Iceland Volcanoes

I figure that I should just address this topic once and for all, since people keep on asking me about it. Although I went to Iceland in 2008, I have never heard of Eyjafjallajokull. I don't even know how to pronounce it. Although it does not come as a surprise to me that many Icelanders are hiking to Eyjafjallajokull in spite of the dangers inherent in walking toward erupting volcanoes. It would make perfect sense to you too if you had been there. Just hearing about these things overwhelms me with a fearful nostalgia.

During my 2 weeks in Iceland, I climbed to the top of Festerfjall, and Eldfell. A person can put their hand on the rocks on Eldfell and feel the heat still emanating from an eruption that occurred in the 1970's. It's the sort of experience that makes you question your own significance in the greater scheme of existence. From there I also gazed lovingly at the Helgafell volcano, but did not venture to climb it because I needed a nap by that time.


*Helgafell volcano, as seen from atop Eldfell volcano.

But alas, I did not go anywhere near Eyjafjallajokull. Although I kind of wish I was there right now, in a weird masochistic way. I also did not see Helga, Hekla, Bárðarbunga, Herðubreið, Kollóttadyngja, Ljósufjöll, Öræfajökull, or any of the other 130 unintelligibly named volcanoes in Iceland. And I don't know anything at all about them.

The first half of my time in that mysterious country was spent walking around barren wilderness like the Man from The Road, having bizarre encounters with those eerily beautiful people who choose to dwell upon that crusty land, and some awkward encounters with other lonely travellers from various continents.





Then the second half of my journey was spent trying to escape from the Island of Heimaey. And ever since I did manage to escape I find myself inexplicably compelled to go back again. And I'm not just saying that because I have been watching too many episodes of Lost lately. There is something very disturbing about Heimaey. It was settled by escaped slaves, who were then hunted down like dogs by someone named Ingólfur Arnarson because they killed his foster brother, or something like that. Later it was sacked by Arab pirates who kidnapped some chick named Guðríður Símonardóttir. And then, much, much later some people left from there to become Mormons in Utah. Then I somehow ended up there from Utah and got marooned with a young, would-be actress from New York, and a couple of British gents, and we were all tormented, and harrassed by roaving gangs of scavenging hoodlums. So the cycle continues.



That sums up everything I know about Iceland, and volcanic eruptions. I hope that was helpful. And if you feel you need to go there to look at volcanoes, or to talk to vampires, or any other reason, I recommend it.