Saturday 26th July

On Saturday we booked a tourist bus trip to go up a glacier, the main attraction of which involved riding snowmobiles to the top. This involved first taking a long journey in a mini-bus, stopping at a pretty waterfall on the way (see picture right). The bus then took us up a very rocky, unmade road to the top of the glacier, where a chemical toilet and wooden cabin were the only concessions to civilization. The cabin contained a series of racks upon which were hung the dubious outfits we were obliged to wear for our snowmobiling expedition. The outfits were suitably uncomfortable, difficult to put on, hot, sticky and had evidently been designed to make the wearer look like an extra out of a Bond movie (i.e. ridiculous). The boots they gave us were similarly daft, being difficult and uncomfortable to walk on rocks with, and sweaty because they were basically wellingtons with no air vents. Nonetheless we were looking forward to playing with the snowmobiles. A snow-cat (which looks and sounds like a big combine harvester, except that it carries people on top) ferried a group of us to the top of the glacier, where our snowmobile guide was waiting for us. He explained the operation of the machines (very easy) and we all clambered aboard, two to a machine. Having never ridden a snowmobile before I was surprised at how light they are, and how unstable they feel. I was also disappointed at the lack of performance and the need to gain considerable momentum before gentle inclines could be accelerated up comfortably. Despite this we had a fun time and took in some wonderful scenery. The snowmobilng element of the trip lasted only about 45 minutes of the whole day, although I was quite relieved when it was over because the machines are as smelly as two-stroke outboards and were giving me a sore throat and feelings of petroleum-induced nausea towards the end of the trip.

On the way back the mini-bus stopped at a splendid and huge waterfall the name of which I believe was Skogafoss. The tour lasted 12 hours and the total cost, including all transportation was approx £105 each.

In the evening we decided to eat at the Hotel Lofteidir, in the Floral Dining Room (they also have a smaller, more café-like dining room, but we decided to push the boat out). Samantha chose breast of puffin and I chose salmon. The puffin turned out to be mostly lamb's liver (this is a strange thing which happened twice ­ when serving puffin they provide a small quantity of puffin cooked with a large quantity of what appears to be lamb's liver?). Puffin tastes a bit like burnt wood pigeon dipped in thick sump oil. It is not unpleasant, though quite tough and very gamey. It reminded me of wild venison, Guinness, and fresh tarmac. The salmon was cooked exquisitely and grilled just to the point of toasting the skin exactly as I like it. This was the best fish I tasted in Iceland. Beer was expensive as ever although the meal was relatively cheap for quality food ­ round about £60 for three courses with very modest alcohol.

After dinner we walked the (very) short distance from the hotel to the club house of the small adjacent aerodrome and enquired about a flight. About twenty minutes later (approx 10.30pm) an obliging pilot appeared from nowhere and led us to a Cessna 172 into which we climbed expectantly. The sun was still shining quite brightly and the sky was very clear and blue. Pretty soon we were airborne, and for the next ninety minutes or so we had a very enjoyable flight, going first north east from Reykjavik taking in Thingvellir and Thingvallavatn (the lake at Thingvellir) before turning a wide circle south and then south east to the coast and the Blue Lagoon. We looked over the Blue Lagoon, identifiable by the clouds of smoke continually pouring skywards from it, and then, as dusk was drawing in, made tracks back to the airport. A thoroughly enjoyable flight and good value at £40 each. Also remarkable because of the lateness of the hour and the most obliging nature of the pilot.

The picture to the right shows the runway to the right, taken from the front seat of the small plane, landing at about midnight just as sun is setting.

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© Richard Harrison

All photographs are © Richard Harrison and Samantha Coe 1997