Day 5 — Last Long Mountain Stage (18 Miles) — 13 April

Today was the last hike of more than 15 miles with at least 2000 feet of elevation gain. These hikes certainly showcased the beauty of the Basque coast and inland mountains. They were also more challenging because of the rains over the last three days. Slippery mud — glad I bought my waterproof boots.

The walk out of Markina-X had many twists and turns. I finally used the map from the Buon Camino app. Dah. You don’t need the commentary because an icon which represented my position could easily be seen on a yellow line — the Camino trail.

From my hotel which was a mile south of town, the map helped bring me back to centro in order to reconnect with the Camino. From there, it helped guide me around construction and a new pathway on the Camino. It works offline thus reducing the amount of cellular data transfer, thus, payments to the telecommunication company.

About 3 miles away from Markina-X, I stopped for a break. While sipping my coffee, in came John from England whom I met on the first day. We last texted two days ago. He was 10 miles behind me but here he was. He had walked 15 hours (not miles) the previous day in order to make up distance using a torch (flashlight in American English) at night. My cardinal rule — no night walking.

I passed through Bolibar named for the ancestral home of Simon Bolibar (Bolivar as we know him). I did not have time to tour the actual home which is now a museum. I had done a quarter of the walk and it was already 11:00.

Even without the rain, the area has stretches of rain forests. At one point, the locals put in a half mile long wooden stairwell on a particularly steep incline. No way could anyone safely come down that hill.

About three-quarters of a mile from the bottom of the stairwell, I spotted the tower of a church in the town of Munitibar — almost the halfway point at about 1:15. Time was ticking.

After more climbs, steep descents, and muddy tracks, I finally spotted Guernica (Gernika in Basque) at 4:00 PM. I have wanted to visit the town because of Picasso’s famous painting of its destruction during the Spanish Civil War. The city is rebuilt and has expanded into the foothills. I will visit the memorial mural tomorrow.

My B&B for tonight is located outside of the city. Once I arrived at one of the main plazas, I called for a pick-up and asked for an hour to have some dinner. A cafeteria (not what we think – more like a bar and coffee shop) was nearby where I had some pinxtos, beer, and a chocolate croissant that had what seemed to be a generous bar of chocolate running through it — 2.80 Euros for the croissant.

The Casa Rural Astobieta has a delightful host family (husband, wife, two young boys), four dogs (finally received some puppy love), super fast WiFi, and a very comfortable bedroom. I was the only guest for the night. The night was dark.

Day 4 — Pure Mountain Experience (17 Miles) — 12 April

The guidebook stated that this stage was to give the traveler a flavor of the mountains. Did the writers forget the up and down experiences of the past three days? I walked south away from the ocean. Lots of greenery to be seen but no ocean. Ah.

I encountered the red, white, and yellow blaze again. I was getting worried that somehow I was off course. Did I miss another fork in the road?

At the halfway point, I met Wim from the Netherlands (born 1 March 1948 — two months before me) and Nina from Norway, 70. They were on their fifth Camino. Wim claimed the title of the oldest person so far on this Camino. I thought that I was the only person thinking about age. We fist bumped and reveled that we could do this trek.

I recounted my walk to the Flysch and how the path did not follow the published route. Turns out that they did the same thing. They noted that signage on this Camino was not as frequent or obvious as other ones. Perhaps someone acted on this observation because after we met the signage seemed new and stood out. Quite frankly, I am glad that I took the fork that I did yesterday. I would have missed the Flysch.

Another new mountain experience was sharing the path with a rider and horse. Watching them pass, I began to imagine what it was like for foot soldiers who slogged in the mud while officers and cavalry rode about. Have you seen paintings of foot soldiers cheering horsemen? Not this one.

Before descending into Makina Xemein, I looked back to the mountains that I had traversed. I thought — been there, done that. But many more are to come.

I arrived in Markina-Xemein where a large hexagonal building houses this shrine to St Michael the Archangel, the patron saint of Markina. The stones were mentioned in the 14th century writings stating that hermits and nuns inhabited the site. The current structure was built in 1741 and renovated and added to since. The only other time I saw a large rock enclosed was the Dome of the Rock in Jerusalem. This site would have been impressive without the structure. The Remarkables on Kangaroo Island, Australia is another place where I saw huge rocks standing apart from other formations.

