The power of the winter scarf...

It was my last full day in Iceland, and after my unfortunate flirtation with spontaneity I wanted nothing more than to stay put in Reykjavik. But I convinced myself that there was so much more to see, and not to worry, today could not be any more disastrous than yesterday. I was wrong.

My goal today was to see the black sand beaches of Vik – and so I drove, 2 hours out of Reykjavik in a bizarre torrential rainstorm while the sun blazed just off to my right, it was very much like I was a cartoon character and the rain cloud was following me along. Well I made it to Vik, despite the weather, and the guide books didn’t lie - the beaches were a very bizarre black sand colour.

Vik is also known for a collection of fingerlike rock formations that extend out of the ocean…kind of creepy actually. The west end of the beach is home to cliffs that would make any birder randy. I as a future birder took great delight on them as well until I realized the imminent danger. In the summer months, these cliffs are a fantastic location to spot puffins, in the winter there seemed to be some type of angry gull nesting there.

I have a neighbor with an infant, and there is no doubt in my mind that she would murder in cold blood anyone that went near her little girl (I even see her eying me up if I hold her too tight), so I know the crazed look of a mother. When I got close enough to the cliff wall I was faced with a thousand birds, all with that crazy mother look in their eyes...I slowly backed away until the dive bombing started. Then I ran. Stupid birds – it’s not even nesting season!

Deciding that my time on the beach was done, I visited the other “attraction” of Vik, the church. Now the church isn’t listed anywhere as an attraction but I like the significance behind it, so I decided it was worth a visit. On a regular basis the 300 inhabitants of Vik regularly practice an evacuation routine in case of volcano eruption – they all run to the church on the hill to avoid the floods from the melting glacier. Plus, it’s a pretty church with a great view.

After a few more snaps I decided that I had tempted fate enough and decided to head back to Reykjavik. I am not going to fully tell you the next part because 1) it is still under investigation by the insurance company and 2) it makes me look like an idiot.
To sum up, there was a large rock and it damaged the car.

After the encounter I was driving down the highway, a little shaken up, when I started to smell something burning and hearing an unfamiliar sound. Panicking a little, I kept driving while trying to figure out what the problem could be. The car wasn’t pulling to the side so that eliminated a tire. The car hadn’t caught on fire, so I ruled out gas tank issue. And then I was out of things that could be wrong with a car.

It took a few more kilometers before I convinced myself to pull over...where I discovered the source of burning and the noise – part of the car’s trim had become unhinged from the frame after it was bent significantly upwards. I tried to snap the dragging piece in place, to no avail and then deduced, through basic physics that if I drove fast the piece would fly up off the ground! So I piled back into the no injured Mazada and took off down the National Icelandic Highway at no less than 120km/hr. It worked sort of…but even I realized that this could only be a temporary solution…there were several roundabouts in my near future, plus a treacherous mountain pass…120km/hr certainly couldn’t last forever.

Right then I had a flashback to my childhood…my younger brother and I took our newborn baby brother out of his cradle and tied him to our Old English Sheepdog with WINTER SCARVES! Gadzooks!! Winter scarves could fix anything. (On a side note – yes we did catch a lot of hell for that, even though our intent was pure and to this day we have not been properly thanked for giving him an amazing ride)

So I pulled over Mazada, and using my souvenir NZ National Rugby Team – All Black scarf (the scarf has to be tough, look who it’s the namesake for…), I hoisted up the dragging car piece in a sling, pried the back door open, fed the scarf through and then with all my might slammed the door shut again over the warped frame. I don’t mind telling you, I felt a little bit like a genius at that moment (definitely more so then when I damaged the car in the first place).

To conclude, I limped back into town, contacted the insurance company, got drunk at the hotel bar and didn’t drive again until it was time to go to the airport the next day. While regaling the story to the Thrifty car man, he cocked his head, looked at me and advised, “please, next time, you take bus”.

Bless, bless Iceland (bless, bless = bye, bye)
Takk for reading!