How do you top a Geyser? (Iceland Part 2)

Geysers are pretty impressive things. The first impressive thing about them is that you're stood outside and the temperature is at zero, it says so on the flashy read out things that are everywhere you look (mostly the bus), yet you're looking at a pool of water bubbling away in front of you. It's not connected to any wires, it's just sat there in a hole in the ground going "Look at me, I'm at boiling point and you're freezing, how impressive am I?" and the only answer is "Quite". This could be an optical illusion of course, so it is important to stick your hand in it, then to quickly remove your hand before you fingers fall off from the rapid temperature change. The danger is worth it though, proof positive that the water is hot.

Then, without warning, it explodes. A jet of water and steam shoots 15 feet into the air and the crowd, understandably, gasps. 

In the hope of warning future geyser witnesses against repeating my mistakes I think it is important to say that, standing downwind of the geyser as it went off, was not my smartest move of the day. Spending the rest of the afternoon feeling my clothes turn to ice around me wasn't the most pleasant experience I've ever, well, experienced. 

So in short, geysers are impressive, very impressive in fact. So it seemed odd to me that they would be the first thing we saw on our two part trip, and that they were to be followed by, wait for it, a waterfall. I'm not saying waterfalls aren't impressive, we've all seen them on the tele, if not in person, and they are dramatic and mighty things indeed. But they are not magical like the temperature defying exploding water holes. They are, no matter how tall or wide, simply water falling down a cliff. I didn't hold up much hope for the second part of the trip. Even less so when they kicked us off the bus, pointed, said "Waterfall down there, meet back here in 30mins". But what did I know, eh.

There was a viewing point of the waterfall at one side, where you got covered in freezing spray, had a gander, and found it quirky that the mists had coated even individual blades of grass in a shell of ice. Even the rope around the edge of the cliff was encased in a thick layer of the cold see-through stuff. But this is no more than expected really, so everyone heads down the slope towards the bit right at the edge of the fall where you can get a really good look.

Tum tee tum tee tum.

It is a mite concerning at this point that the only thing between your path to the waterfall, and the actual canyon the water falls into, is a slack frozen rope about three feet high, but no matter, it's all very safe and touristy.

Then... bang! The floor is suddenly more ice than path and I'm on my arse sliding quickly towards said rope and the watery death beyond. Shit.

It's ok, of course, I come to a halt before I get to the rope and look around to see how much of my dignity is intact, the laughing pair of girl shaped tourists above me suggest that it's not much. So I regain my feet and edge down, regretting my decision to take this trek in a pair of worn out Adidas Gazelles, and no gloves.

A few metres ahead a bunch of us realise that we are in a bit of a predicament. The floor is ice and we can barely stand on it, the rope is slack, wobbly, and again, coated in ice. Moving downwards towards the fall is difficult. Moving back the way we came, up hill, is pretty much unthinkable. We're not sure if there is another way up and back to the bus from the bottom of the path.

After much deliberation, and offering up our last prayers, we hope against hope that there is another way to safety and head, slowly and carefully, and in my case, often on my arse, to the bottom of the hill.

It goes without saying that there was no way up the other side. Or at least no man made way.

Obviously nobody died or I wouldn't be writing this in such a jovial manner, so I'll save any further indulgent description. But needless to say that finding myself stood on basically an ice sheet above a gorge that freezing water was pummelling into at a rate of knots, kept 'safe' by only a rope that was too cold to hold and too high to stop a sliding body, with the only marked way to safety being essentially a hill made of ice, and electing to instead climb the rock face to return to the bus, well, I haven't felt a buzz like that in a long time. Living in a country with health and safety rules created by compensation claims may keep you alive longer, but it does have its drawbacks if you want an adrenaline rush every so often. And as for the group of happy faced school kids I saw heading towards the waterfall as we departed, well, lets just say I've been checking the news.

Oh yeah, and all this happened against the back drop of a glacier which began on the horizon.

The journey home taught us a couple of things. Icelanders are too lazy to pick and sell their plentiful supplies of blueberries and mushrooms., sheep are illiterate, so can't read 'no sheep allowed' signs, and as such are ruining the lush green countryside. We also saw the place where two continental plates are colliding, forcing one high into the air and causing 'hundreds' of earthquakes a day. Not bad for a bus trip home really.

So home, warm, a few more drinks, a final band and it's time to get our heads down ready for the long trip home the next day. Via the Blue Lagoon.

The Blue Lagoon is basically a big naturally heating swimming pool, next to a geo-thermal power station, with all the usual spa type facilities built around it for you to enjoy. Very relaxing, pretty impressive, but not particularly exciting, except of course, for its location.

Now, the map says it's in Iceland, just a little south of Keflavik. But I don't believe that. Despite us heading there in a minibus, and it taking the time to travel that the maps suggested it would, there is nothing that will convince me that the Blue Lagoon is anywhere else but on The Moon. The landscape (lava field) is just unbelievable, and that a perfectly blue naturally heated pool can be situated in the middle of such a baron and alien wasteland just doesn't make sense to a boy who's grown up just outside Manchester. Then to find yourself swimming, outdoors, quite happily, while snow falls on your face. You don't get that in Avenham.