My hotel was another mile out of town. The additional mile was a paved path along a river. Well worth the extra distance. Here are some images of the dining area (my room is on the top floor to the right), inside my room, and my three course dinner. I would recommend this hotel/restaurant to anyone. It was very quiet as well.

As I dozed off into blissful sleep, I wondered whether foot soldiers had it so good. I don’t think so.

Day 3 — What If You Miss The Fork In The Road (16 miles) — 11 April

Yogi Berra once said, “When you get to the fork in the road, take it.”

This morning I had the perfect fork in the road situation. Do I go left and deal with 500 feet of elevation gain in the first three miles or go right and stay at sea level. The choice was obvious given the elevation gains that the map showed for this day.

With complete rain gear on, I briskly walked out of Zarautz with joggers, runners, and bikers. The surf was up but no surfers. It was misting, windy, and cold unlike the past two days. Such weather creates its own mood.

I felt good about choosing the right fork. Shortly leaving Getaria, I shared the road with some fellow pilgrims as well as some favorite animals.

The next two images are of Zumaia — coming into town and then leaving. What I experienced throughout the day was a coastline similar to Big Sur in California. Steep mountains diving into the ocean. Openings appeared episodically — some narrow and others broad enough for towns to be found.

In the above image, you can see the peak of the hill to the far left where I took the image of entering Zumaia. A large Romanesque cathedral towers over the town.

I was carefully following yellow arrows and blazes marking the Camino — or so I thought. After traversing over fields and hiking through several cattle gates, I was mostly going north to the ocean rather than south towards the town of Itziar. Yogi didn’t account for the possibility of taking the fork in the road when you didn’t even know there was a fork. What did I miss?

Another principle came into play. Stay in the present. I wasn’t going to backtrack — it was nearing 1:00 PM. I wasn’t even halfway to Deba.

So, I stayed with the yellow blaze that also included a red/white blaze.

I “felt” that I would eventually arrive at my final destination of Deba after seeing this sign and gate. Hum. I must admit that I was having some doubts.

The windy (both meanings — short and long i) path eventually took me to a beach with rock formations that I have never seen before. Apparently, Flysch is world famous and a local wine brand features it on its label. I’ll need to ask my geologist friends about these rocks when I return home.

After climbing away from the Flysch, the rains came. Remember the Morton salt slogan? “When it rains, it pours.” For the next three hours, I made my way to Deba on muddy paths. I did stop for directions to Deba at a bar/restaurant and for some food and cafe con leche. I also met one of Rhubie’s cousins.

I entered Deba gingerly stepping down very steep streets. I tried my iPhone to call up Google Maps. The device was wet and I couldn’t enter the password. So, I found the pension the old fashioned way — asking people for directions. After four tries of successive approximations (I need subtitles while watching TV — imagine listening to machine gun Spanish or was it Basque), a man took me to the tourist office about 100 meters away. The guide pulled out a map. Within five minutes, I was warmly and dryly ensconced in my room.

The rain stopped by 8:00 PM. I was hungry. I ended the day with a hearty meal of meal of bean soup (not again!), red peppers, and chocolate cake. I include an image of the restaurant and the Palestinian flag above its windows. I am in Basque land whose people have sought independence from Spain for centuries — sometimes violently. I saw more Palestinian flags during the past four days than those of the Basque football club (Reala) who will be playing in the Copa del Rey (the championship of all Spanish football clubs) this coming week. If you watched Ted Lasso, you will know how big of a deal loyalty to your football club is.

Tomorrow is another day — more forks in the road. I hope that I see them.

Day 2 (15 miles) Easier But Still Hard — 10 April

Early morning is clean up time in San Sebastián. A few people are on their way to work at 7:30 while men and machine sweep up and hose down the Old Town. So quiet after a busy evening of socializing over drinks and pinxtos.

My breakfast bar was one of the earlier openers in Old Town. Jon served up an excellent cup of cafe con leche, freshly squeezed orange juice, and my choice of a flaky chocolate croissant. Even a humble bar serves up a croissant that meets the highest standards.

