Not So Vik-torious This Time...

Last weekend we set out for an adventure with our newly acquired wheels, and an adventure we received, albeit not in the manner we had anticipated.  It was probably the worst weather we've had since arriving: raining, sleeting, windy, cold, fairly miserable all around.  However, in Iceland if you let the weather scare you off you won't get up to all that much, so we piled into the cars anyway and headed along Route 1 (the only major road in the country outside of the capital) to Vik, which is the southernmost point of the island.

Our first stop was Seljalandsfoss, a waterfall just off of the Ring Road.  Its claim to fame is the fact that you can walk behind the water, making it a pretty impressive sight. My poor camera got fairly soaked between the rain and the spray from the falls, but I managed to get a few shots before scrambling up the snow-packed slope on the other side.

Ooooh, streaky...

We then proceeded down the Ring Road towards Vik, passing the infamous Eyjafjallajökull - you know, the one that caused all that chaos with European flights last year?  (Oh by the way, to all the English and Irish readers out there, I've been informed Iceland wants the ash back.  And yes, I can finally pronounce the name, more or less, correctly; my main goal in coming here has been accomplished.)  This particular stretch of road took quite some time, as every minute or so Paulo made us pull over because, "This is the farm that was in all the photos when the volcano erupted!"..."Actually I made a mistake back there, but this is the farm that was in the photos.  That other one, that was in some photos too."..."Look, guys, this is all ash from the volcano when it erupted!" At this point we thought it was appropriate to point out that the entire island was made up of volcanic ash, and it was time for lunch.  But here are the fruits of Paulo's labour anyway:

Famous Farm and Eyjafjallajökull

Well, if you can't beat them...

The weather worsened as we drove higher into the mountains; the rain became heavier, the fog thicker, but none of this mattered because we were nearly in Vik, and could scarcely imagine the wonders that awaited us there: quaint coffee shops, a cosy pub for a pint with the locals, perhaps a trendy hostel where we could spend the night revelling in the atmosphere of the town.  And then we arrived, after two and a half hours of driving, and we found...well, not a whole lot.  It was only after we got there that I learned the factoid of Vik's population: about 300, give or take.  And on a wet, stormy day in January, there may as well have been no-one there; we didn't see a soul.  

Spirits were a bit soggy at this point as we discussed what we should do next.  It was decided that those who could brave the elements would trudge a few minutes to the black sand beach Vik is famous for, and the rest would go in search of life to find out if there was any diversion to be found in the area.  I joined the ranks of the first group, and I'm really glad I did.  After scrambling over a hillock, down a ravine, through a running track (oddly enough), and over the dunes I was faced with a very pissed off Poseidon, and it was simply awesome (in the true sense of the word, inspiring awe, not in the "Dude, this piece of cheese totally looks like a turtle, awesome!" sense).  The sand, actually pulverised lava, had an inky sheen to it, and the waves were foamy masses of pure elemental rage.  The wind spat freezing rain at us, and its roar combined with the waves made talking to each other nearly impossible, so we just stared in silence.  It's one of those places that really needs to be experienced first-hand, and I'd encourage anyone who finds themselves in Iceland to do so.  Staring off into the Atlantic Ocean, being taunted and battered by the sea and wind, it makes you realise that despite all our civilisation and fancy habits, we really are at the mercy of the elements; we're just very poorly behaved guests.

On the way back to the cars, Paulo told me a bit about the town.  The church is the emergency meeting point for the villagers; when Katla erupts - it is a case of when rather than if: Katla is active and hasn't erupted since 1918, leading to speculation that it will erupt very soon, maybe even this year - it will completely obliterate the town, and the church is the only building high enough to potentially survive.  Now, since Katla's explosive tendancies are well-known, and Vik has had these issues before, it kind of begs the question why they didn't shift the town a few hundred meters up the mountain and to the left or right, out of the direct line of lava, but...I don't know.

                                      

Anyway, the other half of our group also had a successful jaunt.  While there was absolutely nothing open in the town, there was a good viewing point about a half hour's drive away that we could visit.  With the weather we were a bit concerned about the conditions of the road, but the locals had said they should be fine (remember this point; it will come in handy later).  We headed back up into the mountains, and turned off the paved road onto the gravel one.  Not great, but not too bad.  A minute or so later, we turned from the gravel road onto a dirt, now mud, road.  Not good, very bad.  Within half a minute both cars were stuck.  A Skoda and a Ford Focus do not an intrepid exploration convoy make.  

"The Crunch" in a bind

For the next hour and a half, the eight of us mucked about in the lashing rain, piling rocks under the wheels and bailing out mud with our hands and a couple of shovels we'd found by the nearby empty farm.  It all looked a bit futile, and we only had about an hour of daylight left.  Soaked and cold in the dark on a deserted road is not a fantastic situation to be in, all things considered.  However, one of our group had made friends with a girl who worked in a sandwich shop last time he was in Iceland.  That girl then went on to become part of Iceland's Search and Rescue team, and was stationed in Vik.  She also happened to be home that evening, and answered her phone.  I know, we are jammy dodgers indeed.  So after a very wet and muddy period of time, a massive wheeled Jeep came and pulled us out.  We all grinned like the very silly tourists we were and murmured "Takk fyrir" over and over until the poor cars were freed from their mucky graves and we were back on terra firma, scuttling our way back to Sólheimar.

All in all, I do believe our first excursion was a success.  We wanted an adventure, we got an adventure.  All the same, this weekend we've decided to play it slightly safer and head to Reykjavik, where hopefully the biggest mire we'll get ourselves into is trying to decide which pub to patronise.  

More photos here.