Driving Iceland’s Ring Road
It was enough to give a visitor pause: blind curves; blind crests; no central road markings; no shoulders; single-lane bridges; single-lane tunnels (!); livestock on the road, including reindeer; severe winds, and dense mists. Such was the list of possible obstacles for drivers outlined in the “Have a Safe Journey” brochure I downloaded from the Icelandic Road & Coastal Administration’s website (www.vegagerdin.is).
Adding to that, the Bárðarbunga volcano was making headlines, suggesting a 2014 replay of tongue-twisting Eyjafjallajökull’s devastating eruption in 2010.
If that weren’t enough, late October, on the cusp of the country’s months of Stygian gloom, was hardly the ideal time to take on Iceland’s island-circling Ring Road. But October it would be, as that was when I was scheduled to attend a meeting in Reykjavík.
Making plans
The idea of arriving a week or so early to drive the Ring Road captured my imagination immediately. What better way to get to know Iceland than to take on its 832-mile circular Route 1?!
With that in mind, I turned to the Internet to find that Iceland Travel (Reykjavík; phone +354 585 4300, www.icelandtravel.is) offered several self-drive Ring Road itineraries. I chose “Ring Road Highlights,” paying $2,650 for the 7-night, 8-day, package that included a rental car with unlimited mileage and prearranged overnight accommodations, including breakfast. I’d be on my own for other meals and gas charges.
Rather than jump off the plane and into my rental car at Keflavík airport, I arranged to pick up my Hertz car in Reykjavík two days later.
Icelandair’s Flybus shuttle ($21) delivered me to Reykjavík’s Hotel Natura, an Icelandair Hotel (www.icelandairhotels.com) located five minutes from the Hertz office and a 20-minute walk from the city center.
Exploring Reykjavík
My hotel, as do most Reykjavík hotels, offered guests a free city bus pass for the duration of their stay. (The $10 charge added to my hotel bill was credited back when I returned the pass upon checking out.) However, instead of heading for the bus stop across from the hotel, I chose to stretch my flight-cramped legs and walk to the city center on the afternoon of my arrival, despite a steady drizzle.
Midway, the drizzle turned to drenching rain, with sudden, severe wind gusts repeatedly turning my sturdy umbrella inside out. Struggling to turn it right, I noticed that, evidently, only those who don’t know better (tourists, like me) carried umbrellas. Everyone else seemed oblivious to the weather, dressed as they were in impervious-to-bluster garb.
The next morning I opted for the bus, which delivered me to Reykjavík’s bright and cheerful Old City center. I walked past lively shops, cafés and galleries, the side streets revealing brightly colored corrugated-metal houses with little, picket-fenced, flower-filled yards and lace-curtained windows.
I found what I was looking for at the Handknitting Association of Iceland (Skólavörðustígur 19; www.handknit.is), a collective of Iceland’s knitters. I purchased a hat to pull down over my ears and a pullover sweater, assured by the friendly knitter manning the cash register that I now owned soft, insulated, water-repellent alternatives to my umbrella.
Side note — although Iceland’s official currency is the króna, the country operates as a nearly cashless one, with credit cards accepted for even ridiculously small purchases. Throughout my two weeks in the country, I used a no-foreign-exchange-fee credit card exclusively, while experiencing “sticker shock” whenever I handed it over. Iceland, whether you’re buying food, gas or a locally knitted hat and sweater, is expensive!
Road trip
My car, an automatic-drive Toyota compact, awaited my arrival the next day at the Hertz office, along with my itinerary, a GPS, a detailed map, a booklet describing highlights along the way and — especially reassuring, since I’d be driving the road solo — a 24/7 number to call should I need assistance.
With that, I was off, but not on the Ring Road, instead heading for what Iceland tourism promotes as the Golden Circle, a circuit organized around three attractions situated within an easy drive (or, for most, a tour bus ride) from the capital city.
Located in close proximity are Thingvellir (Þingvellir), Iceland’s first national park and its most important historical site; the spouting geothermal area of Geysir, which has given its name to all such water spouts around the world, and Gullfoss, a thunderous waterfall.
So popular has the Golden Circle become as a not-to-be-missed area that to visit Iceland and not the circuit is considered akin to visiting Paris’ Louvre and purposefully skipping the “Mona Lisa.”
