Iceland. The Land of Ice and Fire. Or so the over-used phrase goes. You`ll be hard pressed to see real fire here, as volcanic eruptions are infrequent. But heat-agitated water abounds. Hot springs, fumaroles, mud pools and the occasional geyser testify to the unrest beneath one`s feet. And make this an exciting place to visit, despite July weather that equates with Birmingham`s in a poor April.
The five pages of photos here, reachable by clicking on a region on the map below, are for the most part landscape. If I`d not been so hell-bent on seeing all the well-known wonders of the island in only two weeks, our trip would have yielded more photos of cultural interest. I`ll try to make up for the excessive landscape bias by relating a short story that had my wife and I in stitches of laughter.
The Vesturdalur Campground in Jokulsargljufur National Park is a right old international mix. So it wasn`t surprising that a shy seven-year old German boy found himself face-to-face with a loud and self-assured local boy dressed in a white England football shirt proudly displaying the name of his hero, Wayne Rooney. Our local star was also about seven, I guess, but the colour of his hair could not have been more different than that of his new acquaintance. It was white. Glossy white. "How could this be?", we could sense the German boy thinking. "Surely only people in their retirement years have hair of this hue?"
All of this would normally have put a swift end to proceedings. The boys would have retired to their respective corners of the campground, in resigned acceptance of the otherness of other people from other countries. But the Rooney-wanabee had other ideas. As the bravest amongst his four mates, it seems he`d been nominated to be the one to boldly cross the campground and initiate an encounter with the four-strong German corner. And all in the hope of an international football match in the small place available.
No such nominating took place amongst the German contingent. The other three seemed just as wary about rubbing shoulders with a white-haired boy speaking English at them. And it was this wariness that the local boy had to overcome if he wanted to test his footballing skills in this unlikely international arena.
Whatever might be said about his choice of footballing hero, the young man proceeded to show an emotional sensitivity beyond his years. Kicking his own ball gently in the direction of the hoped-for opposition, he proclaimed: "Don`t worry, I`m not from China. I`m from Iceland."
Sadly, his charming bedside-manner was to no avail. The football match did not take place. Perhaps just as well. Germany would have won on penalties sowieso (nur Spass).