Cars were infrequent companions, although at one point we did see the blue flashes of a cop car and wondered if we had misjudged the willingness of the Icelandic police to track down lead-footed tourists. When the car grew closer and closer over the course of an hour, we pulled to the side, ready to accept our punishment, only to have the car fly by. We had a moment of relief until we realized that someone had been waiting at least an hour for that car to help in an emergency.
At last, we reached a large sign announcing Cafe Solheimajokull and turned off the main road. Off any road, that is. We bumped along a roughly hewn path scattered with volcanic rock and potholes for several miles, skirting the base of low mountains, untill arriving at the cafe. We arrived just in time for our tour of the eponymous glacier, Solheimajokull, which means "Sun's Home Glacier". Our guide, whose nickname was Kiele, was a boisterous 20-year old from a farm on the eastern border of Iceland who had been giving glacier tours for about a year. He fitted us with crampons and handed each person an ice pick, then led our group of six over mounts of volcanic soil to the edge of the glacier. From Kiele, we learned that the glacier we saw was a tongue off of a much larger glacier that rests on top of a giant and very active volcano. This volcano erupts twice a century, but the last eruption was in 1918, so it is long overdue. This tongue of the glacier is sliding further and further out, but is melting faster than it is moving, so it's farthest edge recedes year by year. He showed us some of its melting milestones, and we were shocked at how much ice had melted away even in the last 10 months.
As we scaled the glacier, we learned that a glacier is referred to as "he" while a volcano is a "she". Compressed ice is blue, while ice containing more air is white and softer. Glaciers have crevices and sink holes, both of which can be difficult to see under layers of snow. Oh, and the proper way to use crampons is to stomp a bit, which made me feel like a small child throwing a tantrum. We also got to hear more Icelandic stories, and determined that Icelandic stories are almost all grim. This one was about a man who saw an eruption of a volcano, ran into the house and grabbed his baby and ran to the top of a nearby hill to avoid the flood accompanying the eruption. He watched as the rest of his family and his flocks died, then saw the waters rising on the hill, so he jumped onto a nearby iceberg and rode it out to see. After several days, his baby was weak with hunger and about to die, so he cut off his nipple and breast fed his baby blood. The punch line? Apparently now all Icelandic men have only one nipple. This is unconfirmed, but I'll let you know once we find some hot springs.
After our ice hike, which was wonderful and had gorgeous hidden shades of blue, we continued on to Vatnajokull National Park. We pulled in just before dark and drove slowly to a campsite, folded down the seats, slipped into our sleeping bags, and stared out the sunroof in search of the elusive Northern Lights.
Spotted: The 1800s. A lot of the houses here look like they have been here for centuries, half swallowed by the earth and time. Miles stretch between them, roofs are covered in sod, and shaggy Icelandic horses mow the endless fields.
Spotted 2: Giant tires. We've seen quite a few monster truck tires on normal cars while in Reykjavik and leaving it. We've also seen a lot of larger tires on everyday vehicles, including ones not associated with tour companies. I can only imagine, after seeing them, what winter is like here.
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