I can see why Iceland’s tourism business has taken off. A trip around the Golden Circle and its many geological attractions is worth the price of the air fare alone.
And I’m not going to let the extreme cold or the stomach bug I was suffering, which qualifies me to write the ultimate guide to the circle’s public conveniences, prejudice me against it in any way. Sadly that bug meant we couldn’t finish our trip with a dip in a lagoon. We’ll do that next time.
Fortunately the weather was better than it had been the day before, when we got repeatedly soaked and blown from one end of Reykjavik to another. As we drove out of the city, the sun burst through the clouds and lit up the snow-covered mountains that surround the bay. It set us up for a day of sunshine, hail, cloud, gales and bitterly cold weather.
The roads were some of the worst I’ve had the privilege of driving, with potholes so deep we would’ve needed ladders to get out of them. I was torn between keeping my eyes peeled to the road for the sake of our lives and taking in the dazzling landscape of frozen mountains and plains, lakes and lava flows. We passed very few settlements but in low-lying areas a surprising number of farms peppered the landscape, their fields sometimes flooded by molten snow or home to hardy horses.
A reminder that Iceland is a volcanic island came in the regular wafts of sulphur that made it into the car (I wasn’t the guilty party despite the stomach upset) and the puffs of steam that escaped from the earth around us.
Our first stop was Þingvellir National Park, a UNESCO World Heritage Site close to Þingvallavatn, the country’s largest natural lake. The park has an abundance of riches, including the fact that it was home to Iceland’s outdoor Parliament from the 10th century until the 18th. But there’s precious little to see of it and the geology is far more interesting.
This is where the Eurasian and North American tectonic plates are pulling apart, creating fissures and rifts in the surface of the earth. Not that I could feel anything, which isn’t surprising as there’s only around 1-2cm of movement every year, and that’s only when the plates are feeling particularly excited. Towering cliffs mark the divide, and over them the Öxará river flows. The resulting Öxaráfoss waterfall is noisy and noble and difficult to reach up a snow- and ice-covered path that made Graham and others nervous. Signs said the path was closed but nobody took any notice.
We followed the crowds on the footpath beside the cliffs, up the hill towards the visitor centre (and the very welcome loos – clean and plentiful but with a credit card entry system that caused consternation among the pensioners). Up top we enjoyed the sublime views over the park towards the lake and snowy mountains. I thought it was marvellous. Graham was less impressed but I couldn’t understand why.
So on we went to Geysir, home of the spouting hot spring that gave its name to all such eruptions around the world. Today Geysir is a largely silent pool, bubbling and steaming in the freezing air but rarely doing anything remotely explosive. But there’s other geological activity in the area and, depressingly, a grim development with cafe, hotel, spa and giant souvenir shop selling Geysir fridge magnets and enema kits (or maybe not). Graham tucked into lunch while I fought to hold my breakfast down and embraced the lav.
Outside, the sun shone and the smell of sulphur filled the air. The volcanic grounds oozed boiling water, belched steam and looked angry. Crowds gathered around the reliable Strokkur, a geyser that used to be overshadowed by the giant Geysir and its 70m spurts but is now the star attraction, which shoots water every few minutes up to 30m into the air. We gasped and muttered appreciation when she blew and then wandered around the site taking photos. Algae flourished in the goo and the boiling waters helped keep the chill at bay.
A few kilometres up the road is the most wonderful of the Golden Circle’s many natural attractions, Gullfoss. This magnificent waterfall marks the point where the Hvítá river, fed by Iceland’s second biggest glacier, plummets more than 30m in two stages into a menacing canyon of sheer cliffs. We walked from the inevitable gift shop and managed to capture the falls from various viewpoints during a couple of minutes of sunlight before a brief storm blew in. And how extraordinary they were, the spray creating rainbows amid the overpowering thundering sound of nature. It was so cold they could’ve opened an Ice Hotel in my pants, and I felt increasingly dreadful from the bug.
We’d bought tickets to visit the Secret Lagoon, a less touristy place than the Blue Lagoon, to take a dip in the natural hot spring waters. But the thought of rotten egg smells, boiling water and a late return to Reykjavik filled me with dread in my dodgy state so we left the detour behind and continued on round the Golden Circle. It’s southern edge was noticeably less snowy until we climbed the mountains west of the capital.
We did stop for one last visit at Kerið, a volcanic crater lake that looked just like the one in the Bond film You Only Live Twice. It’s thought that it was formed several thousand years ago when the volcano erupted and emptied its magma reserve, the weight of the cone then collapsing in onto itself. The lake 55m below us was frozen solid but it was easy to see its rich blues and whites, which were in stark contrast to the reds, browns and greens of the caldera. Nearby lay the remains of several other volcanic craters. Feeling ropey, I resisted the urge to walk around the rim or down the steps to the lake so we jumped in the car and continued on the long journey back to our hotel.
The Golden Circle is a big investment in time, most of which is spent on the road whether you’re driving yourself or being herded around on one of the many organised tours. But even with my stomach bug it was well worth the effort.
However, by the time we got to Reykjavik I was ready for bed. Poor Graham had to entertain himself that evening…