We awoke to a steady rain and it didn’t stop for the next 12 hours. It was only about 40 degrees, but there was no wind. So, we could be, as Inna likes to say, giant puskadroms (pussies), or we could don the ol’ rain gear and hit the volcanic trail.
The area surrounding Lake Myvatn has the highest concentration of volcanic and geothermal sights in Iceland. In one day you can explore pseudocraters, smashed rock formations, and hallucinogenic lava fields, hike up and around a volcanic crater, dip in a thermal pool in a cave, see mud pools and steam vents, spy a lake in a volcano, hike a lava area from another world, and finish the day relaxing at the Myvatn Nature Baths.
We began our soggy day at the Grjotagja Lava Cave and Geothermal Spring. Grjotagja Cave comes with an added surprise, a natural geothermal spring inside.
The parking lot was jammed because they filmed some episodes of “Game of Thrones” inside the cave. I didn’t watch the series after they beheaded Ned Stark, so I don’t know. But there was a line of people at the cave entrance and only room for about five people down below. We eventually climbed down some slippery boulders to a cave about the size of a large living room filled with a sulphury, hot stew pool of the weirdest color blue I’ve ever seen. It was interesting in an “I was there” kind of way.
Our next stop was the totally unique Dimmuborgir Lava formations.
It was raining hard when we arrived and the parking lot was filled with tour buses and cars, but everyone was hanging out at the cafe/gift shop.
We hiked for an hour through the “Dark Fortress” wonderland filled with strange and twisted formations of black lava. There were caves, penises, pillars, peep sights, and a double-arch “church” tunnel at the end. And there was this curly-haired, quarter-of-an-inch-tall, yellow-green moss growing like fur across huge expanses of the lava fields. Talk about enchantingly weird!
Dimmuborgir was formed by a volcanic eruption 2,300 years ago.
The lava passed over a lake, causing it to boil. The steam shattered parts of the lava, leaving large stacks of rock and many caves and caverns.
Dimmuborgir is often compared to a medieval castle, with its many hidden chambers and its turret towers. It reminded me of the weird sandstone hoodoos at Bryce National Park, but I’ve never seen carved basalt like that anywhere else on Earth.
https://photos.app.goo.gl/Xs8XinzB46ggzu9Q6
Iceland bubbles with weirdness. I found the following in a “Guide To Iceland” which sheds light on the pre-Christian world of folklore that once defined Icelandic culture.
“Lava caves are allegedly the homes of the nation’s brutal and vile trolls. The most famous of these were the half-troll, half-ogre Grýla and her submissive husband Leppalúði. Grýla was renowned for her insatiable appetite for children, and her gigantic pet cat that would eat children over the Christmas period for not getting any clothes (encouraging kids to finish their weaving, knitting and sewing chores before the season set in). Grýla and Leppalúði had thirteen sons who lived in Dimmuborgir and are now known as the ‘Icelandic Santa Clauses’ or Yule Lads. On the thirteen nights before Christmas, these trolls come one-by-one to terrorize Icelanders, each with their own strategy after which they were named. Sheep-Colt Clod, for example, would harass livestock; Skyr-Gobbler would steal and lick the house’s supplies of yogurt-like skyr; and Window-Peeper would stare into houses, looking for things to burgle. Like most frightening Icelandic stories, the Yule Lads were most likely created to keep children from going out into the cold Icelandic winter nights, where many disappeared without a trace for centuries. As the nation modernized, they became mischievous tricksters rather than devilish monsters. Now, they have been ‘Americanised’; rather than traditional Icelandic garb, they wear Santa costumes, and although they still steal skyr, they now also bring gifts.”
Well, that’s pretty much Iceland in a nutshell.
By the time we finished the two-mile loop trail, we were soaked to the bone. So we stopped in the cafe for some warm bread and soup, and marveled at all the tourons, young and old alike, in their expensive rain gear, sitting around eating, rather than hiking in the rain. Many even brought along their trekking poles for dining. We had only encountered maybe twenty people on the trail. And the Japanese were by far the most amusing. They had no rain gear other than cheap ponchos and pink umbrellas. They were laughing and snapping photos like little kids. And best of all, they were not puskadroms.
We were about as wet as you could get at that point, the soup had warmed our spirits, and there was another much-heralded natural attraction nearby, so off we went for a little more punishment.
The Skutustadir Pseudocraters were totally bizarre and unlike anything we had ever seen. They were formed when hot lava flowed over the wet marsh, causing steam explosions and creating these perfectly circular craters that have now filled in with water and thick grass. The house-size craters line the shores of Lake Myvatn and the smaller Lake Stakhólstjörn like some forgotten place that was bombed extensively a long, long time ago.
There is, of course, a crazy legend about the place. Supposedly it was named after a renowned ancient hero called Viga-Skuta, the possessor of a deadly ax named Fluga. I have no idea what that has to do with giant craters, and the names don’t even match, but I suppose it’s always nice to honor the well-armed dead.
And in the end, it’s no sillier than hiking in the cold, cold rain…or not. In Iceland, it’s best to just smile and greet each day with an open mind and a brave heart.