Breakfast on both of my days was quick because of the hikes ahead of me. I was off by 8:30 rounding the beach before starting up the hills surrounding Donestia.

I love looking back at where I had walked. The highest point in the far right background of the photo below was where I communed with the telecommunication towers the day before.

Back to the present while walking just out of Donestia, Antonio from Malaga called out and l asked where I was headed. To Santander, said I. He was cycling there too and beyond to Santiago. He will get to his destinations faster than I. But his experience will be different than mine. I wonder whether he stopped at the cemetery on the downslope while entering Orio? Probably not given the speed that I observed bikers speeding down the hill.

It was 1:30 when I arrived at Orio’s plaza major. Tables at all but one restaurant were taken. Lucky for me. An 18 euro lunch menu was offered: bean soup (a tureen that yielded three bowls), grilled anchovies, flan and a glass of vino. All that I could ask for —- and for the price! Sitting under an umbrella by the river was heavenly.

I was now revived for the final four miles to Zarautz which of course had a 500 foot climb up a hill. The view on the other side was the beach at Zarautz. The wind was stiff with clear skies above. What a magnificent site. Note — the three light dots in the foreground were bunkers surrounding a green on the local golf course.

Although today’s walk was easier than yesterday, my legs were pretty sore at the end because of the ups and downs of the past two days. Three more challenging stages await. In the meantime, I relaxed through a three course dinner that included a bottle of wine. I shared the last quarter of the bottle with a diner a few tables away. It was a light white wine at 10% but it paired well with the choices I had made — 18 Euros.

With a full belly, I was ready for bed. Not quite because this entry was yet to be written.

Day 1 — Never Ending Climbs (18 miles) 9 April

The start point for the Camino del Norte is the bridge over the Bidasoa River that divides France and Spain. I took two days to reach it.

I decided to chronicle how I reached the border in order to help others with detailed information because the guidebooks were inadequate on how to do so.

After my flight from Newark to Madrid, I went through a new passport control system in Terminal 1 of the Barajas airport. At a gate similar to those in a subway, I scanned my passport, put four fingers of my right hand on a glass plate to record my prints, and smiled for a camera. Once the gate opened, I walked to the booths where the border police stamped my passport. More surveillance.

I then boarded the free airport shuttle outside of Terminal 1 for the ride to Terminal 4 and the long walk to the bus terminal located about a half a mile away along a covered walkway.

I chose to stop in Burgos — about a 3 hour bus ride from Madrid — the halfway point to San Sebastián (Donostia in Basque). One can choose to fly to Donostia from Madrid. But I love Burgos for the friendly people, its old town and walk along the river that runs through it. The Burgos Cathedral is a World Heritage site and its main gate was once part of the wall surrounding the city. The bus station is less than a half mile from the main gate.

The next day, I arrived mid afternoon in Donostia. The sun was bright and the sun worshippers were soaking up the rays. I enjoyed the view and started with my first beer on Camino. Thanks Laird for starting the tradition.

Before dinner, I walked around areas outside the old town and corniche. Dinner time in Spain still starts around 8:00 PM. One can taste pinxtos (aka tapas) at happy hour and make a meal of them. I opted for an early dinner at Casa Gandarias down the street from my pension located across from La Vina, a famous bar in Old Town. I could not resist the anchovies (with a glass of Albariño) and the roast suckling pig (with a glass of Rioja) which I first tasted 52 years ago at Casa Botin in Madrid. No dessert.

Now for the Camino information.

Obtaining a credential was easy. Just go to the information office near the corniche in the Old Town. To get to the French-Spanish pedestrian bridge, walk to the Amaro station (about one mile south from Old Town) – a one way ticket is 2.90 Euros — route E2. Get off at the Irun-Ficoba station, the last stop. Ya Esta. Voila.

This morning, I was on the 8:45 train. By 9:15, I was at the border which is about 200 meters from the Irun Ficoba station. A kindly cyclist took my photo at the start point, a sign post that on one side displayed the coat of arms of the RF (Republique Francaise) on one side and Spain on the other.

I wound my way through Irun, first along the river and then the busy main street on alert for the yellow arrow of the Camino.