With the town of Hveragerði my first night’s destination, just 42 kilometers from the Hertz office on Route 1, my map illustrated that I could easily work in the Golden Circle by taking an alternate route.
Golden Circle sights
In AD 930, Iceland’s Viking settlers formed a commonwealth, choosing for their national assembly Thingvellir. There, meeting for two weeks each July, chieftains discussed and decided the means of justice and law and order.
The goings-on, open to all Icelanders, took place in a festive atmosphere, with entertainers and traders setting up booths of goods.
Laced with paths to walk, it’s a place of serene natural beauty that also marks the spot where the two halves of Iceland — the Eurasian and North American tectonic plates — are slowly being torn apart.
As for Geysir, it was far more impressive to visit when the Great Geysir regularly spouted 200 feet into the air, a performance only rarely repeated since 1916.
The attraction today is nearby Strokkur, which bursts forth every 10 minutes or so but not to spectacular heights — about what I’d expect if a hot-water pipe burst in my backyard.
Throughout the area, walkways pass hissing steam vents, boiling pools and belching mud pots.
Gullfoss, or Golden Falls, may be Iceland’s’ best-known natural wonder, a deafening double waterfall tumbling spectacularly into a 1½-mile-long canyon.
The visitors’ centers at Gullfoss and Geysir are shoppers’ delights, jam-packed with Iceland-themed clothing and gift items. It was the only opportunity I’d have to interact with puffins, as Iceland’s population of this charismatic bird — between three and four million sea cliff-dwelling pairs — arrive in April and depart in August.
I had my choice of puffins every which way, decorating paper napkins, aprons, key chains, hats, paperweights and refrigerator magnets or as stuffed toys.
Enjoying some hot spots
Now I was on my way to Hveragerði. Climbing upward, I was suddenly engulfed in mist so dense that I could see but a few feet ahead. Finally, the welcoming sight of dozens of brightly lit greenhouses (producing tomatoes, lettuces, cucumbers, strawberries and even bananas) cut through the gray, beckoning me toward the town.
Hveragerði makes its living from geothermal energy. My dinner that night, at Kjöt og Kúnst (Breiðumörk 21; www.kjotogkunst.is), was cooked using geothermal heat piped directly to the kitchen. I ordered plokkfiskur, traditionally thought of as an Icelandic “leftovers” dish. It was the perfect comfort food after my first day’s journey.
Previously cooked cod and potatoes are mixed with a rich milk-and-butter sauce and tucked into the oven. A filled 6-inch-skillet, served with the traditional accompaniment of rye bread and butter, along with a glass of house wine, approached $35.
My room at Hótel Örk (www.hotelork.is) awaited, along with its geothermal-heated sauna, swimming pool and hot tub.
Immersing oneself in hot water is an Icelandic national pastime. Two hotels on my itinerary, Hótel Örk and Hótel Tindastóll Annex (www.arctic
hotels.is), where I would stay further along in my journey at Sauðárkrókur, offered on-site, geothermal dunking. Elsewhere, after a long day behind the wheel of my Toyota, I asked for directions to the public swimming pool ($4-$5 admission), heading directly for its “hot spot,” a small circular area where water steams at a deliciously high temperature.
Locals gather at the hot spots to chat and relax. As most Icelanders speak English as their second language, I was readily included in the conversations.
At the municipal pools, forget modesty, as there are no cubicles for changing or stalls for showers, although all changing areas are same sex. Strip naked, stash clothes in a locker and saunter through to the showers to wash all over with soap, before donning your suit and heading to the pool. The reason for the thorough soaping is that the pools are not chemically treated and are instead filled with constantly flowing water.
The route
Leaving Hveragerði, my counterclockwise itinerary took me to overnights on Iceland’s eastern edge, at Kirkjubæjarklaustur (mercifully usually referred to as “Klaustur”), Höfn and Egilsstaðir.
Turning inward, Lake Mývatn came next, followed by Sauðárkrókur, at the tip of the Skagi Peninsula as it juts into the icy Arctic Ocean, and finally Stykkishólmur, located at the northern gateway to the Snæfellsnes Peninsula, best known for its brooding, glacier-inhabited crater that inspired pioneer science-fiction writer Jules Verne’s “Journey to the Center of the Earth.” From there, it was back to Reykjavík.
