About fifteen minutes south of the Hotel Laki sits another very cool planet called Fjadrargljufur Canyon.
It was only misting, so we didn’t hesitate to do the mile-long hike along the ridge above the spacy canyon where the rock walls seemed alive, like large twisted black animals covered in a thick green moss and grass resembling velour. Inna kept wanting to pet them.
There were some amazing viewpoints where we looked down on water gone mad as several honking rivers converged inside the 400-foot-deep, half-mile-long chasm, and curved around the strange rock pinnacles and towering cliffs as if doing battle.
The canyon was free, but they charged for parking. That is normal at all the big attractions. And it’s always the same price: $7 for a passenger car. There was a sign by the trailhead that we scanned to download the parking app, and then we paid with our credit card. It couldn’t have been easier. And they instantly sent us an email as a record of the transaction.
In Iceland, every transaction is made with a credit card. No cash! It’s super simple.
But we noticed at every park where they charged for parking that most people didn’t pay. I guess they figured that since they were in the middle of nowhere and there was no attendant, they could just get away without paying. And that really pissed me off, until I noticed there were small, somewhat easy-to-miss, cameras mounted on metal posts at each exit. If you didn’t pay, the parking gods would know, and they had a photo of your license number, so you were going to get a ticket. Karma usually wins out.
Between Kirkjubæjarklaustur and Vik, we stumbled upon the Laufskálavarða lava ridge with its curious piles of thousands of lava rocks, large and small. These rock cairns were made by weary and terrified travelers crossing the Mýrdalssandur desert and were intended to bring good luck.
We got out to explore this spooky area in the middle of a barren landscape, sitting at the southern edge of a mountainous glacier, and I clearly felt the spirits of the dead. This was a place of magic, for sure.
When Inna went to take a stone from one of the piles, I said, “Don’t you dare! You can add one if you like, but don’t mess with past wishes and dreams.”
We both offered our own stone offerings and then boogied. The place gave me the creeps.
Near Vik along the Ring Road, we took a turnoff for Reynisfjara Beach, passing a pretty red and white church near the water. This black sand beach is most famous for the Reynisdrangar Columns, huge hexagonal stacks made of black basalt, rising up out of the water like along the Oregon coast.
The ocean surf was the mightiest and scariest I have ever seen. When waves hit the shore, the ground literally shook. And even though we were standing well away from the shoreline, we were constantly on alert not to get hit with a “sneaker wave”, a.k.a killer wave that occurs frequently (about every ten minutes) at Reynisfjara Beach. They break much higher than the previous waves and arrive without warning. They can sweep an unsuspecting person out to sea in a matter of seconds where certain death awaits in such paralyzingly cold water.
The massive waves pound this particular area because the beach actually does a 90-degree turn at the stacks, and the right angle creates monster waves.
And, yes, we saw many people running in panic when they had gotten too close to the water, trying to snap that perfect photo as a wave broke higher than usual. The Darwin Award contestants are everywhere it seems.
We walked south down the black sand beach toward the Dyrholaey Arch and Cliffs but turned around after about thirty minutes because it had been a long day and dinner was calling back in the nearby town of Vik.
Vik is a peaceful seafront village in the fertile Myrdal Valley, pleasantly perched along a dramatic stretch of wave-battered coastline, quaintly poised between glacier-topped mountains, rugged sea cliffs, and black sand beaches.
Just past the city police station, we stumbled upon Vik’s best eatery, the Soup Factory, where we had ourselves some very tasty soup, black bread, and Gull beer after a very long day of hiking in the rain.
And right next to the Soup Factory, we found Vik’s most popular attraction. According to their colorful brochure: “The award-winning Lava Show is the only live show of its kind in the world – bringing the live experience of real lava to life in the most captivating, educational, and thrilling way imaginable. By superheating real lava up to 1100°C (2000°F) we recreate a volcanic eruption but take away all the dangers. In addition to learning about Icelandic volcanoes and how they have shaped the culture of the Icelandic people, you will see real lava flowing into the showroom right in front of you, hear it sizzling, smell the melting minerals, and feel the intense heat that radiates from it. A must-do experience for everyone visiting the land of ice and fire. Now in two locations, in Reykjavik and in Vík, on the South Coast with two completely different storylines. Vík is smaller, more intimate and dives into the mysteries of Katla volcano. Reykjavík is grander, more luxurious, and addresses the latest volcanic activity on the Reykjanes peninsula. Choose one or visit both – you won’t regret it.”
Inna and I chose the path of regret.
The Lava Show parking lot was also the staging area for several DANGER! DANGER! adventure excursions, like glacier climbing, ice caving, and snorkeling between the continents. Oh boy!
After poking around tiny downtown Vik, we drove up a steep hill to check out the Vík í Mýrdal Church where we caught an amazing panoramic view of Vik and the back side of the Reynisdrangar stacks. The rain even stopped for a few minutes and a faint sun tried valiantly to bust through the clouds.
The church was built in 1929, which is old for Iceland, and anyone can book the church for an Icelandic wedding. The doors, however, were locked tight.
Vik is the geographical and cultural dividing line between Reykjavik (the south) and wild Iceland (the north). After traveling the Ring Road through lands and waters where life just sort of meanders along at a rather genial pace, Vik, a city of only 318 people, seemed like the bustling big city.
And right on cue, the electricity went out in the whole town as we were unpacking our bags in our hotel room after dinner. And it stayed off for the next four hours. Nobody knew why it went off, or when it might come back on again. But if such a thing could happen in summer, what the hell do they do in winter when snow cyclones sweep the island regularly? What’s Plan B?
I’m not sure we are prepared for what comes next, but I guess we will all find out sooner or later because Iceland has a way of exposing our planet’s weaknesses and vulnerabilities. I think it’s just a matter of time.