At the edge of town, I spotted a group of pilgrims. I followed them as we left the main road for a dirt road that cut through farm land. I caught up with them. Four of them were Australians; one, a fourth generation Japanese American who grew up in Gardena, CA and now lives in Basel, Switzerland. All but one had doctorates; the other an MD. They are walking the entire Camino del Norte over the next two months.

We reached the church of Guadeloupe by 10:30. I said farewell because I had to make time in order to complete the stage by sundown. They were stopping overnight at the halfway point.

Less than a half mile later, I turned right to climb up the mountain to take the high route — 100 meters up in about 400 meters. As the guidebook stated — steep!

I expected more stretches upward. They were mostly gentle waves of up and downs interspersed with long steep rocky climbs. After the third one, I was pretty much spent and shared some rest time with the communication towers at the top of the ridge. This segment was as hard as the climb over the Pyrenees or the O Cebreio on the Camino Frances and several of the mountains on the Camino Primitivo. Certainly a challenge.

It was around 1:00 PM. I was not even halfway. The downhill was severe at some points — very rocky, similar to the rutty terrain in the Pyrenees.

An hour and a half later, I was off the mountain in Lezo with a beer in hand and a slice of tortilla. What a welcomed relief.

However, another mile and a half was ahead to reach the ferry which was a small boat. The fare was 3 euros, cash. People with credit cards were turned away. Cash is king here.

You might think that the upward climbs were over? How about a 400 step stairway! You can imagine what went through mind.

The trail continued in parkland where I encountered assorted recreational walkers, serious runners, and dogs. Unlike at home, these dogs were all business and off lease. No petting or kissing.

It was now 4;00 PM. I sat by the road inhaling raisins and pumpkin seeds when a pair of Camino hikers came by — John from England and Daniel from the Netherlands who later informed me that the Serbs displaced the Hollanders as the tallest people in the world on average. No way. Daniel was an excellent example of tall Dutch people.

We walked along together and decided to stop for some beer at a B&B along the road. No beer here but iced matte was offered. We were skeptical at first about the drink. Matte is the go to drink in Argentina. But cold matte? This version was delicious and rejuvenated us for the final two miles into Donostia. Here we are with Pedro who also recommended his commune’s restaurant, the Yellow Deli, in the city. Sounds like old hippy language. I suspect that they were. We arrived there at 7:45. No Basque food here. John and I had chili con carne and Daniel, a Reuben. Even in northeastern Spain, the offerings are global.

My pension was nearby. I thought about having a beer to end the journey. Alas, I settled for some stretching, a shower, and bed.

Day 11 — Waterfall #152 (9 July)

Before describing the day (our last on the road and the longest — 8 AM to 10 PM), I need to tell you that the Icelandic quack is: brra, brra said in quick succession — the r is rolled like in Spanish. Herdis had to repeat this several times. You know my hearing is not the best. But I think that it was more that I could not believe what I was hearing. I have to admit that I had a very difficult time understanding our Aussie travelers on both of our tours. Tuna is pronounced “chuna,” as an example. I worked hard without subtitles. My apologies to the Aussies if I gave a blank look or responded with a non sequitor to their questions or comments. But brra, brra? Too bad, I didn’t hear any ducks quack to confirm whether Icelandic ducks go — brra, brra.

We were off to the highlands as Herdis called the interior of Southern Iceland. We turned right from Route #1 and were soon on a gravel road. In the US, we might use the term — washboard — to describe a rough road. I thought that wash cycle in a front loader would be a more appropriate phrase given the twists and turns that we experienced even at the slowest speed. Here is another image of our vehicle after we had crossed this stream. During the day, we would cross at least thirty more.

Soon after the turn, I spotted a mountain that stood out almost by itself — Mt Laki. Imagine that we walked in its cauldron the day before. Gives another perspective on the heights that we climbed.

We arrived at Eldgja, a long valley within which was waterfall #152, Ofaurofuss, which once graced the cover of travel brochures for Iceland. This waterfall certainly is dramatic and stunning. Its distinctive natural arch that spanned the midline of the falls fell a decade or so before. Off the covers. I was saddened by this story because we all age and change. But alas, like Ofaeorfoss, people tend to dismiss the beauty that still remains. We climbed to the metal lookout platform where the natural arch once spanned the falls. Judge for yourselves.

