May 25
We leave Solheimar at 1010 stopping for lunch in a town called Vik. After a delicious lamb sandwich in a cramped and busy restaurant we shop at the local grocery store in preparation for three days of relative isolation. It drizzles lightly on the green slopes surrounding the town while we catch a view of the ocean before our departure.
As we near Vagnstadir the fertile shoreside pastures yield to a grey and apocalyptic glacial outwash valley. The blinding mist hangs low over streams braided through endless miles of gravelly desert. After many a sleepy mile with only a vast grayness around us the great Vatnajokull suddenly emerges. It appears deceptively tame, like a smooth, snowy hill sloped among towering, rocky horns.
Our hostel rests on a knoll facing south where the Atlantic swells with Arctic rage. Violent torrents of white crash against unseen rocks and spray high above the horizon. To reach the ocean we follow a rough path through riparian marshland marked by heavy yellow buoys. Upon reaching the shore a surreal mist envelops us and a distant mountain fades in and out of sight. We build modest cairns to prevent disorientation and search the pebbly beach for interesting artifacts.
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