Land of Fire and Ice!

Land of ice and fire!

On the drive from the Reykjavik to our first night’s accommodation, Mirabel regaled me with stories of all the stupid things tourists are famous for doing in Iceland, despite clear warnings. These include hiking without weather preparation and getting caught in sudden down pours, high winds, or white out conditions, getting swept out to sea by “sneaker waves,” traipsing around on glaciers without gear or preparation, getting 2 wheel vehicles stuck on remote gravel roads, “Aurora chasing,” where people drive off the road into the darkness chasing northern lights, get stuck in snow, or walk out onto frozen surfaces — lakes, sea ice — that aren’t safe. Hypothermia from standing outside inadequately dressed for too long is also common.

We were struck by the stern injunctions plastered all over the rental car of “Don’t stop in the road!” Which made NO sense to us until we suddenly drove into an area where it appeared that lava was actively in the process of creeping over said road, and we were surrounded by piles of the stuff. We absolutely wanted to slam on the brakes and jump out of the car immediately to explore and take pictures. But no! Responsible, reasonable people that we are, we could hold on until we came to the pull off where we safely got off the road. I should mention that roads in Iceland have no shoulders. So you are either ON the road, or fully OFF of it. The second clearly not a good idea, as it is a wasteland of jagged lava, unidentifiable hummocky vegetation, or mud.

We felt pretty confident that we could avoid the obvious pitfalls enumerated above. After all, we’re not your average dumb tourists, right?

So, having checked into our Airbnb, and celebrating the fact that it would stay light until 11:00, we decided to take a little hike to explore the nearby geothermal area.

Following a briskly flowing (cold) river up the hill, we quickly reached a series of steaming heat vents. Pillows of steam were billowing directly out of the earth, a fabulous bubbling, burping and roaring the sound track for the display. One vent featured pure clear water welling out of a steaming hole, the next was a burping cauldron of gray clay, bubbling and boiling. Then came a spread of brilliant orange, right next to one of bilious green. We peered into them, admiring and taking pictures,. We hadn’t wandered more than 10 feet off the path. The bright green one was particularly vivid, a hole in the hill seeming to reach directly to the inner core of the earth. Spectacular! I squatted at the mouth of it to listen and smell and watch the crazy activity. Clay, water, and mud surrounded the opening, just like at every other one we had examined.

I stood, and moved to make way for Mirabel, stepping back out the way I had come, onto a little rise, well marked by boot prints. And suddenly, my left foot sank deep into the scalding clay. My boot filled instantly with the burning, viscus stuff, running down across my ankle, heel and foot.

In instant, searing pain, I dropped my phone on the ground, and worked the laces as fast as I could to get my foot out of my clay caked boot. Once I had loosened the laces, the worst pain had passed, and I decided to ignore it, waiting to get home to assess the damage.

Realizing how incredibly stupid I had been, despite ample warning, I was aware that I may have just put a huge wrench in our hiking vacation. Mirabel was concerned, I was minimizing, neither of us knew for sure how bad things were.

The point here is the arrogance of thinking I was too smart to underestimate this crazy country. Water and clay bubbling out of the earth at 100C, really? Dangerous? What’s it going to do? Jump out and grab me? Well . . . kind of exactly that!

A great lesson to have early on.

The good news is that despite raising some spectacular blisters, by using different shoes, and a little change in itinerary, I have been able to hike without problem. Now, two days later, it is perfectly fine. But I will not forget how lucky I am that this is the case. And I will be more cautious about unfamiliar places.