Vicky TurnerI’m just back from my fifth visit to Iceland. I live in Lincolnshire, UK, a flat county – mostly land reclaimed from the sea that’s now domesticated farmland. Iceland appears completely different, which is likely why I keep returning. Apart from a few towns on the island’s coastline, Iceland feels totally wild – vast, empty, and largely untouched. There’s nothing tame about tectonic plates colliding, creating volcanos, or forming glaciers. Being alone in the highlands
of Iceland feels like being on the very edge of something – survival, I suppose – you’re surrounded by evidence of these incredible natural forces at work, so it’s humbling and inspiring. A visit there invigorates me more than any other place on earth – I’ll return again as soon as I can.
I have friends in Reykjavik. I first met Ragnar Eirikson, someone I now describe as a brother from another mother, at a mutual friend’s dinner party. The host, in arranging the seating plan, had put the “grumpy Icelander” next to the “annoyingly cheery” Englishwoman, knowing only that we both had a 4×4. Our shared love of all things Land Rover helped form a friendship now reaching over two decades. At least once a year, Ragnar and his family come and stay at my house in the UK and, in a reciprocal arrangement, whenever I can get over to Iceland, Ragnar and his long-term girlfriend Gudrun loan me their car while I’m over there. (Icelandic law insures the vehicle, not the driver.) Previously, I’ve picked up Ragnar’s much loved, expedition-kitted Discovery I, but that was undergoing major surgery. This time, I arrived at the airport to find the keys under the floor mat of Gudrun’s commuter car – a very posh ’07 Range Rover L322 with a supercharged 4.2L petrol engine and a Khan body kit – a far cry from my own Land Rover, a ‘69 Series IIA 2.25L Carawagon.
The weather had been light on snow and relatively warm, so the urban-based Range Rover sported winter tires only, not studded snow tires. I knew I would have to take it a little steady up in the highlands. Snowdrifts compacted into ice sheets, even on the main roads, can make for “interesting” driving conditions. On the plus side, the Range Rover enabled me to program the satnav to take me to an AirB&B cabin north and east of Reykjavik on the banks of the river Brúará near Reykholt. I set off in the pitch black, grateful for the halogen lights. I was tickled pink to discover that the L322 had a heated steering wheel – never really having had the chance to drive top-end Land Rovers before, I’m now a willing convert to the upper-end amenities: Bring on the leather, the heating, the sealed doors, the walnut trim glove box!
After a couple of hours driving on mostly empty roads, picking up some groceries on the way, I rolled up to the cabin that would serve as my base for the next four nights. Every locale in Iceland comes blessed with spectacular views. On my first night, the Northern Lights were putting on a display which continued into each night of my stay. The Northern Lights form just one perk of a winter visit. Admittedly, the downside is daylight – or lack of it. Icelandic twilight is magical. It’s properly lit for about six hours a day, but before that, there is a long, slow, and – weather permitting – stunning dawn to appreciate with coffee. At the end of each day’s exploring, there is a slow darkening – sunset and gloaming with the color gradually leeching from the sky framing the stark landscape, reflecting off water and ice.
Over the next few days, I explored the area around the cabin, using the Land Rover as a base. To save money, I took sandwiches and picnicked in the Range Rover. I loaded the boot up with waterproofs, walking boots, cameras, binoculars, and stuff to make hot drinks, and enjoyed the sights through the windscreen. (Iceland can be very expensive.)
Through the windscreen, a vast and deserted wilderness lay before me, dramatic and varied. The mostly empty metallic [paved -ed] roads make driving a delight, but all the side roads are simply single dirt tracks on miles of black volcanic gravel, grit, and dust. Those routes took us to all the sights associated with Iceland, especially the magnificent waterfalls, with blown ice sculptures on the steps that are used in the summer to lure tourists closer.
I parked up and went for a hike on a glacier, and took a thousand photographs. I witnessed Old Strokur in Gesir do its thing, drove around Þingvallavatn Lake, and explored Þingvellir National Park, walking between the two continental plates (the only place on the globe where you can do this). I discovered turf-roofed houses and tiny churches and talked to Icelandic horses. I wandered into the odd Puffin Shop – what Icelanders call the tourist shops – selling dried shark, woolen pullovers, and expensive but excellent coffee and pastries, but with free-to-use lavatories. Iceland goes overboard with exuberant Christmas lights; even tomb markers in graveyards get festooned with lights.
I’ve long harbored the idea of taking my Series back to Iceland – it went in the 1970s under its previous owners – but I have to acknowledge the pleasure of driving the island with all the comforts offered by a modern Land Rover. Setting off each morning before the 10:00am dawn, the temperature hovered around -8 C; the constant wind created a wind-chill factor of -15 C. Being outside for long, even in Arctic clothing, wasn’t enjoyable.
On Day 4, I left the cabin and headed east along the south coast road for 350km to reach the Jökulsárlón, a glacial lagoon that spits icebergs into the Atlantic Ocean. These break up in the waves and “warmer” water. As they wash back onto the shore, they leave diamonds of ice on a black beach that stretches for miles, a spectacle making the approximate 6.5-hour drive buffeted by storm-force winds well worth the effort. The gusts swirled eddies of snow in front of the L322. Given the short daylight and my sightseeing plans, I’d decided to overnight in a motel near the lagoon. The next morning, I woke up to discover that the storm had blown through and I enjoyed a crisp, bright frozen day – perfect for viewing icebergs. The sunlight made them sparkle and accentuated the depths of their glorious blue hues.
After spending the day there, I headed back to Reykjavik in time for New Year’s Eve. Ragnar and Gudrun had issued instructions that I must stay with them and join their family for a traditional Icelandic dinner: ptarmigan as a starter, and reindeer for the main course. They had alerted me that “Our fireworks are incredible.” London and Sidney present top-level fireworks, but Reykjavik’s four-hour eruption of light and noise make those larger cities’ celebrations feel small. Every single balcony, car parking lot, garden, central reservation, and accessible rooftop became a pyrotechnic launchpad. Absolutely bonkers, sheer madness, but utterly enthralling!
I spent one day marveling at Reykjavik’s harbor, art galleries, museums, cafes, pastry shops, bars, and restaurants. For my final day, I took the Range Rover on one last tour, this time south and west of the capital onto the Reykjanes Peninsula. Tourists largely go there for the renowned Blue Lagoon, but the surrounding area has ample evidence of volcanic activity – it’s where Fagradalsfjall volcano erupted recently, resulting in huge lava fields, hot springs, and steep cliffs and beaches with drive paths.
Storm warnings alerted me to challenging driving conditions. The squally winds made the Range Rover feel more lively on its feet than I found relaxing; some vehicles do get blown off the roads each year. The final surprise was being caught in a huge dust storm. The winds had whipped up all the volcanic ash that had been spewed out recently and sent it down the coast in a gritty cloud. The air glowed a weird brown/yellow color, causing reduced visibility. While I consider Ragnar and Gudrun good friends, I really did not want to give them back their Range Rover.
No matter how many times I return to Iceland, the island never ceases to amaze me. Now to plan Trip #6!