I woke at 6am to rain sprinkling my face, and a hint of regret that the night was over. More so, though, I was calm and peaceful and kind of in awe at the quality of night I’d had. Immediately I looked for the mountain I’d seen, and turned to laugh at where I’d slept.
When I stood up, now that I could see in the dawn, I was in a vast wasteland of featureless lava, and the very well travelled road past the Blue Lagoon was right there. I could see the steam of the Blue Lagoon plant, too. However, the car, and where I’d slept, was not visible from the road, because of a slight bump in the road.
It was maybe the only hidden spot I could have found, such a small void that if I stood straight up, I could see the road, but if I lowered my eyes to the top of the car, I couldn’t. 
If I walked a few feet either way, I was in plain sight. I walked around, testing this, laughing, and then tossed my gear aboard and left to go get Derek.
Grindavík, on the coast, is windy. Derek’s tent is better able to handle the wind, and his was upright. He was still in it. Mine, where I’d left it set up, pegged but empty, was leaned over right onto the ground, rippling a little, and sucked right onto the grass. Totally flat. When I pulled in beside it, blocking the wind, it popped up to its proper height like a jack-in-the-box.
We got off to a slow morning, hunting for a bakari and not finding one ’til Hafnarfjörður.
This was a town with unexpected character and a shockingly lavish viking hotel bristling with embellishments. We walked around that and found some chickens and very vocal rooster in the back.
We passed through Reykjavík to Hvolsvollur, picking up a few groceries and trying to make a plan. Indecision was the hallmark of the day. We were on our last days, and considering backtracking to re-visit places, and see what we’d missed the first time hitchhiking. Eventually, we elected to head for Skógar. Derek wanted to get some better pictures than he had the first time. It turned out to be a good choice.
As we drove, we tried to think of the things to capture on film that might have become invisible in their ubiquity. That meant lots of pictures of the normal road signs that are so different from N. America, the familiar “no tractors” (on the road in the city), and the dreaded Malbik Engar – Road is about to become unpaved.
We were still taking pictures of the dozens of Mitsubishi Pajeros we saw daily, fascinated that my truck at home, very unusual there, was one of the top three models on the road in Iceland. I wasn’t expecting that.
We stopped for some roadside horses and fed them nubs of carrots. They were quite happy about it, getting a little pushy and looking wistfully after us when we left.
On the way, we picked up a pair of hitchhikers who had just finished the Landmannalaugar to þorsmörk hike. We’d finally let go of doing that hike when time more or less ran out. I’d been pretty disappointed and not sure whether it had been a good idea, but our passengers, who’d done it right when we would have, told us it was dreadful. It had rained and they’d had zero visibility the entire hike. That that made me feel much better.
Skógasafn, the last museum we went to in Iceland, turned out to be the best. It had been closed on our first pass. Not only that, our hitchhikers generously paid our admission. Apparently all the artifacts that are noticeably absent in museums around the country are all here. The place was chock full of every kind of tool and bowl and book and boat and clothing imaginable, usually dozens of versions of each thing. It was a vivid contrast to all the other storyboard-filled museums we’d been in.
In the basement there are stuffed animals of all kinds from Iceland, including the tiniest of birds, and some preserved genetic aberrations. Outside, there are whole buildings to explore, a church and schoolhouse and the ubiquitous álfhol (elf houses). Really, if you were going to see one museum in Iceland, this should be it.
(2012 note- Skógasafn, with the folk museum unchanged, is expanded into a very modern telecommunications and transportation museum in an adjacent building. It really requires three hours to see it all. þórður, the proprietor, is still introducing himself to visitors, jaunty and quick in his sport coat and shock of white hair)
At Skógafoss proper, Derek took pictures at the base and I climbed the stairs, walking out on the little packed pathways to look down on the water and the gulls swooping in the mist, and nesting peacefully unmolested in the black wet rocks at the sides of the roaring water column. It’s quite scary looking down the drop like that, watching the water fall. There was even a window of sunshine to bring out the rainbow that’s usually hanging around the base of the falls.
Heading back northwest, we made a couple of roadside stops, like the attention grabbing Rútshellir – a cave that’s a barn. 
This is one of “upwards of 200”! manmade caves in the area, and it only happens to be a very prominently visible one from the ring road. I’m still in disbelief at the type of people who think “We need a good barn. Let’s hollow one out of solid rock.” Wow. It’s a good lasting barn, at any rate, formerly a hay barn and smithy. (More pics in the extra photos).
Windblown sheep is watching you.
(2012 note – when we passed here again, there was a couple with a truck parked by the cave. They seemed to be doing some repair on the door/roof. The really funny part was the clutch of cows clustered around watching the proceedings, circled in a little too tight with their heads all down in keen interest. Later that day when we passed again, the cows were all inside again)
We had wheels now, so we went to Keldur. We’d been thwarted at that the last time, on foot. This time there was no one around that part of the farm, and we peered through the dark glass into the turf roof houses and Derek took fun pictures of some accommodating farm animals.
“You think I don’t see you back there?”
“Oops.”
For the night we went to the campsite in Hella, and luxuriated in the amenities of laundry and a long hot shower. It was a long time now since we’d spent a night indoors, and I’d woken up to find myself lying beside my tent instead of in it (annoyed by the tent’s blocking me from starlight and air) many times. I’d be naked in the woods living on berries in no time.
Many more fun photos of this day are here. Don’t miss out.
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