South Iceland: Day 3

Our first campsite - Seljalandsfoss in the distance

After spending our first night in our campervan and falling asleep to the sound of waterfalls, we woke early, had a quick breakfast, and walked down the road to visit Seljalandsfoss again.

Seljalandsfoss

This time, we were prepared - rain paints, raincoat over the wintercoat, camera tucked safely in a drybag, with a water-protective sleeve for it when we did take it out, and a waterproof case on our phone.  This time we could immerse ourselves in the cold mist with abandon, and we spent a good deal of time at the back of the falls, just looking out at the stunning view.

The opening to get
to the waterfall

After that visit, we hiked along a trail that went alongside the mountain and several other waterfalls.  When we got to the end of the trail, we noticed people entering a crack in the mountain, and could hear the sound of a waterfall inside.  Not ones to pass up adventure, we made our way gingerly over the river rocks, gripping the grainy cold and wet rocky walls, trying not to fall into the creek.  At one point I lost my balance due to so many people going in and out around me, but a friendly stranger gave me his hand and I quickly leapt over several rocks with his momentum.  Finally, we were inside.

The waterfall inside the cave

The falls poured out from a hole in the mountain high above us.  We stared up into that opening of blinding light and watched the incredible power of the water pour down and violently crash into the pool and rocks below.

The roar tuned out all other sounds, and the mist was frigid as it coated my hair, face, and hands.  I closed my eyes and relished all of it - this being alive, these visceral, most basic of feelings - cold.  But no desire for warmth.  Wet.  But no desire for dryness.  All I could feel was the moment I was in, and I tried to memorize every sensation.

Reluctantly (isn't that always the way?) we left the cave, carefully making our way back out over the rocks in the stream.  After that experience, we thought what better place to go to next than Iceland's oldest swimming pool?  The pool isn't exactly on the beaten path, and many tourists pass right by it (though it is becoming more well known in recent years due to the tourism increase).  We drove down a very rough, rocky road for several kilometres and then parked near the end of it.  From there, we hiked in a beautiful valley nestled in moss-covered, snow-capped mountains.  Even though we weren't the only ones there, the experience was one of breath-taking solitude.  There was no pool to be seen - where could this mysterious thing be hidden?

If you weren't already aware, Iceland has a huge pool culture, due largely to all the geothermal activity in the country.  Almost every small town has a local pool with water and heat that is sourced from natural hot springs.  The one we were looking for also fit this description.  After about a twenty minute hike, we finally saw the pool as we came around a corner.  There it was, as promised - Seljavallalaug.

The hike to the hidden pool

There were a few others in the water, but it was decidedly less crowded than anywhere we had been thus far.  There were change rooms, but sadly tourists have left much trash in them, so we gingerly changed as quickly as we could (thankfully there were plenty of hooks to hang everything on - ever tried getting out of a winter jacket, multiple layers of winter clothing, and into a bathing suit?  Not an easy task!)

Swimming in the mountains

Leaving our things by the side of the pool, we slid into the warm water.  There's really no words to describe the experience.  It was magical, bizarre, wonderful, strange, and very Icelandic - to be swimming in a pool filled with water from a hot spring, nestled in the mountains in the middle of nowhere - truly an experience not many can say they've had (or even knew was out there to have!)

We swam around for a while, just relaxing and enjoying the view, before heading on our way once again.

The next stop was Skogafoss.  Iceland has waterfalls everywhere, and each one of them is unique.  This one, like Seljalandsfoss, sprayed mist on us as we approached (we were again prepared with all our gear), and had a perfect arch of a rainbow at the bottom of it.



There was a set of stairs that led to the top of the falls, and of course we couldn't resist, so we started the long hike up 428 steps.  The view from the top was definitely worth it.  Not just the views of the fall itself, but also further down the trail.  There was another equally as stunning waterfall, flowing through the canyon over mossy rocks, tucking its way under stone arches and over small boulders.

Waterfall further down the trail from
the top of Skogafoss

It occurred to me at this moment that we were taking in so much, so fast.  I needed to let some of this sink in.  Breath in the crisp air.  Let my eyes wander over the landscape.  Feel the size of the mountains all around me.  This is what I want to remember, these small moments.  There were a couple of photographers at the top of the falls, further down the trail near us.  I looked down at the river in the canyon below us and was startled by a strikingly coloured black-and-white water fowl of some sort.  I watched in amazement as this zebra-like bird swam around and periodically dove under water with a splash.  Later I'll look it up in the bird book I was lent, but for the moment I just stood and watched, smiling down at this amazing little apparition.

Jen, above Skogafoss

Black sand

The afternoon was winding down, but we still had one more place we wanted to get to - the famous black-sand beaches near Vik.  It's amazing how quickly the mind adapts to something that initially seems incredibly strange.  My mind expects the sand at beaches to be yellow, or white, or brown, or some combination of those, but here the sand was stark black.

We walked around on the beach, letting ourselves slow down and wander; explore.  The sound of the surf, and the contrast of the white foam against the black sand was incredible.  We of course couldn't resist the urge to climb the basalt columns and take a few photos, but then we went around the corner of the columns and continued walking down the shore, away from the crowds of people.  We marvelled at the parts of the columns that the ocean had carved out, forming caves near the shore. In the distance, Reynisdrangar kept watch over us, and we sat on the rocks and looked out at the crashing waves on the dark sand, dreaming of trolls and elves and of ancient times.

Our campervan at a pit stop in Vik

We made one last stop in Vik to fill up the campervan with fuel before heading to our campsite for the night, which was still an hour away.  The drive there was an eerie, long stretch of road that made us feel like we were in the middle of nowhere, or on another planet.  Black sand and soil stretched out endlessly on either side of us, with the occasional stream cutting through.  After several kilometres of this, the scenery changed to flat, dry grasses; and then again, to strange green hills haphazardly strewn about in fields of green - again, nothing else as far as the eye could see.

After a while of this alternating scenery, there was yet another change - piles and piles of boulders and rocks, all piled on each other in strange, random formations, and covered in thick layers of soft green moss.  There was eventually a pull-out point, and I hopped out of the van just to immerse myself in it.  The silence was incredible - no other cars on the road, just me and the strangely infinite fields of boulders and moss strewn about.

The camera can't really capture my lived experience.

I felt as if I were in another world, somehow outside of time.  There was no evidence of people here.  No sound.  No animals.  No trees or large plants.  Just complete silence.

I'm starting to really feel the magic of Iceland.  It is not simply a place of stunning beauty, though there's that, too.  There's something eerily captivating about these places that feel like they are completely nowhere, and yet finding ourselves there.  I don't know what it is.  I just knew that I felt I could drive down those roads forever.