. In previous centuries sulphur was mined in Iceland to produce gun powder.
Caution: Unsafe soil and high temperatures (80-100°C) ! Please walk only on the paths and marked trails.
(From sign.)
On just one of days out on the road, Francesco couldn’t be with us. Instead Gunnar, the owner of the tour company, drove and guided us. He grew up close to Húsavík. As we drove around, he pointed out the house he grew up in; the house his mother grew up in; the friend’s house he helped rebuild… You don’t get more authentic than this.
At one point, Gunnar headed off the main road inland and into the open end of a unique canyon called Ásbyrgis. From the air, you would see a long triangular cut from the sea into the highlands, with a long stubborn mesa in the middle — a bit like a horseshoe. Of course, there are Icelandic myths to explain this place. Perhaps it was Sleipnir, Odin’s flying horse that touched the ground here with one of his eight great hooves. Perhaps. But it is more likely that between two and five thousand years ago, a volcanic eruption released great glacial lakes inland. The vast amounts of water crashed through the land and into the sea in a matter of only a day or two.
All that science and myth is interesting. But the best part was a quiet walk in the winter forest, framed by the black cliffs. Quiet, except for the crunch of our boots on the icy snow.
The farthest point on Gunnar’s itinerary was to visit the so-called Arctic Henge. It looks all mythic and old, but is in fact an in-progress construction.
The story starts with the fishing village just down the hill from the Arctic Henge plateau: Raufarhöfn. For many years, Raufarhöfn was a prosperous place, the largest export harbor in Iceland, thanks to vast schools of herring in Icelandic waters. However, by 1968, overfishing had decimated the herring schools.
Around that time, Erlingur Thoroddsen, an energetic visionary man, moved to Raufarhöfn. He wanted to facilitate a rebirth for Raufarhöfn; he wanted to create a destination that visitors like us would come to for more than just an hour or two. While his plans included upgrades and modernization of the village, he envisioned a grand neo-mythic monument as the main attractor.
Started in 1996, the Arctic Henge project is a monument not only to the country’s Nordic roots, but also to some of the neo-pagan beliefs that have arisen in certain areas. The piece was inspired directly from the Eddic poem Völuspá (Prophecy of the Seeress), taking from it the concept of 72 dwarves who represent the seasons in the world of the poem, among other symbolic queues. In the Arctic Henge, 72 small blocks, each inscribed with a specific dwarven name will eventually circle four larger stone monuments, which in turn will surround a central balanced column of massive basalt blocks. Each aspect of the deliberate layout corresponds to some aspect of ancient Norse belief and when each piece of the monument is installed, visitors will be able to “capture the midnight sun” by viewing it through the various formations at different vantage points depending on the season. (source)
Gunnar is part of the team who is working on completing the monument. The team has access to the funds they need, but finding skilled workers is their current limiting challenge.
On the day of our visit, a cold wind howled through the arches. This is not at all uncommon since the Arctic Henge sits on a peninsula just about as far north as you can get in Iceland; it almost touches the Arctic Circle.
The stacked stone forms are primal and mysterious. However, without the rest of the planned walls and sculptures, the experience was a little wan. You have to use your imagination (which is always a good thing). We wish Gunnar, his committee and the people of Raufarhöfn success in completing this vision.
At one point, Gunnar pointed south, into the highlands. He said that this is where the Good Shepherd lived.
The writer Gunnar Gunnarsson immortalized the story of the Good Shepherd in a novella in 1940. It’s a local tradition to read the story each Christmas.
The story is that of an Icelandic shepherd, accustomed each year to round up the lost sheep at Ascensiontide, in the high mountain pastures. On the anniversary of his 27th year of this service, he is caught by the weather, as he starts forth. And furthered delayed by giving his services to others, less skilled in tracking than himself. When finally he achieves his own aim, he does it at terrific cost of hunger, cold, danger — but in the end, with the help of his namesake, the goal is achieved, and the Good Shepherd has brought home the sheep which was lost. A parable — told as a folk tale of Iceland, and alive with the feel of the country and people. (source)
There’s a follow-up real-world story about the story. Apparently Walt Disney learned of the story and wanted to make an animated film of it. He approached Gunnar Gunnarsson in exactly the wrong way for an Icelander. He said that he’d like to make the movie that, because he was Disney, would be a huge and profitable success. So Gunnarsson should give him the rights, and pay him royalties up front. For a proud Icelander, this was extremely rude. No deal – ever!
