Over the course of the next few weeks, I’ll be posting a tastefully-edited version of the journal I kept during the time I spent in Iceland. You can find all the entries and more on the “Iceland Transcribed” page.
Today did not go as planned.
Last night, after my nap, I woke up to find a suitcase on the bed across from mine. I had a roommate after all: a German-Canadian geologist/hobby photographer.
He and I stayed up until midnight over a bottle of Merlot, discussing Iceland, politics, and what we miss about home.
At some point in the night, my well-meaning roommate offered to drive me to the trail-head of Akrafjall, which I accepted.
The next morning, we drove East towards Reykjavik, neither of us entirely sure which direction the trail-head was in. I tried to follow the directions that tourist information had given me yesterday, but we were fast approaching the toll tunnel back to the capital, so we searched for anything that could have possibly been a trail. After turning around several times, he dropped me off at what could have been a trail, and then he left, continuing East.
It was not a trail-head. It was a gravel road that led to a gate.
With no other choice at hand, I began walking the two kilometers or so back to the town of Akranes. I didn’t get far before the heavy clouds decided to lighten their load, and the morning’s steady drizzle went to outright rain. As I walked along the highway, my hiking boots drenched through, large white birds began diving at my head, shrieking. I’d never encountered Arctic Terns before, but they certainly aren’t anything I want to encounter again. I waved my arms at them if they got too close to my head, whilst keeping one eye on the intermittent traffic zipping by me as I trudged my way into the village.
I did happen upon some Icelandic horses, though, and they were curious about the human on foot, coming right up to the fence to get a better look at me. I managed to snap a couple of pictures before moving on.
Once I was in town, I made my way to the park where the girl at tourist info said would lead me to Akrafjall.
It was a park. Next to a golf course. Nothing more, nothing less.
Drenched, hungry, and disappointed, I walked back to the hostel, stopping by the bakery for a snack because what’s the point in having feelings if you can’t eat your way through them?
So, here I am, holed up in the hostel, waiting for my clothes to dry.
I find myself immensely homesick. I want to have a cup of tea, hug everyone I care for, and paint or blog or write on my own desk while my Beastie kitty plays with bits of paper on the floor…
I’m not crying, you’re crying.