Iceland
Chapter one
Arrival, waterfalls, and an abandoned airplane on the beach.
May 16, 2021:
Covid protocols.
At the airport, the line for immigration zig zags through the arrivals hall. At the end of the line is another for covid testing. Both lines move slowly, one limited by how quickly a squadron of nurses are able to test arriving passengers. A repeated announcement ask us to keep two meters distance between each other; no one is.
The woman who checks my passport could be Bjork’s aunt. She welcomes me to Iceland and motions me towards the line for testing. A set of booths have been set up to one side of the hall, and we are directed to an empty booth as soon as it becomes available.
Nurses dressed in green swab nostrils and break the end of the swab into vials. As soon as one patient is swabbed it’s on to the next. When it is my turn, I sit and tilt my head back. It’s my second test this week, after having had to obtain a negative test to board the flight. Afterwards, I am told to go directly to my hotel and quarantine until I receive my results. It should only be a few hours; my hotel is hours away.
To Reykjavík and beyond.
I take my time picking up the rental car; I’m in no rush as I await my results. I connect my phone to the car’s audio and queue up Bjork’s Homogenic. It’s 187 kilometers to Vik, and my itinerary has me stopping at a few waterfalls along the way. Pulling out of the parking lot I hit “play” and begin my Icelandic adventure.
My friend Yukwah has curated an itinerary for me, from Reykjavík to the eastern tip of the island and back. I don’t have time to do a full loop, and she’s arranged it so that I see some of the sights on the way out and others on the way back. It’s an aggressive itinerary, but the days are long and the roads will prove clear and I have kilometers to go before I sleep.
As I head towards Reykjavík, I spot a wayward cloud off to the right of the road. Later, I’ll learn it’s a plume of steam that’s caused by the eruption of Fagradalsfjall, but for now I marvel at the column of white against the skies.
At a roundabout, I forget for a moment the right-of-way rules and almost cause an accident. It’s one of the most common accidents foreigners get into. In Iceland, the person in the outer lane always exits. Drivers in the inner lane can choose whether to turn or not.
As I realize my mistake, I quickly take the exit as the car to my left exits with me. At the nearest exit, I turn off and drive back to the roundabout, making sure I am in the correct lane for the exit I intend to take.
Leaving Reykjavík, I find myself on the open road. Siri tells me to take the second exit at the roundabout and to drive for over 100 kilometers. My destination will be on the left.
Grasslands spread out from either side of the highway. In the distance to my left are mountains. The ocean is off to my right, unseen but not far. At one point I come across a group of horses by the side of the road and I stop and take a moment to admire them.
Seljalandsfoss and Gljufrafoss.
I drive on until I spot a waterfall to my left. It’s Seljalandsfoss, the first of the falls on my list. I pull aside and put on a mask. There are few people around and I feel safe taking a moment to walk around and behind the falls.
Just to the left, a slot canyon lead to Gljufrafoss. I stepped lightly through the canyon, careful not to get my feet wet as I walked along the stream fed by the falls. Approaching the end of the canyon, I look up to see the falls towering ahead; the mist envelops me.
Back at the car I drive a slow 30 minutes to Skógafoss. A notification on my phone tells me that I have tested negative for Covid, and I feel a weight has been lifted. I am cleared for my trip through Iceland, and I am eager to start in earnest.
Skógafoss & Kvernufoss.
At Skógafoss, the parking lot is almost empty. I climb the stairs to the viewing platform and look down at the birds flitting around the falls and back at the parking lot. I can hear nothing over the roar of the waterfall. My eyes are full of the earth and the sky.
Back on the ground, I drive a short ways to the Skógar Museum in order to find the trailhead to Kvernufoss, located at the far end of the parking lot. I climb a rickety set of stairs over a barbed wire fence and follow a rocky path into a mossy gorge. A thin but powerful stream of water tumbles into a dark pool at the end.
I walk behind the falls to observe the weight of water, admire the dark shapes it makes against the overcast skies.
Dinner and The Abandoned DC Plane on Sólheimasandur.
I drive to my guesthouse and check in. My room is plain, but clean and comfortable and looks out onto the ring road and the landscape beyond. I eat dinner in Vik and drive back to the guesthouse. Although it’s 21:00, it’s still light out and I ask the attendant whether there will be a lot of people visiting the abandoned plane on the beach. My friend Yukwah had warned me it was a huge tourist attraction and advised me to wake up early and go in order to avoid the crowds.
He tells me to look outside. Usually, in high season, it’s like a train, he tells me, with cars bumper to bumper on the ring road. We haven’t seen a single car pass. I think you’ll be ok, he tells me. But if I’m worried I can look at the parking lot when I arrive. It’s only a seven minute drive and I can always come back and try again in the morning.
The parking lot is empty. I park the car and bundle up in the many layers I have brought. It’s windy out and I am careful to wrap my scarf around my neck. It’s an hour’s walk to the beach and I see no one the entire time.
The plane itself emerges from the black sand like the crest of wave. it gleams in the late night light.
I spend over an hour walking in and out and around the aircraft, an unlikely attraction abandoned by the US Navy. It’s an ethereal presence in this harsh landscape, an unexpected thing of beauty even as it decays. It’s the perfect cap to my first day in the country, and as I walk (alone) and drive (alone) back to the guesthouse, the skies darken without becoming quite dark.
In my room, I draw the curtains partway, unwilling to block the light entirely. I want a part of me open to my surroundings always. ✈️