Our base for two other nights was an isolated guest house upslope from a broad fjord. (Icelandic fjords are much wider and shallower than Norwegian or New Zealand fjords.) Snowy expanses, mountain vistas and even Icelandic horses were our only neighbors out there.
By the way, the guest house served “mineral water.”
Just meters away and we were free from artificial lights (except passing cars, alas); the skies were kind, so we saw some dramatic aurora with no distraction.
On a very windy sunny day, we walked down to the sea through snow as deep as our boots.
We gazed at sleeping seals on the opposite shore of an inlet.
Then we walked along the gentle surf on crunchy frozen basalt sand and snow banks.
We headed against the wind toward what looked like a stack of rock out in the water. Because we needed to watch our footing and because of the wind pushing at our eyes, we didn’t notice until we got there that the stack was in fact an intricate wall of stone that stands akimbo in the water.
Our living only a few kilometers from the fortified city of Carcassonne has made us very sensitive to fortifications. Francesco took us to a naturally-formed “fortress” at Borgarvirki. Fortress in quotes because this ring of rock is actually the remains of a volcanic plug. Magma and high-pressure gases had built up in the earth; at one point the mixture exploded upward, leaving only a circle of basalt.
Its protecting form was irresistible during times of conflict. There’s a legend from the time of fierce feuds between clans in the region; it goes like this:
There is one story […] about Víga Barði and his flock of local farmers using it as a defense against a flock of thugs from the western part of Iceland. For the attackers, it was impossible to enter Borgarvirki, so they decided to wait until huger forced Víga Barði and his people out of the fortress. But when they started to throw food from the inside of Borgarvirki to the attackers after days of waiting, the thugs from the west gave up, thinking that Víga Barði and his people had food that would sustain them for weeks or months. (source)
(There’s actually a very similar story told about legendary Dame Carcas of Carcassonne in the 8th century. This throwing a bit of food over the walls at your attackers seems to be a time-honored ruse. You never know when you’ll need it!)
On another sunny day, Francesco took us to some geothermal vents out in a glorious field of snow. Francesco turned onto a road that leads to a geothermal power plant. The road hadn’t been plowed as fully as Francesco expected. Even with his snow-driving skills, as he turned onto the last part of our route, the car got stuck.
Maybe 200 meters up the route stood an A-frame building accompanied by three big-tire vehicles. The little building is a cabin for people who are off-roading through the countryside. Luckily, the three guys staying the night there were just about to collect their things and head out, so they could come pull our car out of the snow.
While all that was going on, Francesco encouraged us to walk up to the cabin, and then a bit beyond to take a look at the thermal vents. The sun was so bright and the air so cold (about -5 degrees C / 23 degrees F) that our transitions eye/sun glasses became so dark it was hard to see! Nonetheless, we clomped through the untouched snow for a bit, until it got deeper than the tops of our boots. But that was fine. The pleasure was simply being out there: snow all around, steam from quite a few natural vents, white hilly backdrop, and a vast view back across the valley.
Iceland is famous for its hot baths — which we love. Many are simple community pools; the hot bath is a central feature of Icelandic life. There are also fancier geothermal spas, like the Blue Lagoon and the Sky Lagoon near Reykjavik. (A bit like Japanese onsen. There are a few important differences though. There isn’t the separation by sex, which also means you wear a bathing suit. While you are supposed to be quiet in an onsen, the Icelandic bath is a lively social place.) We told Francesco that if possible we wanted to relax a little each day in different hot pools. He beautifully organized our days to include our hedonistic pleasure.
We thoroughly enjoyed every photogenic destination and engaging story. At the same time, the greatest pleasure was simply spending time in these vast snowy landscapes. That was the joy: just being there amid huge raw natural beauty.
By the way, in response to the challenges of the 2008 financial crash in Iceland, Akureyri started to upgrade its red stoplights to share positive thinking and to emphasize what really matters. Now Akureyri is a city of love.
March 2024