Today was going to be.. well, it WAS... a bit of a road trip. We had two options on the you-drive-it itinerary, but one seemed to be largely impossible this time of year and without one of the mountain-ready super 4x4s that cost a lot more than our all wheel drive Skoda wagon to rent. So we took the South Coast drive on the main #1 road to a town called Vik, seemingly known for being a coastal town without a harbour or any fishing trade to note.
The weather today was overcast and intermittently rainy, though much warmer than yesterday. After a couple of unremarkable stops for fuel and snacks, we stopped at a suggested venue at about a halfway point, the Saga Museum, which we serendipitously found to be open even though it was posted as only open week-ends in the winter. The proprietor was happy to have us in, he said he was there for a school group but another couple of tourists had come by as well. The main exhibit in the museum was displayed with an English translation, so we got a semi-effective illustrated Coles Notes version of the Saga of Burnt-Njal, which I think I now want to read... but buying a copy of a 1000+ page book did not seem the best use of limited carry-on weight to fly home with.
After the museum, we went on to Vik, driving for about half and hour around the foot of the (in)famous Eyafjallajokull glacier, catching glimpses of notable waterfalls and the occasional steam vent from the still thermally active volcano which is chugging away deep in this mountain. Vik at our first look seemed largely sleepy and unpopulated. We turned into town following directions to a guesthouse with a cafe, which had a few people seated in it but an apparent proprietress told us she was closed and only the service station down the way had food right now. We found what actually seemed to be a somewhat busy highway stop with a burger counter, general store, etc, and nearby was the Vik Woollen company store, selling local wool goods and a variety of souvenirs. I picked up some knit viking helmets, made locally from local wool, for the kids in my life.
We wandered from here out onto the black sand beach, a part of Vik which didn't exist until an earthquake or volcanic eruption (I can't remember which) in 1918 which largely buried the town in meltwater and debris and moved the shoreline 500ft farther out. The surf at this beach was stunning and daunting, and we were a little surprised when we drove out on the beach road to see bathers dashing back in to their cars. It will be seen shortly how they were at least more sensible than I in having stripped to their shorts!
We had decided that we would stop at some of the spots on the itinerary on the way back, if they seemed accessible. Some did not, but we took a side road to a place called Dyrholaey, a peninsula sheltering a wetland and providing bird habitat, though it was largely free of birds at this season. There is a low road and a high road, and by this time the wind was really picking up and we decided to heed the warning in the itinerary about the cliff top being dicey in high winds, and drove around the low road to a lower promontory overlooking the surf, some sea stacks (volcanic rock columns) and a neat (we thought!) little black sand beach between two stacks. We walked down this little beach, thinking we were careful enough to stay above the surf line as it appeared to be at the moment, or just keep toes at the line of the foam.
This is the point in the day where we got a smack upside the head, just a relatively gentle warning one, from the sea spirits. Adam was trying to line up a picture of me standing at the top of the surf line looking out... well, the surf line can change in a big hurry, and from strange directions. I had my eye on the waves to the east, which appeared to be the direction they were washing into this little rock cut, when a breaker crashed into the wall west of us... and went up the wall and in to the sheltered beach from behind me. We saw it coming quick enough to *start* running back uphill, but I'm not that fast. And not that I ever doubted the power of an ocean wave, but holy crap. It was shins-deep on Adam about 10 feet farther up the beach, and really only would have washed up to my knees, except it knocked me right over and washed over top of me from behind.
Well. That ended the rest of the itinerary for the day. I think this scared Adam a lot more than it scared me. It knocked me UP the beach, and there wasn't much drag back out as I think most of the energy was spent crashing up there, thank heavens. Once I got my wet head back up out of the surf I had a brief moment of panicking about where Adam was, but he'd only gotten his legs wet and was still standing. I got back up and sloshed up out of the (new) surf line to take stock of what happened, and other than being soaked and a bit rattled everything was fine... except my Canon G9, which was Adam's next immediate concern after figuring out I was OK. I was wet head-to-squishy boots, and feeling like a stupid tourist, and the camera had been around my neck, but I hadn't lost or damaged anything else. We got back up to the car in the now even more crazy, though thankfully not freezing, wind, and I had to take half my clothes off to wring them out or risk completely soaking the passenger seat of our rental.
Driving back was damp, pantsless (for me) and mostly uneventful, though the wind was completely pummeling our car even when stopped. Adam had asked the museum guide earlier in the day about the wind and weather and was told it was actually an unusual extreme of windy and that yesterday's snow was also unusual. We took our time getting back, and did pull in to the entry drives to a couple of the noted waterfall sights, though with me half-dressed and the rain somewhere between steady and torrential, ventures out on to the trails were not of interest. We got back to the guesthouse in Hveragerdi and managed to sort everything out on to the various radiators in the room. Looking for dinner led us to Cafe Rose, which seems to be a coffeehouse-pub hybrid and had tolerable pubbish food - a "pita" for Adam which turned out to be mainly hamburger on flatbread, and fish and chips for me. A band was setting up as we left, possibly the only Friday nightlife around, but after a good soaking from the North Atlantic and repeatedly from the downpour, we headed home, meandering a bit through the town on the way. The wind and rain was not letting up, and we discovered the bathroom skylight was leaking, but since we're here... we did make a foray out to the hot pot below our balcony, which was actually the pleasantly warmer of the two at the site here, if the more exposed to the still-driving rain and now rather angry Varma river. It was fine as long as you stayed submerged, but quite the sting from the rain in making the dash back to the room.
Thus ends the most adventurous, if unintentionally so, day so far. Tomorrow we check out here and head to Reykjavik proper for a little more urban exploring, though we still have a day of snorkeling and lava cave exploration(this time with guides, who probably have more sense about the local environment!) on Sunday. For now - time to call it a night and get some well-earned sleep.
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