It’s an early morning. I’m standing barefoot on the wooden floor and staring through the window of the summerhouse: Strokkur, which erupted just now, caught my attention. The curiosity to see the geysers’ area starts exploding, so I quickly jump into my clothes and get out. It’s summertime, but I am not daring to leave home without my new traditional Icelandic sweater: wind is always strong here.
A few more steps, and I reach a steaming area where the hot waters from the inner Earth’s depths reach the surface. Nearly in all cavities they are bubbling and boiling, but just one of them, previously mentioned Strokkur, every four to eight minutes strongly erupts upwards. This place gathers numbers of curious observers with turned on cameras in hands, patiently waiting for once-in-a-lifetime shots. However, instead of joining them, I decide to walk to the nearby road and try to hitchhike towards the famous Gullfoss waterfall, located just five minutes away by car.
Iceland is a great place to travel like that, but one does need a plan. As the country is niggardly inhabited and some routes are very rarely taken, it is easy to get stuck in the middle of nowhere, few hundred kilometres away from the nearest village, where the next vehicle to pass by might come in a couple of days only.
My driver today is Australian. His car is old, not newer than 20 years, but Iceland is full of similar ones: with the plastered scotch instead of the window, broken side mirrors or missing registration numbers’ plates.
A quick lift and I see the falling waters, mantled not only by green meadows and lupines, blooming in purple, but by the intensively bright rainbow too.
After this small solo runaway, I am rushing to see my friends in a restaurant. The creamy cod and potatoes puree, which Icelanders usually eat with black sweet bread, cooked in the boiling spring waters, is already served. At a lunch table we quickly start planning tomorrow’s journey to Snæfellsnes peninsula. Everyone is really excited, ready to drive the gravel roads across the lava fields for hundred kilometres, curious to count the snowy peaks of mountains, thrilled to step on a glacier and hoping to see the lost sheep herds, savage horses or seals, lazing at the shore. We are even prepared for the adventures without knowing where the next petrol stop could be found.
I am ready for everything here because Iceland is the most beautiful in its wildest.
by Gintarė Adamonytė