Elizabeth Adams's Blog, page 46

Road Trip 9: Hof

From behind the church at Hof, looking west.

After all this wildness, I thought you might be interested in some human habitation. Hof, where we stayed on our second night, is a small cluster of farms and houses tucked under the shelter of towering cliffs. There's nothing else around, except perhaps a tiny isolated farm or two, for miles and miles. The location of the settlement is fairly high above the glacial outwash plain, and looks as though it would be protected from flooding.

looking east

and looking south, across the sands toward the ocean

I looked up the Icelandic word hof and found out that it descends from the Old Norse, hov, in turn descended from the proto-Germanic word hufą, which meant (1) a hill or elevated place, or (2) house, hall, estate. Hof was the same word in Old English, Old Friesan, Old Saxon, Old High Dutch, and Old German. I guess we can conclude that there has been a settlement here for a very long time -- maybe as much as a thousand years.

Today there is a turf church that was the last of its kind to be built in Iceland - in the 1880s and recently reconstructed - and a churchyard with mounded graves. The Hofskirkja church is maintained by the National Museum of Iceland, but also functions still as a parish church. The other buildings include a few homes and farms, a couple of guesthouses, some sort of school or daycare center, and the modern hotel where we stayed. Except for the yellow church and a very modern house up above the settlement (below), pretty much all of the buildings in Hof are white with red roofs. (If you follow the hotel link there's a video that shows the area better than my pictures do.) It was strange to drive up the road in the rain, enter a door, and find ourselves in a low-slung, modern, Scandinavian-style hotel that felt like an upscale IKEA showroom: white walls; grey fabrics and dark grey wood and stone; bold, brightly-colored art; sleek contemporary fixtures.

It was also pretty expensive, and the dinner price turned out to be more than we wanted to spend. Instead, we showered, soaked in the hotel's hot tub, took a sauna, and then drove half an hour west in the now-pouring rain and complete darkness to a gas station-with-cafe we had noticed on our way out. This oasis in the wilderness sold souvenirs, maps, chocolates, snacks, dipped ice cream (Icelanders eat ice cream year round) and had a lunch counter and tables -- where we saw some of the same travelers we'd seen earlier in the day. We ordered lamb burgers and fries, and two cold Gull beers, and were as contented as a couple of fat grazing sheep.

I'm sure that there are trolls in those cliffs, aren't you? Nevertheless, we slept well, and after a similar but more lavish breakfast than the previous morning, left Hof to set off for nearby Skaftafell, and a hike in the Vatnajokull National Park.

Road Trip 8: Another Glacial Lagoon

At Jökulsárlón (top right in the map above) we turned around and headed back west, across the Breidamerkursandur glacial outwash plain. For a long time, we could see this glacier in the distance:

...but it was only when we got close that we noticed a gravel road leading in toward it. A drizzly rain was starting to fall, and clouds were rolling in, but we decided to see if we could get a better view. The road led all the way in to a hill overlooking the glacial tongue, and when we got out and approached the crest of the hill on foot, this sight greeted us:

Another glacial lagoon! But this time, we were a lot closer to the glacier itself, and could not only see the glacier much better, but also its relationship to the lake and to the icebergs, and the terminal and lateral moraines. Apart from three or four hikers and a couple of photographers, we were alone. As the map shows, there is a walking path (indicated in red) that goes from this lagoon all the way over to Jökulsárlón. That would have been a long hike even if it were morning instead of late afternoon, and not raining, so we noted it as a possibility for another time.

The pictures here can't adequately convey the size of this place or the height and massiveness of the glacier itself; I felt awed to be this close to it. The crevasses you can see in this picture are far deeper than the height of a person, and the iceberg at left is the size of a multi-storey house.

When the steady drizzle turned to real rain, and the light became flat, we hiked back to our car and headed for our night's lodging in the little settlement of Hof, still a good drive to the west.

