When trying to save money, sometimes you end up spending more. – Confucius (I’m pretty sure)
A Toyota Tragicomedy.
Iceland is fucking expensive. Iceland is also fucking awesome (see photos). These two facts are exceptionally problematic for travelers like myself. The first excursion I went on (see photos… again) cost 10,000 kr. That’s $85 for one day of dope shit.
So, to see the “most beautiful” part of Iceland, Snaefellsnes, me and four other volunteers decided to rent a car for an estimated €30 each. The funny thing about estimations is that they can be wildly off base.
So the morning of our planned trip starts off normal enough. We have some breakfast and wait for the driver of the group to return with the car. First, let me explain the cultural background of our rag-tag team: the driver is Hadi, an insane Israeli (is that redundant?) with very, very little common sense, shotgun is Alvaro, a good natured (often to a fault) Spaniard, and the girls along for the ride: Martina, a wide-eyed German (the youngest of the group), Birgan, Turk and resident cynic, and myself, whatever I am.
We all pile into the tiny red Toyota with a questionably functional gearshift and a window that doesn’t quite fit in the doorframe, and set out in entirely the wrong direction. In the back we all get slightly squeamish at the driving techniques Hadi employs as he complains that things are not like this in Israel. We drive around for a while until we find the highway we want to get on (it is really quite difficult to get lost in Iceland, as there is really only one highway that goes around the whole island). The scenery is stunning and the weather is gorgeous. We make a brief stop to find some food, during which I attempt for the first time in my life to drive a manual car to leave Hadi behind and just end up stalling the engine. We stop to take some pictures before heading onward to meet up with the planned expensive excursion, led by an Italian man named Davide with a crazy laugh and the reddest beard I have ever seen on a non-Irishman.
We had planned to meet him and the other volunteers at the small seaside village of Arnarstapi. We find them around lunchtime and continue to follow them up the mountain path to reach the glacier. However, Hadi really had to take a picture of something stupid and completely insignificant through the filthy windshield, so we lose the large van Davide is driving. Now, this didn’t seem like much of a problem at the time, as there seemed to be only one path through the mountain. This assumption turns out to be entirely wrong, and as we drive further up into the clouds, the atmosphere becomes increasingly foreboding. The fog is so thick that you can’t see anything beyond ten feet from the car and the road seems to twist and turn to absolutely nowhere.
Finally we all think it’s taking way too long to get through the pass, so we ask Hadi to just turn around and go somewhere else. Hadi, however, decides that the best course of action is to turn down a completely random road with a sign pointing to a completely random town that isn’t even on the map. We all begin to tell Hadi to turn around, and Martina starts crying and shouting about how she doesn’t want to die up on the mountain. Hadi offers a simple solution: we can eat each other! Donner party much?
Finally, Hadi reluctantly gives up as Martina is about to have a total meltdown and I start to giggle uncontrollably as things are reaching the point of hysteria. We head back down the mountain and call Davide to find out where we can meet the group. We attempt to follow his directions to the black beach—attempt being the operative word, as Hadi cannot seem to understand the name of the town we are looking for, so I resolve to call it Dirtvik so that he will stop trying to turn down roads to towns that start with K or J. Finally we end up running into Davide and the other crew, and he points out a nice spot to go to the beach. At this point the weather has deteriorated the typical Icelandic clouds, mist, and rain, but the waves are really spectacular so we stop for a quick frolic in the waves. I think this was the highlight of the trip for me.
Then we get back in the car for more exploring and Hadi stopped by a sign that was pointing to some random and indicating that whatever it is, it’s located two kilometers away. He tries to convince us to go for a walk, which he swears will only take 5 minutes (2 km?) but at this point we’re freezing and tired and think he’s a pathological liar, but of course Alvaro offers to go with him and the two trot off together. After a while, we start to get bored and play cards. After what must have been at least forty minutes, we finally see the two of them running in our direction. In anticipation, Martina goes to start the car. Hah. Nice try.
Now, we had been listening to the radio for a bit, but that is not enough to cause a car to die. Then it hits me: the fucking LIGHTS. This guy left the car without turning off the goddamned lights. So now we’re pushing the car up and down the shitty dirt path, trying to get it to start. No luck. We desperately call Davide to help us. After a few minutes of waiting and debating whether or not Davide would actually remember how to find us (you see, he is an avid fan of certain herbal substances), we eventually have three men pushing the car with us. After a while it seems pretty hopeless and it’s getting dark, so I suggest we drive to the nearest town to get some jumper cables. Finally we find a place to buy some for a mere $40 (ugh) and head back to the car. Some manly arguing (read: bitching, pathetic, useless bitching) ensues about how to start the car. After a few minutes, the engine miraculously catches. Aaaand we’re good to go.
