Happily Ever After
Life in The Rural Retreat with a beautiful wife, three cats, garden wildlife, a camera, a computer – and increasing amounts about running
Earlier posts can be found on Adventures of a Lone Bass Player, where this blog began life. Recent entries can be found here.
Snowdrifts And Sweaters
by admin - 23:20 on 30 June 2014
Our last full day in Iceland began with another rugby scrum breakfast followed by packing and a drive around the tip of the peninsula dominated by Snæfellsjökull until we reached the gravel road that runs south from outside Ólafsvík past the eastern edge of the glacier. The plan was that we'd walk from the road to take a look at the icy wastes inside the volcano's crater.
The plan fell apart after a few kilometres. The road twisted and turned as it climbed through increasingly bleak scenery until we hit cloud, then passed a four-foot-high snowdrift, then came to a halt where snow and ice had drifted. Even in a 4x4 with intrepid Matchgirl at the wheel, this was the end of the road – the two or three oncoming vehicles we'd passed on the way up must have made the same three-point turn. This was disappointing but the views there and back made up for it.
On the way down we passed another car on the way up, a motorcycle, and the sturdy hiker who'd nearly had a heart attack when we'd passed him on the way up, lost in his own epic world of mountaineering adventure.
From there we took the straightforward route south until we veered off at Borganes for an unplanned detour that ended at Hvanneyri. For Matchgirl, this was a superb find – the village cafe served waffles soaked in strawberry sauce and its owner directed us to Ullarselið, a treasure trove of knitwear. Matchgirl left, after a huge amount of deliberation, with a dress and a jumper, neither of which, sadly, will make her look like Sarah Lund.
Now it was time to press on so we took the main route back to Reykjavik which we hoped to pass before rush hour. Then Matchgirl took a wrong turn... A few hours earlier we'd reversed out of a remote snowdrift; now we were inching forward in rain-soaked city traffic. Iceland truly is a land of contrasts.
We made it through eventually and found the road to Keflavik where we were to spend our last Icelandic night at the palatial Hotel Keflavik, plans for a detour to Blue Lagoon abandoned because of driving rain and chill winds. Outdoor bathing, even in hot pools, does require a certain amount of warmth.
The Hotel Keflavic looked great: opulent foyer, friendly receptionist (when she stopped chatting to her crony), and booked by Matchgirl through Expedia at a thriftily discounted rate. Luxury at a bargain price, five minutes from the airport. Fantastic. So we were less than pleased to be told that our room was occupied by pilots whose plane was delayed and we'd been booked into another hotel around the corner.
We were even less pleased when we entered the Hotel Keilir and found an establishment with at least one star less than the one for which Matchgirl had paid and our room occupied by a swarm of flies. Fortunately we were given another room when Matchgirl, who had not yet transported her luggage to the fly haven, pointed out the problems faced by a guest with a heavy case in an hotel with no lift. The replacement, a ground floor room for wheelchair-users, was much more spacious and fly-free. A small silver lining.
The Hotel Keilir also lacked a restaurant so we left to discover what Keflavik had to offer for hungry travellers. The answer was two reasonable fish restaurants, both ruled out because whale was on the menu, a slew of fast food takeaways, and the Thai cafe we ended up in. The food was fine, but as we could have eaten the same meal in Dingwall it turned our final Icelandic dining experience into a bit of an anti-climax. Shame.
We could have dined at the Hotel Keflavik but they'd probably have taken away our table and given it to pilots. Not that we're bitter. Although Matchgirl's email to Expedia will be a frosty one.
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