Democracy, Canadian Style

This was the scene on Monday night when J. and I walked up the street to cast our votes in the Canadian federal election. The polling place was in the basement of a former parochial school, now turned into housing units. It was two hours before the polls would close, and there was a long line: we later learned that the turnout was the heaviest in recent memory - 68.4% of Canadians voted. That's almost 70%! It looked to me like there were a lot of young people in our local line, but it was definitely a mixed crowd.

(photo from Elections Canada)

As first-time voters, we had no idea what to do or expect, and our awkwardness was smilingly noted by helpful elections officials. Once inside the building, we were directed to tables, each staffed by two volunteers, that had been set up for the various numbered polls assigned to that particular location. After registering to vote, we had received cards in the mail from Elections Canada, indicating the number and location of our polling place, and our names were checked off on a printed list after we provided a government ID - a driver's license, health card, passport, etc. Then we were given a small paper ballot after one margin was creased and torn off by the polling official. To vote, you stand behind a folded cardboard shield on a small stand. There was a pencil, and you vote by simply making an "x" in the circle by the name of the Parliamentary candidate you wanted to choose. Afterwards you fold the ballot, the other margin is torn off, and you put it into a cardboard box with a slot. Our box was full, so the official picked it up and gave it a good shake, smiling at me, before putting it down to receive my vote.

(photo from Elections Canada)

Never, in all my years of voting, have I seen such a streamlined, simple, accessible procedure. We felt so good about it we practically skipped home. And, as the night went on, we were very happy about the results.

A lot has been written about the Liberal sweep and our new, young, Canadian prime minister Justin Trudeau. I've seen him in person, and he is indeed charismatic and handsome, but it remains to be seen what he will do as leader. My sympathies are more in line with the NDP, the New Democratic Party (and in our riding we re-elected our NDP MP). That's also the case for many Canadians, who voted strategically for the Liberals instead, to ensure that Harper would be out; I don't think the results should be seen as a repudiation of the NDP. Americans should realize that Canadian Liberals are well to the left of most American Democrats. It bodes well that one of Trudeau's first acts was to announce the withdrawal of Canadian troops from airstrike missions in the Middle East; ruefully, I remembered standing on the Washington mall listening to Obama''s inaugural address almost eight years ago when he promised to close Guantanamo and bring American troops home.

Canada doesn't have the same position of power or responsibility in the world, but it does have the opportunity for moral leadership on many issues. Harper's aggressive, conservative stance, lack of concern for the environment, and bigotry have dismayed a majority of Canadians for years, but the opposition has lacked leadership as well as being split between two parties, neither of which were able to gain a majority. When Trudeau spoke of the need to regain our position as world leaders on the environment, human rights, and other issues, it could have been empty rhetoric, but his initial act seems to indicate otherwise. We shall see. He's going to have plenty of work to do, repairing an ailing economy, improving relations with world leaders, especially the U.S., trying to reverse years of austerity and cutbacks, sending new messages about immigration and diversity, working on climate change. For now, I'm simply happy about the possibility of a new beginning, and happy I live in a country where people haven't become too cynical to believe they are part of a democracy, and that this means showing up to vote and taking back the reins of power from a party that has gone way too far.

Narrow and Wider Views: Niqab and Election Day

In an hour or two, I'll be voting in Canada for the first time. Oddly enough, this morning I got into the metro during the morning rush hour, and who should be standing next to me but a young woman in a niqab. Unlike headscarves, face veils are really not very common in Montreal, and when I see a woman in a niqab I usually feel disturbed, and sometimes angry, especially if she seems to be following subserviently after a man. Personally, I wish no woman felt she needed to wear one, and particularly wish no woman would ever be pressured into veiling her own face, but I was appalled by Stephen Harpur's recent remarks about this - as if I needed one more reason not to vote for him.

Some non-Muslim women here have been wearing face veils as a protest against Harper, but from the details of the veil and other aspects of her dress, and the way she was acting, I was sure this young woman was genuine. I watched her looking furtively around herself, worrying perhaps that someone would say something negative, and my heart went out to her. We were both holding onto the same central pole in the subway car,  and I decided to try to make eye contact. When she looked at me, I smiled as warmly as I could. Her eyes crinkled and lit up in a smile. We both exited the metro at McGill and I walked near her up the stairs; my main emotion was simply to be protective in that crowded place. We didn't speak; perhaps I should have tried. She went through the turnstile, turned in the opposite direction, and was lost in the crowd.

