My whirlwind Iceland trip, Day 3: Reykjavik
Whoa, this took me a while to get up. For those of you who have been sitting on pins and needles (Hi, Mom!) waiting on this update, I sincerely apologize.
Day 3 began with me waking up shivering (again) in the back of my trusty Duster. Fortunately, when I thought of the $40 I had saved by not staying in the hostel whose parking lot I was occupying and whose wifi I had been stealing since the previous evening, a warm and fuzzy feeling swept over me. It was either that or the heater I had cranked up. Not important. Time to get on the road!
Made a quick stop at the one gas station in town and commandeered their bathroom for my morning hygiene routine, got some coffee, some "petrol" (I know, how very European of me) forgot my water bottle, turned back for said water bottle, and started the drive towards Snæfellsjökull, one of the most famous volcanoes in Iceland, and the entrance to the path to the earth's center, according to Mr. Jules Verne.
About halfway to Snæfellsjökull is the town of Grundarfjörður. Here is a picture that someone else took of it, because it was too foggy for me to capture anything.
This place was significant because it was my first shower in about 5 days. For those of you who would ask me "What were the women like in Iceland?" I will refer you to the previous sentence. I found an athletic complex and the guy at the desk very generously granted me the use of their locker rooms. Came out feeling like a new man, and got back on the foggy road towards the entrance to the center of the earth, or as AC/DC might prefer to think of it, the "Highway to Hell"
I arrived at Snæfellsjökull just before noon. It was shrouded in fog, but here's the lower, much less majestic half of it! Just imagine a few hundred more feet and a beautiful glacier topping it off.
The rest of the coastline was all lava field. Jagged, igneous rocks covered by moss. If you're at Snæfellsjökull and suddenly in the mood for a touch-football game, or maybe want to throw a frisbee around, unfortunately you've got a few hours of driving until you find some suitable terrain.
This whole morning had been foggy and rainy, and about this time, I came upon three backpack laden girls on the side of the road. I was coming off a very positive first-hitchhiker experience the day before when I was not killed, and enjoyed some pleasant conversation, so I pulled over and offered them a ride. They were on their way to Reykjavik and were relieved to hear that's where I was headed. Their packs filled the back of my truck and they all hopped in. They were young, attractive, French, dreadlocked and wearing hippie skirts and boots covered in mud, from the three weeks they had been hitchhiking and camping in Iceland. They were worn out, and headed back to Keflavik airport to try and get an earlier flight, as they didn't want to stay in Iceland for another week as they'd initially planned. Two of them spoke English very well, so we had nice conversation for the 5 hours to the airport. AND, they totally gave me a beer in exchange for the lift. Score!
I headed back to Reykjavik and parked my mobile hostel in the heart of Old Reykjavik. It was a beautiful city, which explained why the streets were clogged with other tourists, toting their DSLRs and taking pictures of things of questionable cultural (or any) significance. My first stop was Hallgrímskirkja, the largest church in Iceland. I'm not an architecture buff, so my ability to describe this doesn't go much beyond "It was really big, and cool looking".
Speaking of significant cultural landmarks. Check this place out!
After stopping in at a little cafe for a beer and some lamb stew, (Remember all those sheep, trying to kill me in the WestFjords?) I sought out the best hotdog in the country, Bæjarins Beztu Pylsur. Bill Clinton, James Hetfield and Charlie Sheen have all eaten there. Not at the same time, I don't think. Though, that would be a pretty kickass dinner party, now that I think about it. This hotdog was very good. It's not worth traveling to Reykjavik for, but if you're here. . . check it out.
I wandered a little more and came upon a sign for a comedy open mic, in English. As I may have mentioned previously, Iceland has nearly a 100% literacy rate, and everyone I came across spoke English. I figured this would be a pretty good show, and it was. Aside from a couple expats, the majority were locals, and very funny.
My favorite part of this spot however, was I finally got to try Brennivin. Brennivin is also called "The Black Death", referring to the black label that wraps its distinctive green bottle. I'd been warned about this stuff from a couple of different people. If you don't know by now, I don't normally let people deter me from doing what I want to do. With much trepidation, I ordered one from the bartender and asked "is this stuff as bad as everyone says it is?" he laughed and assured me that it wasn't. He was right. It was licorice flavored schnapps, and I liked it. if you are in Iceland, try this stuff. Then, when people talk about how gross it is, you can look at them with steely eyes and tell them in your most macho voice that they're just being a baby.
This took me right up to the end of the evening, with just enough time to grab a quick nap in the Duster, before I headed to the airport. I will say this about Keflavik airport. GET THERE EARLY. I had plenty of time, but this was probably the longest security line I've ever stood in. It snaked its way from the second floor security checkpoint down the escalator, across the first floor, back to the check-in counters and then zig-zagged back and forth to the front doors. A Chinese girl in front of me ran into a friend from college whom she hadn't seen in over 10 years. THAT'S how many people were in this line.
That's it! Here's the map for my last day. Thanks for reading, friends!