Not mentioned in the “Have a Safe Journey” brochure were the extraordinary number of roundabouts to be negotiated along the way. Even as an experienced roundabouter, I found it a challenge to pick out the correct exit spoke, given the similarity of Iceland’s place names, often of exorbitant length, with consonants placed together in alarming proximity. (The Icelandic language — one of the oldest living languages in Europe — has pridefully resisted change through the centuries. Icelanders can read Old Norse documents as if they were today’s newspaper.)
Easiest was to ignore the place name and listen for the GPS to voice an exit number; enter, count spokes while circling and peel off at the right one.
Fire and ice and surprisingly pastoral areas were encountered along the drive — glaciers oozing down between mountain peaks; waterfalls streaming over basalt cliffs; steam rising out of the earth; black-sand beaches, courtesy of wave-beaten lava; lonely lighthouses standing sentinel on sea-battered cliffs; red-roof farm complexes surrounded by lush greenness; high mountain peaks footed in lava-dotted tundra, and sparse vegetation tinged in autumn hues. In between, mile after long mile of lonely road stretched through the sameness of harsh, flat, lava-rock-strewn land.
A few favorites
Following is a list of some of the highlights discovered along the road.
• Eyjafjallajökull’s Visitors Centre (www.icelanderupts.is) — Throughout the volcano’s devastating 2010 eruption, the Thorvaldseyri farming family recorded the experience on film ($7 per viewing). Narrated by the mother, it is an unforgettable 20-minute portrayal, touching and brave, that takes viewers from the watching and waiting to the digging out from under tons of ash.
• Skógar Folk Museum (www.skogasafn.is) — An incredible collection of items large and small covers all aspects of rural Icelandic life. Begun in 1949 and maintained today by 94-year-old Þórður Tómasson, the collection includes 13 old Icelandic buildings, among them a tidy little church and a hobbit-like turf farmhouse (entry, $14).
• Jökulsárlón lagoon (www.ice lagoon.is) — Surreal, luminous icebergs calved from Breiðamerkurjökull glacier float like pieces of sculpture in this 25-square-kilometer lake. So astounding is the sight that it’s easy to not look in the opposite direction to see, equally memorable, the icebergs sailing into the Atlantic, many heading ashore onto the black-sand beach.
• Northern lights — With October being among the best months to view the aurora borealis, hotels offer a wake-up call when and if the night is right (little moon, dark sky, no cloud cover) and there is a show. At Höfn, my wake-up call came.
Bundling up, I watched from a grassy knoll adjacent to the hotel and overlooking the sea as shades of green swirled through the sky. It was not the multicolor display I’d heard described but, no matter, I was in Iceland and had seen the northern lights!
• Seyðisfjörður (www.visitseydisfjordur.com) — The drive from Egilsstaðir over a high mountain pass to this little fishing village offers stunning scenery that is, alone, worth the trip. Surrounded by sheer mountains tumbling with waterfalls, the town’s streets are lined with colorful wooden houses that were shipped from Norway in ready-made kit form. Today, a number of the buildings have been turned into ateliers for local artists, craftspeople and musicians.
• Akureyri (www.visitakureyri.is/en) — At 18,000 people strong, Akureyri is the country’s second-most populated city. From its spectacular setting at the base of Eyjafjörður, Iceland’s longest fjord, the city enjoys some of the country’s warmest weather, despite the Arctic Circle’s being but 60 miles away.
A popular cruise stop, the city was dwarfed by a Princess Cruises ship in port, its passengers packing the tourist information counter in Akureyri’s swish new Hof Cultural Center.
Akureyri invites exploration, with its picturesque, pedestrian-only streets and early-20th-century wooden mansions that look like Swiss chalets.
A short climb up Eyrarlandsvegur Road leads to the botanical garden (www.lystigardur.akureyri.is), one of the northernmost in the world. Its little Café Laut was a welcome spot for coffee and freshly baked goods.
Natural beauty
Another worthy stop on my journey was Tröllaskagi Peninsula. The peninsula was so packed with Icelandic beauty and diversity that I longed to linger.