One of the reasons I part ways with most politicians is that they take positions that are all theory and no compassion, and when they single out an individual, it is often to use them for their own gain. It's far more telling to ask how we would act in an ordinary daily life situation with those who are different from us, or seem to question or even threaten our own values. Because human being tend to isolate themselves into groups of like "otherness," we often don't have the opportunity to find out. In the case of extreme religious conservatism, there are often rules that prohibit contact. But when faced with an actual real person in a real situation, I think most (certainly not all) people will find they are moved by human emotion and compassion, and will act accordingly. When observing my own emotions today, I saw this shift from theory to reality take place, and I was grateful for the encounter which showed me a deeper part of myself.

I had another encounter like this on the flight back from Berlin to Montreal this summer, when I was seated next to an ultra-orthodox Jewish couple traveling with a large family group from Israel to Montreal. I was on the aisle and the wife, much younger than me, was next to me. Neither one of them spoke to me during the whole long flight and they seemed nervous and determined to keep to themselves. We ate our separate meals, and when it was necessary for them to get up and use the restroom, I was careful to move into the aisle so the man would not have to touch me or even speak to me. Before landing, we were all given customs declarations to fill out. I did mine, but soon realized that my neighbors, heads bent together, speaking in worried voices, were having a hard time understanding the form. Finally I turned to the woman, smiled, and asked quietly if she needed some help. She gave me a relieved look, and we managed to exchange enough information in English that they were able to finish the task; she also told me that they were all going to Montreal for a family wedding. It was clear that she was nervous about the trip, and had perhaps never left Israel before. We didn't speak much more, although I would have liked to, but to my surprise, when it was time to get our heavy carry-on bags down from the overhead compartment, the husband gestured to me, asking if I needed help with my bag, which I gratefully accepted.

We all need to reach out of our self-protective little worlds and find the common ground, because it almost always exists. In my experience, it doesn't matter what the "difference" is - race, religion, sexual orientation, gender, age. It was good to discover that my bonds with these women as women and fellow travelers were  stronger than any political or feminist views on either of our sides. How much better it would be to start from there.

The Icelandic posts will continue, but the Canadian election is important and may represent a big change, so I wanted to devote a little space to it. Harper is extremely unpopular in much of Quebec and British Columbia, but it looks like the rest of the nation -- even the more conservative provinces -- may join us in denying him a majority this time around. Then it's a question of whether the Liberals and NDP can form a government together if there is no majority. Let's hope so.

Road Trip 7: Jökulsárlón, the Ice Beach

The North Atlantic at Jökulsárlón is monochromatic, but full-range. The volcanic sands, in various stages of tidal wetness, shade from absolute black to medium grey; the sky is the color of doves; the ocean, mercury; and against these shades the whiteness of the waves is of an almost-blinding intensity.

Within this black-and-white world, the transparent and translucent blues of the glacial ice shine with a strange and compelling otherness: they seem to belong to the sky more than the land or sea, but only to our idea of sky, not the one that exists here. But once the ice is cast ashore, both in huge chunks sculpted by the waves and tide, and pitted or polished pieces the size of a head or hand, it becomes crystal: glass sculptures on black velvet stretching for miles along the lacy, foaming edge of the sea.

We walked along this astonishing beach for an hour while gulls shrieked overhead and a pair of seals played around the icebergs, enchanted by the forms of the ice and compelled by the fact that we were touching pieces of the ancient glacier, as the ocean slowly licked it back to water. I put my hand into the ocean; it was very cold but not as painfully numbing as I'd expected. And, instinctively, I raised a handful of black sand to my lips and touched it with my tongue, wanting to taste its salty grittiness and somehow link my body to this place.

Road Trip 5: Jökulsárlón, the Ice Beach

The North Atlantic at Jökulsárlón is monochromatic, but full-range. The volcanic sands, in various stages of tidal wetness, shade from absolute black to medium grey; the sky is the color of doves; the ocean, mercury; and against these shades the whiteness of the waves is of an almost-blinding intensity.