Here are some photos of the Eldgja valley at its entrance and our hike to the waterfall (about 4 km round trip). One could hike further to the end of the valley which ends abruptly like a crevice in a glacier. I would have liked to have walked the entire valley. So peaceful and the sky was bright with wonderful clouds. But….. this time, not a waterfall but a volcano was scheduled with the most extensive lava flow in the world.

By noon, we arrived at Landmannslauger, a camping grounds and trailhead to climb the Blahnukur which overlooks the lava field, Laugahraun. We started off walking next to a river that is astride the lava field. We then climbed steeply until we reached the summit. The views were magnificent that were even more so because of the multicolored hues of the surrounding mountains.

Unlike my trepidation on the canyon walk, I pushed to the summit. Physically not a problem, all mental about heights. The panorama at the top was something to behold. The lava field spread in front of us. The mountains had bold outlines in relief. The sequence of photos below starts with the trail sign at the beginning of the final ascent until the last picture showing the mountain from below taken next to the “mother of all gas vents.” Yes, it smelled.

It was almost 5 PM when we made a dash out of the national park in order to make our dinner at the famous tomato restaurant, Frioheimer. On our Golden Circle driving tour, we had tried to find it. We failed. But on this last night, we were there as the last event of our Southern Iceland tour.

What a lovely setting. The dining area is airy and spacious. Next to our table was an enclosed section where lettuce and herbs were growing.

The food and drink? We sampled the tomato beer; we passed on the beer and had spicy Bloody Marys instead made with fresh tomato juice with seeds floating in the liquid. The 500 ml portion of beer came in an impressive glass.

Every dish incorporated tomatoes. Here is a complete set of the dishes that the group ordered. Laird and I agreed that dinner here was the best we had in Iceland. However, I have to include the pizza at Askur’s in Egilsstaoir.

The tomatoes are farmed in mammoth greenhouses. We missed the last tour at 4 PM; we had just finished our descent in Landmannalauger, miles and a gravel road away. But we made dinner.

The final leg of our tour was completed when Herdis dropped us off at the Hotel Cabin in Rekyjavik. Time to say goodbye to Herdis and our fellow travelers. We had met wonderful and curious people on both tours — all strong hikers. We shared experiences that reinforced and heightened our sense of our world’s beauty.

Good night and good luck. (Thank you Edward R Murrow)

Day 10 — Mount Laki (8 July)

Mt. Laki, never heard of it until today. For almost a year starting in 1783, the mountain created a 15 mile fissure in the earth that produce a massive eruption that created 135 craters. The gases released into the air are said to have caused famine in Europe in 1784 and lost crops throughout that decade. Some historians claim that this prolonged period of famine may have been the catalyst for the French Revolution. The rim of the now dormant volcano was our main goal for this morning.

We turned off Route #1 onto a gravel road and drove for over 40 km. We went up and down, sideways as we drove over humps, holes, and streams. No ordinary car could survive this road. I almost didn’t.

The parking lot had about ten vehicles like ours when we arrived. You have to really want to come here. Glad we did.

Soon, we were climbing up on a rocky path that some German volunteers constructed a few years ago. When we reached the halfway point, the women in our group decided to pose for a women’s only photo. They must have been inspired by Iceland’s woman president, woman prime minister, women heading every political party, and the woman mayor of Rekyjavik. Not be outdone, the men took our photo but as you noted, dear reader, after the women.

We had more climbing to do. We were in the clouds with the rim of the volcano still above us.

Eventually, we reach the rim and began to walk into the volcano. One had to be particularly alert — the path could be tricky. We took our time when we confronted rough, rocky, and slick areas. We were rewarded with a moonscape. Did you know that Armstrong, Aldrin, and Collins trained for their Apollo mission in Iceland? We all came together — women and men — for a group photo. I also asked Herdis, our guide, to pose for a photo. I decided to put in a second — the Icelandic Viking pose. I heard music from the Ring at that moment. Valkyries arise.

