Story: Iceland—The southern route.
In late 2021 the pandemic travel restrictions were being lifted from around the world, vaccinations had become available, and I was eager to get out of my apartment. Iceland had just opened its doors to tourism and I found the first flight I could take given my schedule. I couldn’t wait to get back on the road.
At the airport, the line for immigration zig zags through the arrivals hall. At the end of the line is another for covid testing. Both lines move slowly, one limited by how quickly a squadron of nurses are able to test arriving passengers. A repeated announcement ask us to keep two meters distance between each other; no one is.
I stop by the Kronan grocery store in Vik before making my way to the Eldhraun lava fields. I buy surprisingly good croissants (which lull me into believing that all of the croissants at the grocery stories in Iceland are fantastic; I’ll be proved wrong the next day) and sandwiches for the road and the rest of the day.
I was eager to get started and drove immediately to Vestrahorn, a mountain rising out of a black sand beach on the eastern tip of Iceland. It’s the furthest east I would go; there was a basalt canyon I wanted to visit to the north, but I hadn’t the time.
The road to Dyrhólaey opens at 09:00. Upon checking out of the guesthouse, I stopped by the grocery store in Vik to pick up croissants for breakfast only to find it closed. Disappointed, but eager to begin my day, I stopped at a nearby gas station to fill the tank of the car and drove off to the park.
The weather calls for rain, but it’s clear when I wake up and I am forced to decide whether to make the one hour hike to a nearby natural hot spring. I debate it while I shower and gather my things.
I’m not sure why I hadn’t rushed immediately to see Fagradalsfjall on arrival. Perhaps it was a sense of the aggressive itinerary I had planned; perhaps it was because I felt I should do my best to quarantine as long as I could before engaging in activities, even if they were outdoors.