Within this black-and-white world, the transparent and translucent blues of the glacial ice shine with a strange and compelling otherness: they seem to belong to the sky more than the land or sea, but only to our idea of sky, not the one that exists here. But once the ice is cast ashore, both in huge chunks sculpted by the waves and tide, and pitted or polished pieces the size of a head or hand, it becomes crystal: glass sculptures on black velvet stretching for miles along the lacy, foaming edge of the sea.

We walked along this astonishing beach for an hour while gulls shrieked overhead and a pair of seals played around the icebergs, enchanted by the forms of the ice and compelled by the fact that we were touching pieces of the ancient glacier, as the ocean slowly licked it back to water. I put my hand into the ocean; it was very cold but not as painfully numbing as I'd expected. And, instinctively, I raised a handful of black sand to my lips and touched it with my tongue, wanting to taste its salty grittiness and somehow link my body to this place.

Road Trip 6: Jökulsárlón, the glacial lagoon

By noon of the second day, we reached our furthest-east destination: Jökulsárlón, the glacial lagoon at the head of the Breiðamerkurjökull glacier, part of the Vatnajökull ice cap.

aerial view from Encyclopedia Brittanica

This glacial lake, 200 feet deep, developed relatively recently (in the mid 1930s) after warming temperatures caused the glacier to retreat from the ocean. It is filled with icebergs that calve off the front of the glacier and slowly float out into the lagoon and eventually to the sea.

The first settlers arrived in Iceland around AD 870, when the edge of the tongue of Breiðamerkurjökull glacier was about 12 miles further north of its present location. During the Little Ice Age between 1600 and 1900, with cooler temperatures prevailing in these latitudes, the glacier had grown by up to about .62 miles from the coast at Jokulsá River, by about 1890. When the temperatures rose between 1920 and 1965, the Breiðamerkurjökull glacier tongue rapidly retreated, continually creating icebergs of varying size, thus creating a lagoon in its wake around 1934–35. The lake is about 200 metres (660 ft) deep where the glacier snout originally existed. Glacial moraines became exposed on both sides of the lake. In 1975, the lake was about 8 km2 (3.1 sq mi) in area and now it reportedly stands at 18 km2 (6.9 sq mi) at the edge of the glacier tongue. (wikipedia)

Jökulsárlón on every list of "natural wonders to see in your lifetime" and was the only place we went where we encountered other people in any numbers. It has also been the setting for a number of movies, including a James Bond thriller. Later that day we visited the other glacial lake that you can see in the far left of the picture above - it can't been seen from the road, and we were there with only four or five other people.

It was midday when we arrived at the lagoon, with bright sunlight shining on the fantastic blue and white ice forms in the aquamarine water, and we thought how fortunate we were, because the Jökulsárlón webcam had showed socked-in fog all the previous week.

A pair of seals played right in front of us. We joked that they were probably paid (or at least fed a few extra fish) -- but seals seemed pretty prevalent on this part of the coast.

The tourists included this Japanese bride in her wedding dress, posing for photographs.

After an hour, clouds moved in, and it seemed like a storm was gathering. Most of the other visitors left. We stayed for another half hour, and then drove a little further to the east, looking out at the sea.

Road Trip 5: Jökulsárlón, the glacial lagoon

By noon of the second day, we reached our furthest-east destination: Jökulsárlón, the glacial lagoon at the head of the Breiðamerkurjökull glacier, part of the Vatnajökull ice cap.

aerial view from Encyclopedia Brittanica

This glacial lake, 200 feet deep, developed relatively recently (in the mid 1930s) after warming temperatures caused the glacier to retreat from the ocean. It is filled with icebergs that calve off the front of the glacier and slowly float out into the lagoon and eventually to the sea.