Time to descend as the sun began to peer through the sky. The Mt Laki eruption created 135 craters of various sizes. You can see one of the larger ones in the middle of photo below. The green color is moss that takes 100 years to grow. The black areas are fields of black lava. Our group in the lower left is only at beginning of our descent. Yellow stakes mark the trail which was ready to twist an ankle, pop a knee, and freeze a hip. The trail smooths out towards the end.

We continued to our next destination, a large crater called Tjarnargigur where we stopped for a lunch break. Most of our group was hungry, not surprising after a jaunt up a volcano, no? Surrounding the crater was a black lava field upon which nothing but patches of sea campion grow. I once saw a similar landscape colored in brown at Crater Lake, Oregon known as the pumice desert. The minerals that are expelled during an eruption are so devoid of nutrients that only a few plants can grow in them. It was eerie to see such a large black (perhaps blank) canvas cover the ground.

We walked around the crater on a smooth path that included a boardwalk so that we didn’t walk on the 100 year old moss. Another crater, yawn, after hiking Mt Laki. When we rounded the crater, we were rewarded with a beautiful lake set amongst the rocks. What a surprise.

The gravel road presented challenges throughout our day’s journey especially on our returning route. The first photo shows our vehicle approaching a stream to cross. In a more open area, the photo shows the van in the water. Herdis helped stage this photo by dropping off interested photographers on one side of the stream and then re-traced the bus’s path to pick us up. Thank you Herdis.

Mercedes (Ford) Every Stream — Oscar Hammerstein II

And then, another waterfall. I groaned but this one was one of the best. Herdis asked me how many Laird and I had seen on this trip. Perhaps 150 give or take a few. I know that a few more will be coming up tomorrow. I’ll keep the yawns to myself. But the stop did offer the opportunity to photograph the original style WC found in these parking lots. Newer ones having running water.

Our final stop was Fjadrargjufur, a most impressive canyon that starts with, guess what, a waterfall and is bounded by massive blocks and columns of stone unlike other canyons we had seen or hiked. I wondered how it would feel if one could walked or waded down the canyon. Laird said that it would ruin photos with the masses of people in them. We also took the high road and speculated about the impact of people throwing rocks at the stone walls, climbing and scrawling graffiti on them. Not a pretty picture. Let’s keep its beauty as is.

Our touring for the day ended. Now, the mundane — dinner. Herdis booked us in at the, meaning in this case, only local restaurant where our hotel was located for the only time available, 6 PM. By 7, the place was jammed with people waiting in the reception area and out the door. Be sure to read the specials board carefully.

The food was excellent. Even locals dine here. As we left the restaurant, I ran into two couples who had shared the hot pool with us yesterday. I thanked them for having a wonderful country. One guy hugged me which made him suspect as to whether he was a real Icelander. One of the wives asked me whether the husbands looked better in the pool or in their street clothes. I passed on that question. I did find out Icelanders quack like ducks.

Everyone was happy with dinner. Wasn’t the salad just stunning? A vegan’s delight. My fish was flavorful and firm. The fries were medium to crisp — not quite the crispness that I received on the second try last night. Herdis loved her pizza. I didn’t order a pizza because a 12 incher seemed to be lot. It was but that did not stop the others who ordered pizza. No take home boxes for this crowd. Heather said that the risotto was very good. Must have been because she is certainly a member of the clean plate club.

Thus, another fulfilling day ended even with more waterfalls.

Day 9 — Sky and Water (7 July)

Mulagljufur was our first trailhead this morning. The hiking path winds its way up the spine of one side of a canyon. Here are some images of from the climb.

Descending To Cross River To Meet The Spine

About 1000 feet up, one faces the waterfall at eyesight level. This waterfall can be seen in distance in the above image. This falls reminds me of Yosemite Falls. A narrow band of water in a long free fall.

This drop and those that I imagined looking up the path from this spot prevented me from continuing up the spine. Everyone else did and came back excited that they had made the complete climb. Laird told me later that there was one segment that was three feet wide with drop offs on both sides. I probably would not have made it across. I waited for an hour until the group returned at the spot where I took the image. While I sat in a rock formation that blocked the wind, I talked with passersby and meditated about my surroundings which were awesome.

After the descent, we drove further east to our farthest point from Reykjavik. We were almost in the Southeastern section of Iceland. We encountered Jokulsarlon — the Ice Lagoon, and the Diamond Beach. Do did hundreds of others.