FAIL!
A Toyota Tragicomedy.
Iceland is fucking expensive. Iceland is also fucking awesome (see photos). These two facts are exceptionally problematic for travelers like myself. The first excursion I went on (see photos… again) cost 10,000 kr. That’s $85 for one day of dope shit.
So, to see the “most beautiful” part of Iceland, Snaefellsnes, me and four other volunteers decided to rent a car for an estimated €30 each. The funny thing about estimations is that they can be wildly off base.
So the morning of our planned trip starts off normal enough. We have some breakfast and wait for the driver of the group to return with the car. First, let me explain the cultural background of our rag-tag team: the driver is Hadi, an insane Israeli (is that redundant?) with very, very little common sense, shotgun is Alvaro, a good natured (often to a fault) Spaniard, and the girls along for the ride: Martina, a wide-eyed German (the youngest of the group), Birgan, Turk and resident cynic, and myself, whatever I am.
We all pile into the tiny red Toyota with a questionably functional gearshift and a window that doesn’t quite fit in the doorframe, and set out in entirely the wrong direction. In the back we all get slightly squeamish at the driving techniques Hadi employs as he complains that things are not like this in Israel. We drive around for a while until we find the highway we want to get on (it is really quite difficult to get lost in Iceland, as there is really only one highway that goes around the whole island). The scenery is stunning and the weather is gorgeous. We make a brief stop to find some food, during which I attempt for the first time in my life to drive a manual car to leave Hadi behind and just end up stalling the engine. We stop to take some pictures before heading onward to meet up with the planned expensive excursion, led by an Italian man named Davide with a crazy laugh and the reddest beard I have ever seen on a non-Irishman.
We had planned to meet him and the other volunteers at the small seaside village of Arnarstapi. We find them around lunchtime and continue to follow them up the mountain path to reach the glacier. However, Hadi really had to take a picture of something stupid and completely insignificant through the filthy windshield, so we lose the large van Davide is driving. Now, this didn’t seem like much of a problem at the time, as there seemed to be only one path through the mountain. This assumption turns out to be entirely wrong, and as we drive further up into the clouds, the atmosphere becomes increasingly foreboding. The fog is so thick that you can’t see anything beyond ten feet from the car and the road seems to twist and turn to absolutely nowhere.
Finally we all think it’s taking way too long to get through the pass, so we ask Hadi to just turn around and go somewhere else. Hadi, however, decides that the best course of action is to turn down a completely random road with a sign pointing to a completely random town that isn’t even on the map. We all begin to tell Hadi to turn around, and Martina starts crying and shouting about how she doesn’t want to die up on the mountain. Hadi offers a simple solution: we can eat each other! Donner party much?
Finally, Hadi reluctantly gives up as Martina is about to have a total meltdown and I start to giggle uncontrollably as things are reaching the point of hysteria. We head back down the mountain and call Davide to find out where we can meet the group. We attempt to follow his directions to the black beach—attempt being the operative word, as Hadi cannot seem to understand the name of the town we are looking for, so I resolve to call it Dirtvik so that he will stop trying to turn down roads to towns that start with K or J. Finally we end up running into Davide and the other crew, and he points out a nice spot to go to the beach. At this point the weather has deteriorated the typical Icelandic clouds, mist, and rain, but the waves are really spectacular so we stop for a quick frolic in the waves. I think this was the highlight of the trip for me.
Then we get back in the car for more exploring and Hadi stopped by a sign that was pointing to some random and indicating that whatever it is, it’s located two kilometers away. He tries to convince us to go for a walk, which he swears will only take 5 minutes (2 km?) but at this point we’re freezing and tired and think he’s a pathological liar, but of course Alvaro offers to go with him and the two trot off together. After a while, we start to get bored and play cards. After what must have been at least forty minutes, we finally see the two of them running in our direction. In anticipation, Martina goes to start the car. Hah. Nice try.
Now, we had been listening to the radio for a bit, but that is not enough to cause a car to die. Then it hits me: the fucking LIGHTS. This guy left the car without turning off the goddamned lights. So now we’re pushing the car up and down the shitty dirt path, trying to get it to start. No luck. We desperately call Davide to help us. After a few minutes of waiting and debating whether or not Davide would actually remember how to find us (you see, he is an avid fan of certain herbal substances), we eventually have three men pushing the car with us. After a while it seems pretty hopeless and it’s getting dark, so I suggest we drive to the nearest town to get some jumper cables. Finally we find a place to buy some for a mere $40 (ugh) and head back to the car. Some manly arguing (read: bitching, pathetic, useless bitching) ensues about how to start the car. After a few minutes, the engine miraculously catches. Aaaand we’re good to go.
FAIL!
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