It’s our last day in Þórsmörk. Today we’re going home.
On our last morning we got up late. François had said that depending on the weather and how we felt, we could pack up camp for the last time before or after breakfast. The wind had dropped by morning but it was still pretty drizzly. I half-packed my stuff and then went off to breakfast. I was up earlier than I’d expected. François hadn’t even finished making the coffee yet. A few of us sat around the table, still couldn’t quite figure out which pot contained the coffee and which the hot water. We had the usual assortment of sliced fruit, except the apple because Miki put the last of it in the salad last night. Because it was the last breakfast, we weren’t having porridge – François was making enough French toast to feed the entire campsite, with – of course – a lot of brown sugar an cinnamon. When the leftovers had been taken to the wardens and volunteers, we made lunch and then did the final washing-up.
And then we really did have to pack up camp. I dumped my bags and poles in the food tent but with stuff I was going to want on the bus but not on the walk in a drybag attached to the outside of my big bag and went to take down the tent. It was still wet but we didn’t have time to leave them to dry and anyway, they’d be cleaned and dried and sorted out back at the office. How do you clean a dozen trekking tents? Put them in a washing machine, apparently!
Once everything was packed and the camping stuff was stacked, we went out. This would be a short walk down to the Húsadalur hut, 1.5km away, to the bar/restaurant and the wifi, via the big peak behind our camps and it soon became clear that I wasn’t going to survive even this short walk. Everything I’d had on Monday had been utterly used up and now it wasn’t just tiredness making it so hard to climb the hill. Even with my poles, I could feel the tendons stretching in the back of my ankles. That was new, at least for this week, and the more aware of it I was, he more it hurt. It hurt so much. A few slopes and rests late, I was panting and sweating with pain and they felt like they were going to stretch just a little too far and snap. François hung back and waited for me and I explained that it was actual physical pain from hell right here that was the trouble. I turned round to loosen the tendons and wait for the pain to stop and used the time to casually ask if my Icelandic was right, is Valahnúkur the Peak of the Slain, the dead? Apparently not. It’s not the same root as Valhalla and Valdís, the hall and the goddess of the slain respectively. It’s from the name Valí. I couldn’t go on. Why didn’t I go back down, walk through the valley and meet them at Húsadalur, François suggested? There was an alternative to the climb and he has no problem with people like me who know their limits – it’s the people who refused to give up who cause trouble and need rescuing and things like that. I eagerly accepted the offer and scampered down the mountain at a speed I hadn’t reached all week and didn’t know I was still capable of. No leg pain going downhill!
I clattered across the little bridges and through the woods. At the bottom of the last steps we’d come down on Thursday, down our last big hill, someone had scraped “K2” and an arrow into the path. It make me chuckle. I scampered on. François had said I should reach Húsadalur at about the same time as them and I was determined to beat them. There was an awkward scramble and then a bit more uphill than I really wanted – “there’s always more up” – and then the stairs. François had mentioned stairs but I’d never imagined anywhere near so many. It was one thing going down but I was going to struggle as much getting back up then I had going up Valahnúkur. Why hadn’t I stayed at the campsite? There was a bit more downhill after the stairs – more up coming back – and then it flattened out. Traffic cones covering pipes clearly meant I was getting close and there it was. Glamping tents pitched near the gate, buildings. I found the bar/restaurant, found the door, decided I’d won and found myself a place to sit and take off all my sweaty layers. I didn’t want beer and it was still pretty early. Some orange juice and a carton of chocolate milk would do nicely, and a packet of crisps. As I was paying, I saw the rest arrive outside and we all found a table together, leaving bags and poles by the door.
Beer and soup were ordered and the wifi code was obtained from the wall. Eight people who hadn’t had internet access for days settled down to catch up on Facebook. Well, some of us did. Both Jakes borrowed François’ phone to check/make Blue Lagoon bookings. Clarence ate three bowls of soup.
We all walked back together through the valley and back to camp – well, back to the food tent. By now we were all tired and sweaty. The route over Valahnúkur had been hard, even for the rest of the group, and we were all ready to just sit down for the two hours until the bus went. Except that ten minutes later it arrived and we had to start loading it – not just with our stuff. We also had to pack the group equipment. François had persuaded the Þórsmörk wardens to let him leave the group tent behind. So we carried crates and tents and mats and then we put our own day bags on the bus and waited. Some people opted to make themselves comfortable. Some vanished. I suddenly found I couldn’t seem to stop crying and for a while I sat on a bench and tried to look at the view while hiding behind sunglasses. When I did get on the bus, I hid in my big grey fluffy hoodie and pretended to be asleep – all the more convincing for the fact that half the group really was asleep. Someone got on the bus and asked if it stopped at Hvolsvollur, only with the pronunciation of someone who’s never been to Iceland. With my unique combination of bad Icelandic pronunciation and excellent knowledge of every small town along the south coast, I know exactly where he meant but our Icelandic bus driver had no idea what this mangling of her language was meant to mean and the timetable in the car park had to be consulted before she figured out what he was saying. Yes, it did stop there.
I cheered up once the bus started moving. We had to splash across the Krossá first and then multiple smaller rivers. That’s fun. And even if you’ve done it 800 times, surely it’s too bumpy to sleep through like François did. No one stirred until our first drop-off at Seljalandsfoss.
I had patchy 3G for a bit after that, just enough to look at Facebook and send tweets but it was long gone by the time we reached Hvolsvollur, where we had just enough time to leap off the bus for a cup of coffee and nothing more. We had to change buses at Hella for some reason that I still haven’t fathomed, which meant transferring all the group kit and everyone’s big bags again before getting on a bus that wasn’t nearly as empty as the one we’d just got off. Now we had time to go and grab some food. I got more juice and chocolate and red Pringles, Jake got pretzels and Csilla got olives, which I think means we all needed salt.
We were supposed to reach Reykjavik at 6.30 but we were off the bus and I’d walked down to my guesthouse and settled into my room by 6.10. It was only a ten minute walk, even heavily laden, back to the Travel Inn and when I rang the doorbell, I was greeted by the same man who’d let me into Guesthouse Pavi at the other end of town a week ago. He remembered me and my refusal to let him help carry my bag. This room was much better and so were the stairs. I scattered everything all over the floor. I’d been shoving stuff fairly randomly into drybags al week and by now I had no idea where anything was.
I went to the pool. I’d promised myself I’d do that. Iceland is so into the World Cup that “Afram Ísland! HÚH!” is even printed on my pool ticket. There were some Americans arriving at the same time as me and it appeared they needed everything from getting changed to getting into the water explained to them in much detail.
The outdoor pool at Sundhöllin is new and the first thing I encountered is the baby pool. Nice depth, considering it’s a bit too warm – you can sit and lean against the side and let your knees get cooled by the cold air. I tried the new pool (too cold), the new hotpot (too hot) and the old rooftop hotpots (far too hot). The baby pool was the perfect place to sit and warm up after a long cold week outside.
So warm. After a while I began to get thirsty and I decided that at ten past nine I would get out and do some shopping on the way home. I met Csilla in the changing room as I was leaving – didn’t see her in the pool or worse, in the shower. I walked up to the end of Laugavegur the long way and went to the 10/11 at Hlemmur for crisps, juice and essentials and then walked back, realising I’d gone the long way and casually avoiding the Hostel Village where I knew someone I didn’t really like was staying. It wasn’t dark but I had curtains and I could make the room reasonably dark, much darker than the tent ever got. And it was warm! And the bed was so comfortable! And I had to be up again really on Sunday for our road trip – we were meeting at Hallgrímskirkja at 8am before picking up a car for a day of roadtripping….
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