Green-Lighted

April 5, 2018

In the morning, the family took a short, chilly walk to the Hrifunes Guesthouse reception area, which had been the large kitchen and living room of a house at one time. Here again, a polite sign asked that visitors remove their shoes before entering, and a basket of house-shoes stood in the corner for anyone's use. Breakfast was ready, including coffee, cold meats and cheeses, oatmeal, cereal and various breads. The hostess served all this on a collection of mixed and matched colorful dishes and cutlery. 

After fueling up and packing up for the day, they drove one and a half hours through moss-covered lava fields, past dark sandy sediment plains, past waterfalls and snowy mountains split by glaciers.  

As Astrid watched all the marvelous landscape go by, she wished she knew more about geology. It would enhance the experience of driving through what seemed to her uneducated mind, a wasteland surrounded by mountains. Maybe if she knew more about land formation another story would be available to her, one that she could read in the rocks and mountains, one that would make sense to what she saw, give a history to the magnificence and differences she observed. 

Their destination was Skaftafell, a part of Vatnajökull National Park, for a short hike to yet another waterfall. Despite the frequency of waterfalls on the island, Astrid never seemed to get tired of walking to them, watching them, watching the tourists watch them and take pictures in front of them. Not seeing any parking kiosks, the family walked to the visitor’s center and finally figured out that they just needed to register their Viking Toe 5 into a parking program at a computer there and pay a small fee. On such a small island-country, it was relatively easy for authorities to document and keep track of every vehicle, even the rentals. The program knew the Viking Toe was a white Kia Sportage ... but then again, it could’ve guessed as much and been right, there were so many around.

The hiking poles were assembled and they started uphill, to the Svartafoss, a waterfall nestled in some  fantastic geologic basalt columns. They walked on gravel trails covered in anti-erosion mats, then through mud, then over rocks, until they finally made it to the falls, along with a dozen or so other hikers. 

As Bjorn captured the falls in the best light, Snorri and Astrid found rocks to sit on and watched the ebb and flow of visitors. There was one couple in particular that caught Astrid's attention. They had set up a tripod with an iphone (and remote)  to take their glamour shot in front of the falls, but to the young man's dismay, other tourists would get in the shot, because he was taking so long to get the picture. 

The family did a lot of driving that day. The roads were smooth, flanked by plains of moss-covered lava, or black rocky mountains in the distance, or long glaciers flanked by black rocky mountains. Even when Bjorn was traveling at the speed limit, locals speed past, impatient with the law-abiding tourists. Eventually they stopped at a spot by Jokulsarlon Glacier Lagoon to check out the suitability of the parking there for watching the northern lights. 

They next stopped at Pakkhaus restaurant, in Hofn just as it opened for dinner. The restaurant is situated right next to a harbor where ships dock and unload their catches. Astrid ordered lobster, which came from the ship parked just outside. Bjorn had fish and Snorrie ate a steak.

Their next destination was to a private beach, fronted with dune upon dune of black sand. But to gain access to the private beach, one had to pay a fee at the Viking 
Cafe, around Hornhestar, Hofn. This is no sand castle building or sun-bathing beach, but is a happy hunting ground for photographers, with mountains flanking one side of the beach, and myriad black dunes the other. After stuffing what seemed like way too many Kronurs into the "pay here" box, Bjorn tried to drive up to the gate, but was confused, because it didn't open. Seeing the owner walking back to the cafe and after explaining he had put money in the box, the owner gave him an access ticket that opened the gate. 

“I was just pulling a car out of the sand … It was a small one. Your car should do okay,” he gestured to the Viking Toe 5. Just put the ticket in the kiosk and the gate will raise.” 

And it did. At the end of a sand-drifted stone road, the landscape opened up to a dynamic view … dark mountains, dark beach, expansive, beautiful, but chilly. Astrid imagined Viking longboats sailing into the bay, home from their long pillaging and/or trading journeys. 

As Bjorn snapped pics, Snorri and Astrid did what they always did: looked around and interacted with the surroundings. They poked holes in frozen top crust of  black sand dunes, climbed the hills trying to stay out of other photographers’ shots and tried to stay warm as the sun went down. 

Among others, Thor Photography was there with their van-ful of photographer tourists, the same van the family encountered their first day on the island. 

The next stop was back to the Jokulsarlon Glacier Lagoon to wait for the northern lights. As they waited, Snorri played Zelda on his Nintendo Switch and Astrid ate the rest of her Ikea chocolate and read the introduction to the Sagas (It was the only chapter she could get on the iPad, ‘cause she wasn’t about to lug the tome in her luggage.) Bjorn set up his tripod on the edge of the glacial pond right in front of the car. 

As time ticked toward 11pm (or 23:00) a strange, green laser-light started to dance among the cars. 

At one point Bjorn came back to get something out of the car, opened the door, then shut it again, but for some reason, the inside light didn’t shut off. Astrid searched frantically for the light switch, knowing that photographers shooting night scenes need as little light pollution as possible. All the while, the green laser light assaulted the car, until finally she found the inside light switch to shut if off. 

Shortly after that, the woman in the car beside them turned on her car cabin light to read a book, ignoring the assaulting green laser, until a woman came up and informed her, “that green light means they want you to turn off your light, it interferes with photography.” 

The Thor Photography van was parked across the road, close at another spot, policing the parking lot by the fjord, punishing light outlaws–naive or knowing–with their green-laser light. 

But it was all for nought. Hours went by and not a twinkle of magical color appeared in the northern night sky. After a while the family drove away, getting back late to their room, but not without some night driving pics. 

A note on boots: Iceland, with its icy paths, rocky trails and pushy weather is a boot-conducive island. Most, if not all visitors to Iceland wear boots, new boots, because they buy them just for the trip. One can make a pretty good guess at who are the tourists by looking at their boots. Whenever possible, Astrid liked, at the very least, to not look overtly touristy. But to her dismay, she had just retired a 17-year-old pair of leather, lace-to-toe Dr. Martens that had holes in the sides and was wearing ... new boots.