To begin with, what better place to contemplate the existence of Iceland’s huldufólk, or hidden people — gnomes, elves, fairies and, yes, trolls — than the “Troll Peninsula”?
I entered the peninsula’s two tunnels — each one lane and nearly two miles in length — with fingers crossed and discovered that alcoves for passing had been cut into their lengths. Car approaching? Pull over and let it pass, making for safe passage (with the huldufólk’s blessing).
Akureyri marks the southeastern end of the peninsula. There, a crescent road sweeps from the bottom of the peninsula into Öxnadalur Valley. It’s an incredibly beautiful drive, edged by an escarpment of knife-edged peaks on its descent into placid greenery graced with streams of water.
This is also horse country. Like the language, the Icelandic horse has survived almost unchanged for over 1,000 years. With regulations forbidding the import of horses into the country, the breed has remained intact. So beloved are the small, sturdy, surefooted, 5-gaited steeds that their population stands at about 80,000 — one horse for every four Icelanders!
With their long, rock-star manes whipping in the wind, they are an unforgettable, only-in-Iceland sight.
At the peninsula’s northern tip, Siglufjörður, one of the country’s most picturesque little fishing villages, clings precariously to the edge of the fjord.
Between 1903 and 1968, Siglufjörður harbor was crammed with fishing boats unloading herring, with some 10,000 workers involved in its processing. Today, housed in three buildings once devoted to the catch, the award-winning Herring Era Museum (www.sild.is) brings the lives of fishermen and townspeople vividly to life through displays and photographs. Entry costs $10.
Following the peninsula’s fjords south on its western side, another extraordinary museum, the Icelandic Emigration Center (www.hofsos.is), is located in the fishing village of Hofsós. Although officially closed for the season, a sign instructed visitors to ring and someone would come… and they did!
Here, three restored buildings along the harbor are devoted to the history of the emigration of Icelanders between 1870 and 1914, during which 16,000 left, leaving the country with a population of only 88,000. Displays describe their reasons for leaving, preparations for departure, traveling conditions and the reality that awaited them in North America. Entry, $12.
Planning your visit
Be prepared for rapidly changing weather conditions if you’re planning to visit Iceland. More problematic than rain and dense mist were winds of such incredible strength that I found walking the sea cliff paths unwise.
Driving conditions mirrored those listed by the Road Administration, with the absence of central road markings being especially troublesome on blind crests, where one can only hope that a car approaching from the other side will be sticking to its half of the road.
Before starting out each day, I always asked at the hotel desk about the road ahead. In one instance, I was able to avoid a long unpaved stretch of the Ring Road in favor of a paved alternative; in another, a shortcut on gravel surface was suggested as an alternative to a much longer Route 1 drive through barren, uninteresting territory.
Regarding hotels along the way, I especially liked those managed by Icelandair. They were never cookie cutter and always had every accoutrement of comfort and convenience. I enjoyed being greeted in their lobbies by woodcarver Aðalheiður Eysteinsdóttir’s full-sized renditions of everyday Icelandic people and animals.
Breakfasts at all the hotels were bountiful buffets. I quickly became addicted to skyr, a cross between yogurt and cream cheese — especially wonderful when scooped over stewed rhubarb.
On restaurant menus, fish freshly pulled from icy Icelandic waters was always a good choice, as was lamb. Icelandic sheep roam freely through the countryside munching on herbs and grasses, resulting in tender and flavorful meat.
In Sauðárkrókur, restaurant Ólafshús’ extensive salad bar made my nicely grilled cod fillet a relative bargain at $45. Delicious, too, was the lamb soup, almost a stew, at Narfeyrarstofa in Stykkishólmur ($29 with a glass of Merlot).
Most memorable of all was Reykjavík’s Bæjarins Beztu Pylsur, which translates to “Best Hot Dog in Town.” Open since 1937, hot dogs at this little stand are made of lamb, with a bit of pork and beef added. There’s always a line, no matter what time of day.
When it was my turn, I stepped right up to order ein með öllu (with everything). Like everyone else, I stood on the sidewalk eating it, enjoying the delightful snap of the hot dog, the “everything” smeared on top.
With my wool hat pulled over my ears and my long sweater on, the drizzle was no problem. A delicious, affordable ($3), only-in-Iceland moment!