I have seen glaciers elsewhere but not with their calved icebergs so up close and personal. You can even get closer to them if you board the “duck” boat. Sharon and I boarded a “duck” boat in Pittsburgh and Philadelphia several summers ago. The operators in those cities asked you to quack at bystanders when we were on city streets. Good fun. We didn’t hear any quacks here. What sound do Icelanders make for a duck? This vehicle can go on land and in the water.

The Ice Lagoon’s waters spill into the sea. As the icebergs split into smaller pieces, many of them wash ashore on the adjacent beach known as the Diamond Beach. What an unusual site to behold. We were lucky to see these diamonds because depending on the climate and tides, we might have struck out.

Another exciting day that was culminated at the town pool which is actually three pools of varying temperatures, no sauna or steam room. Although not as luxurious as the spas we had experienced, it did the trick of soothing muscles and for one quarter of the price. Seven of us went to the pool. Here are Aleah, Cary, Heather, and Dianne (left to right, photo courtesy of Cary) leaving the pool.

Dinner was not included last night. I think all of us ordered one course — various kinds of salads and burgers with fries. No soups or desserts. I asked for fries well done, crispy. The first batch came out about medium to soft. The restaurant graciously tried a second time and they came out crispy and crunchy. I asked the head waiter who was Portuguese if anyone had ordered well done fries. He said this was a first. I suggested that this was a trial run because another American might make such a request. He said probably so because 80% of the guests are American. In my best Icelandic, I said, “Obrigado.”

Day 8 — Crampons! (6 July)

Learning is lifelong. We old guys of this tour were anticipating our first ever walk on a glacier. We arrived at Skaftafell at the base of the largest glacier in Europe, Vatnajokull. If you look at a map of Iceland, Vatnajokull is its largest white circular feature. We were in a tiny corner at the bottom left of that circle.

The morning was glorious — blue skies shining on us. We later learned that this was only the eighth such day since the beginning of May. How lucky. We were eager to tackle the glacier along with many other hikers milling around — most seemed to be under 25. But we were here even though we were latecomers. New experiences are timeless.

The process to get to the glacier seemed endless — waiting for our turn to check in followed by a lesson on putting on our safety harnesses and adjusting our helmets. Then, we were fitted with our crampons. We were told that our Limmer’s may be too wide in the heel for the available crampons. We would have to rent boots. Eh? Rental boots? But……our boots fit and we moved on to get our ice picks. We were outfitted finally. We all were good to go.

We joined our guide, Josh, who graduated from the University of Bristol with a degree in geology. All guides must also qualify as paramedics and be able to rescue a person who falls 10 meters in a hole that will twist the victim’s body like a corkscrew. To pull the victim out the hole, the guide will have to untwist the person. Oi! or is it Oy (Vey)! in this case? Each guide must re-qualify every three months on these emergency tasks. We were relieved to know that no one has ever suffered the fate of being corkscrewed. However, several iPhones have been lost down such holes.

We were fortunate to have had Josh. He was excellent and made the time go by quickly from the walk up the terminal moraine to our venture into a narrow crevice. He was knowledgeable explaining what we were seeing. He gave clear directions to the pack and gently corrected our behaviors when needed. He made the entire experience fun while being serious about safety.

After trudging up the “black ice,” namely the dirt, rock, and ice mixture. We put on our crampons. We finally arrived at the magical moment of being on ice. Yes, it is magical with the glacier unfolding in all its majestic detail and nuances. The seemingly tedious delay was well worth it because we were here and felt safe because the crampons helped provide for steady and confident footing.

Our first moments were playful. We were walking on ice! After taking photos of us and our fellow hikers’ triumph, we turned our attention to Josh’s explanation of glacial formation, of its movement, and of the various shapes and forms that we were seeing. A glacier is not a monolith but rather a complex structure of layers influenced by long and short-term changes in the climate. Look at these peaks and valleys. We soon climb high enough to enter a narrow crevice whose walls were 20 feet high and the entry less than three feet wide. Walking into the crevice was the high point of our hike.

The left side of the image below shows the crevice that we entered. We made our way up about 40 meters until we fit into the crevice for the group photo below (courtesy of Dianne). You can tell that everyone was excited. I also included a photo showing how blue the ice was.

