A Pact with Thor: a Windy Adventure on Iceland’s South Coast

I woke up very early for the longest tour I was about to do – to the South Coast and the Glacier Lagoon, at least 14 hours in total. I had not slept well. I had been coughing quite a bit during the night, and it seemed my cold was not going to be cured anytime soon. I had also been feeling anxious ever since I found out Icelandair mechanics were planning a strike starting that week, with no end date in sight…

I have had flights cancelled twice now because of strikes. One of those times, I was flying over to my home country, Portugal. Whilst it was annoying, I was home in London, and my flight was simply rescheduled for two days later. The other time, I was also flying from home, this time to Athens, and I simply decided to go one day earlier.

I have been lucky – in the worst-case scenario, I have to cancel my trip, but at least I’m home. However, when it’s the other way around, it’s a whole different problem. I had work and other commitments to get back to. Plus, I’d be stuck in Iceland – an island. It’s not as if there are that many airlines operating flights between Reykjavik and London. And what drives me crazy is the uncertainty – will the strike go ahead? How long will it last? Should I book a backup flight?

I felt so silly – I honestly did. There I was, panicking, scared I wouldn’t be able to fly back, when I was so lucky just to be in Iceland.

I would also say this is both a downside and an upside of travelling solo. The downside is that you can’t share the burden of dealing with these challenges; on the other hand, I was happy I could make choices based on what felt most comfortable to me, without having to drag anyone else along.

For the sake of my anxiety, I decided to look for backup flights… As you can imagine, everyone potentially affected by the strike had done the same, which meant the only non-Icelandair flight available was on Saturday (one day after my original flight), with British Airways… at £940.

At first, I refused to book it. But then I weighed my options. This was actually a refundable flight, which meant that if the strike went ahead, I would have a backup and be back in London just one day later – yes, expensive and painful, but I could afford it. If the strike was called off (I was praying to all the Norse Gods for this option), I would cancel my BA flight and get that crazy sum of money back.

So I booked it. And that was the only thing that allowed me to get some sleep that night. It was going to be okay, no matter what happened, and I did not want my anxiety to haunt me whilst I was exploring Iceland, looking out over some of the most wonderful landscapes I have ever seen in my life…

“If I see any of you coming back to the bus with a horned helmet, or with any souvenirs of Vikings wearing horns, you are not allowed back on this bus,” the guide announced.

I swallowed hard.

I collect magnets from every place I visit, and the day before, I had bought a handmade one with the cute face of a bearded Viking… What had I done? A cultural crime?

He explained that Vikings did not wear horned helmets. The horned Viking helmet image was popularised through 19th-century Romantic art and theatrical costume design, particularly Wagnerian opera…I allowed myself to breathe. Okay, I sort of knew that. But the reality is that this image has been widely adopted, including in the Nordic countries themselves. So… at least I didn’t buy a horned helmet, I guess?

My experience with Icelandic guides – sarcastic, often with a dark sense of humour, proud of their country and heritage, knowledgeable, and always ready for a laugh. But of course, not all cultures are used to this.

What I found strange, though, was how directly they looked me in the eyes when talking to me. I noticed it immediately, and it made me uneasy. I realised that in my day-to-day life, we don’t really do that.

He drove the bus nuts making fun of the Danes and their language. Icelanders have a thing about the Danish, as Iceland was under Danish rule for centuries, and well… Denmark didn’t exactly treat them kindly, restricting their ability to trade with other countries and leaving them terribly vulnerable during the darkest times.

So of course… they’re allowed to make fun of them.

And I laughed at his impression of the Danes speaking Danish: “It’s like they’re throwing up!”

Thankfully, we had no Danes on the tour.

This was the day the weather turned. Strong winds started to blow, but for most of the day, we had sunlight. And it turned out to be a day of contrasts – deep, bright greens, followed by icy whites and, finally, black sands…

My guide said he had made a pact with Thor. I could believe it. He definitely looked like a bearded Viking, minus the horned helmet.

The first stop was Seljalandsfoss waterfall. Whilst incomparable in size and majesty to Gullfoss, Seljalandsfoss feels more like a cosy refuge, somewhere animals could safely approach to drink some water. The surroundings are gorgeous. Endless green fields, sheep grazing calmly, yet looking over at us with curiosity.

