Many must have perished in the cold waters of the North Atlantic in their search for a better life. Some of them were lucky. They found this barren island. A flat landscape. Black volcanic soil. Black volcanic stones. More stones. Few trees. Snow covered mountain chains in the background. How could they survive here? I feel for them. They were my ancestors. They were the Vikings.
They found a sea full of fish. They found an infertile land. They found a lot of ice. They called the land “Island”. Iceland.
It is spring now. It is cold. Six degrees in the morning as we head north. We are well dressed but it is still cold. Icy winds. Winds doing their best to penetrate our clothing.
The road is good. We pass through moonlike landscape. We pass through lava fields, covered by greenish yellowish moss. We pass many horse farms. We reach Gullfoss, the most famous water fall on Iceland. The Golden waterfall. Glacial water, bluish, somewhat brownish, carries a lot of sediments that the water has carved out on its way. It is not one of earth’s biggest water falls but its beauty grips me. My eyes cannot stop starring at the falls. I breathe deeply. Harmony fills my soul. Suddenly, I come back to reality. Our driver’s voice is cutting through the air. We shall continue. I could have stayed here forever.
We are reaching the area of geysirs. There are small pools of boiling water. A smell of sulphur in the air. Under our feet, the earth is boiling. We are standing with our cameras ready. Waiting. One minute. More minutes. Then suddenly, a whoshing sound, eruption, water bursting 15 meters up into the air. Strokkur has erupted again. Some people stand too close, running away from the falling water.