Time to exit and make our way to our bus and the bag of goodies for lunch. A well deserved break after what I would bet was for me and my fellow hikers, one of the most thrilling moments of our travels.

After lunch, we hiked up the mountain to view the Svartifoss whose walls were like the hexagonal shapes that we saw at the Reynisfjara beach. This hike was a good way to decompress from the excitement of walking the glacier.

Finally, we drove another 30 minutes east on Route 1 to Hof which is comprised of a few houses, some farm acreage, and our hotel. The rooms are comfortable; mine had a view of the mountain behind the hotel. Our dinner was soup, fillet of Arctic Char, and chocolate cake except Heather had three scoops of ice cream. How did that happen? Almost everyone seemed pleased with the cake though. Karen from our East Iceland group would have wanted the ice cream for sure. Perhaps next time, I should say that I am in need of a gluten free dessert — the bread aside.

Some of us ended the day exploring the church and graveyard next to the hotel. The church’s design seemed to pre-date some of the architectural designs currently in vogue to address heat control. The part of the structure is built into the earth. The roof is covered in plant materials. It would be interesting to ask the pastor and members of the community how well these design features have faired over time.

The graveyard also had an unusual feature. Each grave was a mound. Was the body buried above ground? Do the mounds contain a coffin?

Enough of these thoughts. Today was special. It was the day of the crampons.

Day 7 — Iceland Southern Style (5 July)

We joined our new group at 10 AM, eleven in all: five Americans, four Australians, and two Canadians as photographed from the trail at Skogafoss (thank you Heather).

We departed Rekyjavik via the #1, Ring Road, as we did on our Golden Circle trip. After Selfoss, we stayed to the right at the roundabout heading south rather going left to Fludir. We were told that we will be seeing a waterfall. Laird and I were the jaded veterans — come on, another waterfall?

After 45 minutes, we reached Seljalandsfoss, the only waterfall in Iceland that you can go behind. We were really impressed. The parking lot was filled with cars that we could see as we approached. The waterfall cascaded down 131 feet. What impressed me more than the water spray as you neared the falls were the roaring sounds of the water when it hit the stones at the bottom and the wind that hit my body.

Upon advice of our tour guide, Herdis, I put on my boots and rain pants. People lined like pilgrims approaching an alter to round the falling waters. Once behind the falls, you can feel its power that goes unabated. It is magical to focus on the water and not be distracted by the waterfall’s surroundings. The experience is better than the hole behind Niagara Falls. Certainly Niagara’s water flow is so much stronger. But you can’t see anything but the water. Here, you see the water from top to when it reaches its bottom.

We were on our way after an hour to another, yes, waterfall. What can be so good after this one? Down the road a piece was the Skogafoss, the last of 24 waterfalls that originate from the Myrdalsjokull glacier. According to our guide, one can hike the epic trail from the Skogafoss to a hut located between the Myrdalsjokull and the Eyjafjallajokulk glaciers. Maybe another time. Now, I have included four of the 24 waterfalls as one ascends up the mountain and a view from the top of Skogafoss.

We were done with waterfalls today but the next surprise was a black beach with some formations like the Giants Causeway in Northern Ireland. Reynisfjara is around the bend from Vik, the largest town after Selfoss on the southern coast. Herdis says that half the structures in Vik are either B&Bs or restaurants to accommodate the tourists who drive this coast in a day.

When walking the Reynisfjara, one has to be cautious about the strong waves that can sweep a person into the ocean. Before entering the beach, a sign illuminates three conditions concerning wave activity: green, safe; yellow, walk with caution; and, red, do not go beyond this point. The light was yellow. We had an opportunity to explore the beach up close and personal,

Time moves on; it was 4:45 PM and we eventually arrived at the Adventure Hotel Geirland in Kirkjubaejarklauster. I would love to attend a spelling bee in Iceland. This hotel ranks in the top ten of those on my various multi-day hikes. Soundproof, plenty of electrical outlets, roomy with a firm mattress. The dinner was also superb — mixed salad, lamb shank, ending with a light cheesecake. What a way to end the evening and ease my way into writing this blog.