The Nordic Lands - Day Three

Black

5:45am. Surprisingly awake. Ellie has had two coffees. BSI bus station for us. Is it a universal truth that all bus stations have it be scuzzy? I bet even Swiss ones have blue lighting in the bathroom stalls.

ONCE again, our tour guide is wonderful. He explains to us that the seasons expand people's lives in different ways - the summer opens up the world and connects people with nature, whilst the winter encourages people to spend more time with each other at home. It turns out the bus driver also drove our guide's mother to hospital when she was in labour, and now they're working together. Six degrees theory I guess.
We're on our way to the south coast, driving through all this beautiful countryside but I can't stop checking the post-election news. Everything seems quite terrifying right now. We drive through the mountains, believing all our guide's stories of elves and trolls living in the craggy and complex rock face, with its juts and craters like tiny cities, and rivers sneaking out from hidden places. Apparently the elves remain friendly as long as the rocks aren't disturbed, explaining the failure of a road meant to cut through the mountain but plagued by broken machinery and sickness.
We pass houses completely built into the rock face and stop at a waterfall like horses plunging into the rushing river, soft black sand all around. I'm expecting riots if the DUP get in.

WE'RE now stopping at an active volcano which is due for an eruption bigger than the 2010 one. Will update if I survive.
We pilgrimage along the rocky mountain path to witness the sun lighting up the black and green mountains, and the huge glacier across the lake. It seems to be made of layers and waves of white geometry merging greyly into the black. The base cuts icy shapes into the rippled loch, which laps onto a dark shore. This is what I imagine the surface of the moon to look like. Black and grey and icy, whilst people in boots and coats walk along it in awe, making strange noises on the rocks.

TURNS out there's a book on Vikings meant to be written by Odin, stating that Vikings should travel to gain wisdom. Interestingly, the current Icelandic word for 'stupid' means 'one who stays at home.' The Icelandic people have such an active love for their land. They remember a time and an attempt to privatise and profit from it, rather than live with it and protect it, and the thing is that time is over.




OUR next stop is at a completely monochrome beach, gazed upon by looming mountains and salt columns under a steel sky. We walk in reverie along the shore, watching the water swell in grey, then invade the charcoal sand with foaming bright white tendrils before shimmering its way back into the ocean. Ellie says she wants her ashes scattered here. Later, she is reading Sylvia Plath.

IN a rather nice twist, our tour guide decides we should stop at Eyjafjallajokull (2010 volcano) as it is sunny and 'looks magnificent' covered in snow.

LASTLY, we stop at a waterfall with the purpose of walking behind it. It was windy and rainy and I imagine that the arcs thrown up by the water are portals to other realms, somersaulting and spiralling and soaking me. It must have been all that elf talk, plus going past a shop called Midgardur.

AFTER not drying off in the coach (remember hw unpleasant it is to have wet skinny jeans or tights, then imagine getting soaked while wearing both) we waltz home in the sun.