It is a gloomy morning. Cold. Cloudy. Gray. I can smell rain. I see it coming. But this is to be expected, and weather in Iceland stops no man.
It’s a short drive from the campground to Seyðisfjörður, a harbour village nestled in Iceland’s eastern fjords. The road from Egilsstaðir to Seyðisfjörður first steeply winds up, then drastically winds down through the mountains, in and out of the dense morning fog. My ears pop more than once during the climb and descent. I attempt to count the number of waterfalls that I see but fail – it’s not easy to keep track of the waterfalls when there are so many other things to take in: rivers, the rising fog, the varieties of green, the dips into the valleys and the ridges that climb out of them.
The descent into the town is slow: the road is full of sharp bends that force drivers to slow down. The town comes into view, lying low at the foot of the mountains at the end of a long and narrow fjord. You first see the neatly lined houses, stacked along the water’s edge, painted in a variety of bright colours. Seyðisfjörður is an arty town, for artists, writers and musicians; even from far away it feels like the kind of place creativity and imagination can be easily nurtured.
After a walk, a delicious breakfast of several cheeses, herring, 3 different varieties of bread and coffee, and more walking, we head back over the mountains, this time making pit stops along the road between Seyðisfjörður and Egilsstaðir. There are several places to park the car, get out and hike along the river, stand near to waterfalls and feel their fresh mist. Actually, if you park somewhere along the descent into Seyðisfjörður, you can hike all the way to it.
From Egilsstaðir, the scenery along Route 1 changes. This is also the place where we start to see a lot less cars on the road. The hitchhikers have also disappeared. The landscape is barren. Low rolling hills extend on either side, and seem never to end. The sky is grey, with bursts of blue, but the land is grey. Lava flowed here, and much of it decided to settle. According to Lonely Planet, astronauts came to train here before their mission to Mars in the 60s. Imagine that.
Of course, like Bjartur from Independent People, Icelanders are unstoppable in their verve to live and survive, so now and again there is some sign of life. A barn. A house. A few sheep grazing on hardy grasses that find spots of soil to stick to.A few sheep grazing one some hardy grasses.
Some kilometers along a gravel road off Route 1 is the Möðrudalur, a tiny farming hamlet, with a chapel, some cabins for rent, and a wonderfully cozy cafe that serves coffee, donuts and other things that may keep a traveller happy and warm.
Möðrudalur is one of the place to rent big-wheeled vehicles to forge the rivers and explore where the astronauts prepared, or enjoy a helicopter ride with pit stops cars and people have difficulty getting to, but I have no budget for this. I do, however, fill up on hot chocolate and donuts. A goat comes up outside of window near which I Isit, plonks down and rests his head for a kip. It must have found the only place that’s not quite so windy.
Of course, there are more waterfalls. Dettifoss greets visitors with its cloud of mist that can can be seen from more than a kilometer away. Lonely Planet tells me that this is the waterfall with the, “greatest volume of any waterfall in Europe.” Impressive. There aren’t as many tourists here, and a pleasant, though muddy walk along the top of the ravine leads along the river to the edges of the Selfoss waterfall. The water is furious, fast. It’s all foam and mist as it falls, but before it falls, the river is calm and some of it lounges in puddles around which there are many footprints, evidence of people’s eagerness to get close to the edge. There are no barriers, and carefully, my feet find the footprints of those who came before me so that I too can make my way closer to the edge.
Just before the water falls, it is so quiet. Sparkly. Clear. I don’t dare follow the footprints as close to the edge as I see them.