And yet, this calm and tranquillity are misleading. Every so often, volcanic eruptions shatter the peace, leaving destruction in their wake. We stopped by the Skeiðará Bridge Monument, a reminder of the true force of Nature.

In 1996, a volcanic eruption beneath the Vatnajökull glacier melted enormous amounts of ice, eventually triggering massive glacial floods. Whilst the bridge had been built to withstand considerable flooding, nothing could have prepared it for the house-sized icebergs carried across the plain by the floodwaters. These crashed into the bridge, wiping it out and creating a gap in Iceland’s main Ring Road.

All that remained were two twisted girders by the side of the new road, where we stopped.

It was at this point that we really began to feel how strong the wind was becoming. Still, I took a couple of minutes to admire the views of the glaciers – Skeiðarárjökull and Svínafellsjökull.

And whilst all of this was impressive, the crown jewel of the day was the Glacier Lagoon and Diamond Beach… except that when we arrived at Diamond Beach… there were no “diamonds”.

Of course, I’m not referring to actual diamonds. Usually, blocks of ice wash up on the black sand, resembling scattered diamonds, which is where the beach gets its name.

As we approached, my guide could immediately see something was wrong – no tour buses, vans or cars were parked there. As we stepped off the bus, we realised why. The winds were so strong that they were producing enormous waves, with the sea covering most of the beach, hiding and potentially washing away any “diamonds”.

Even my guide was surprised – it didn’t seem to be a common occurrence. It was funny to see his face, but also a bit scary. I couldn’t believe it was the first time he had seen it like that, and bear in mind, he’s Icelandic.

When I stepped off the bus, the wind almost knocked me over. It was so strong, and so cold. Black sand was flying all around us… After a few minutes, I ran to take shelter behind the bus, as I really did not want to get any sand in my eyes (I hadn’t brought an extra pair of contact lenses…).

I was far from being bummed out by it, because the true crown jewel was Jökulsárlón Glacier Lagoon.

Yet, when we got there, much to my guide’s surprise as well, the boat ride had been cancelled. The winds were so strong that it wasn’t safe to go out on the water.

Okay… so something else that didn’t go as planned, but… how could I be even slightly annoyed when I was surrounded by one of the most beautiful and ethereal landscapes I have ever seen in my entire life?

I didn’t care about the wind. I endured it.

I spent all that extra time admiring and observing the icebergs peacefully floating in the lagoon, seemingly unbothered by the strong winds. The dark patches in the ice are layers of volcanic ash that became trapped in the glacier, potentially from eruptions that happened centuries ago… if not millennia.

I did not know there could be so many different ways for ice to be beautiful, how it could take on so many different shades of white, and how white could be blue and blue could be white.

If it hadn’t been for the wind ringing in my ears, even attempting to rip the camera from my hands, it would have been even more peaceful…

But you know what I ended up doing, like a madwoman?

Laughing.

The wind, my resilience against it, this absurd landscape beyond anything I could ever have dreamed of, and me, laughing at the strangeness of the whole situation. Tears streamed from my eyes, whether from the stinging cold or the emotion, I couldn’t tell.

I even shouted at the wind sometimes, asking it to just give me a break.

But truly? It did not bother me. I was in touch with my natural, wild side. Air is, in fact, my element, so wind should not be a bother.

And my windbreaker was a lifesaver.

If you think these photos are beautiful, you’re in for a treat. It is damn magical. That’s all I can write.

After experiencing that wind, I felt sort of crazed, I’m not going to lie. And I collapsed back into the warmth of the bus. I really did not want to close my eyes and miss the views from my window. I wanted more and more and more.

The next stop was Vík, a tiny village by a black sand beach. It was golden hour, with patches of showers and sunshine here and there. The wind was heavy with salty air. There was something so ominous about that stop.

But what truly woke me up was the Seljalandsfoss waterfall – I didn’t even dare bring my camera along, using my phone instead to take my very wet photos.

Have you ever walked behind a waterfall? Well, this is the place to do it. It felt like something out of a fairytale, the sort of thing you see in films or anime set in fictional lands.