
It was bitter cold in the tent last night. I was too cold to look at the thermometer, but now at 6am it’s 7°C/45°F INSIDE the tent, so it was definitely colder at 3am OUTSIDE. Again the old rule applies – the colder it is at night, the more beautiful and clear it is in the morning. The sun is out and it’s warming up fast. I snap a picture of the Aussies while we’re all waiting for the bus. Lynn and Vern, thanks for crossing my path, you’re interesting people. Surprisingly Vern says that he finds ME quite interesting and that I’ve left quite an impression on him, and that reminds me of something Mathias once said: For all the interesting people you meet and think you will never forget, you yourself will also leave such an impression on other people as well. This is an interesting realization that I now observe every day of my life. I often run into people who say: Boy are you interesting, or fascinating, or whatever, and I used think: Me? My life is quite boring actually. But I guess it’s not and I like being able to touch and possibly inspire people by just being who I am… With all of this pondering, the bus has already arrived in Selfoss and we all part ways. I have a 2-hr layover and while I’m waiting I discover a flyer for another bus route that goes directly to Hveravellir this afternoon. Thinking I would have to spend the night in Geysir waiting for the morning bus, this came much to my liking… With time to spare before the bus leaves, I store my backpack at the gas station and walk to the post office and little shopping mall. I discover the Snúður and Snælda books that are missing in my collection, and buy the ones I need. They’re just thin children’s books about two playful cats, so they won’t add much weight to my backpack. Then I head into my favorite store in Selfoss, Nóatún, because in addition to high-quality groceries, it’s got all kinds of books, videos, CDs and other household things that I like looking at. Of course I can’t buy anything because I don’t want to add any weight to my pack, but I’m content with looking. I do find some lightweight aluminum tent pegs though, so when I return to the gas station, I throw out the useless plastic ones I had bought back in Vík. Back at the gas station, I hang around outside waiting for the bus and watching the people. I’m eager to get back into the countryside – I feel strange and out of place in a civilized town. As I’m waiting another bus driver strikes up a conversation with me, and later when he drives off, he waves! I’m impressed with his warmhearted friendliness to a foreigner who he’ll never see again, and the obvious pleasure he has in his work. So if you ever read this, Mr. Busdriver of the Þingvallaleið route from Stokkseyri to Reykjavík – you made my day! Then my small little bus from the Trex route pulls up. There are 20 seats max, and the only other people in the bus are a couple and their teenage daughter on their way home to Akureyri. The trip turns out to be a memorable one, the couple and even the daughter only speak Icelandic so I’m not shy about trying out my skills. The daughter pulls out her MP3 player showing me that she likes to listen to German music - Marianne Rosenberg! In fact, the daughter seems like she’s in the wrong time zone. She’s dressed in very old fashioned clothes, and her hair style is reminiscent of the 1950s. She’s wearing thick knit stockings, and if it wasn’t for the MP3 player, I’d think I was talking to one of the Waltons. I saw a young lady, about 20 years old, in Selfoss dressed like this as well. Icelandic fashion, especially for the younger generation, has always floored me. They’re not shy at all about wearing grandma’s hand-me-downs. But I shouldn’t talk. Like I said, I feel definitely out of place in the city in my hiking boots and Gore-Tex from head to foot, so I’m eager to get moving.
We drive along the Kjölur route, F35, and I realize how brainless it would be to drive a Toyota rental car on this route. The potholes get deeper and the rocks get bigger with every mile. As we drive, I stare out the window in amazement. I’m fascinated for some reason with the clouds. They seem to be so low, so tangible, dangling just out of reach out the window. This is one thing that always amazes me in Iceland, but in the highlands, this phenomena is more prominent. We stop at a waterfall on the way to Kerklingarfjöll because the bus driver wants to take some pictures – how cute! The teenage girl is thrilled, saying over and over again: þetta er frábært! Once again I’m amazed at the Icelanders’ love and appreciation of their own country.The campsite at Kerklingarfjöll is nice and I decide to come back there one day. We have 30 minutes to kill, so I walk around a bit and watch two bicyclists arrive and set up their camp. Respect! A short time later we arrive at Hveravellir and the family from Akureyri promptly invites me to visit them sometime. The man thanks me for my pleasant company and said I’m an inspiration. His wife translates, although I’m sure I understand it correctly. It’s strangely sad to see them go and I’m left with that odd feeling again that I’ve touched people’s lives in some memorable way without even realizing it. It’s bitter cold in Hveravellir, time to dig out the winter jacket, hat and gloves. After setting up my tent near the toilets, I take a short walk around the bubbling geothermal pots and make dinner, eating for the first time with my gloves on – it’s 6°C/43°F. The warden is a friendly older gentleman from Reykjavík who is a choir singer when he’s not watching over the hut. He gives me some hiking tips and tells me a few stories. I spend the evening warming up in the hot pot, boy the water is so hot and feels wonderful. This is definitely one of the nicer hot pots I’ve experienced. A Dutch couple tells me there was fresh snow in Nýdalur the other day. Otherwise, there are mostly Germans here.