The first settlers arrived in Iceland around AD 870, when the edge of the tongue of Breiðamerkurjökull glacier was about 12 miles further north of its present location. During the Little Ice Age between 1600 and 1900, with cooler temperatures prevailing in these latitudes, the glacier had grown by up to about .62 miles from the coast at Jokulsá River, by about 1890. When the temperatures rose between 1920 and 1965, the Breiðamerkurjökull glacier tongue rapidly retreated, continually creating icebergs of varying size, thus creating a lagoon in its wake around 1934–35. The lake is about 200 metres (660 ft) deep where the glacier snout originally existed. Glacial moraines became exposed on both sides of the lake. In 1975, the lake was about 8 km2 (3.1 sq mi) in area and now it reportedly stands at 18 km2 (6.9 sq mi) at the edge of the glacier tongue. (wikipedia)

Jökulsárlón on every list of "natural wonders to see in your lifetime" and was the only place we went where we encountered other people in any numbers. It has also been the setting for a number of movies, including a James Bond thriller. Later that day we visited the other glacial lake that you can see in the far left of the picture above - it can't been seen from the road, and we were there with only four or five other people.

It was midday when we arrived at the lagoon, with bright sunlight shining on the fantastic blue and white ice forms in the aquamarine water, and we thought how fortunate we were, because the Jökulsárlón webcam had showed socked-in fog all the previous week.

A pair of seals played right in front of us. We joked that they were probably paid (or at least fed a few extra fish) -- but seals seemed pretty prevalent on this part of the coast.

The tourists included this Japanese bride in her wedding dress, posing for photographs.

After an hour, clouds moved in, and it seemed like a storm was gathering. Most of the other visitors left. We stayed for another half hour, and then drove a little further to the east, looking out at the sea.

Road Trip 5: Skeiðarársandur and Vatnajökull

The palisade of Lómagnúpur forms a corner pillar at the far western edge of Öræfi, dominating the view as you approach, but preventing any glimpse beyond. But when you pass it, what awaits stuns you into silence.

To the left (middle and right in the picture above) stretches the huge expanse of the glacier Skeidarasjökull, completely filling the valley like the rivers of ice I had always heard glaciers to be, but never before seen.

In the distance ahead were other bits of glacial ice cap, shining in the sun. And all around us stretched Skeiðarársandur: the glacial black sand desert, crisscrossed by rivers of meltwater, flat, vast, endless, all the way to the unseen sea.

We drove and drove, past other rivers of ice, past glaciers in hanging valleys that would one day become cirques, past small groups of white swans swimming in ice-cold water on black sands.

It was cold, we were completely alone, and the unobstructed wind blew without ceasing.

Small gravel roads lead in closer to the glaciers. Passenger cars like ours are actually prohibited from leaving the paved roads, but in some instances we felt OK driving a short ways on the gravel. Most of the terrain was like what you see above: endless, a seeming wasteland of sand with a sort of terrible beauty. But in other places, the tundra had gained a foothold, and was glorious in its own fall foliage. I was mesmerized by the glaciers themselves, and the way they seemed to glow as if illuminated from within; this place where we paused was one of the most beautiful sights I had ever seen.

 (I'll be away this weekend but will resume this travelogue next week. Thanks to everyone who's been reading and commenting, both here and on FB.)

Road Trip 4: a video near Eyjafjallajokull, and a corridor of waterfalls

First, let's backtrack to a video shot near Eyjafjallajökull. I'm hoping this may give you a better sense of scale than the still photographs do. (Best if watched full-screen.)

--

After my early morning walk beneath the double waterfall at Kirkjubæjarklaustur, we ate our breakfast, and set off: we had a lot of driving to do that day and were determined not to stop too often. However, the landscape immediately changed yet again: we left the lava fields and volcanic cones behind, and entered an area of dramatically-sculpted green cliffs punctuated by tall, shimmering waterfalls. Captivated, we pulled off the road again and again to absorb some of this beauty. 

The quiet pastoral atmosphere I'd felt during my morning walk persisted until we reached the far western end of Öræfi, which is marked by an iconic mountain called Lomagnupur, a favorite subject of Icelandic painters. I hope to join their company soon.

Lomagnupur, looking east.

Here the scene changed yet again. We stopped at a long bridge, amazed...