It was still only the second day of our two-week camping road trip round Iceland, and we still had no satisfactory place to sleep. But hell, we brushed the sleep issue to the side, the main reason we had come to this delightfully drab hub of the North West was to find the much talked about hot pool in the middle of know-where backing out onto the ocean.
Finding the hot pool
So we set off to find it, following the scant instructions in the ‘Rough Guide’. After driving up and down various roads about five times, we discovered that we had to drive through the port area (building site), over lots of rubble (thanks for the 4WD) and up this faint track.
The track was said to have followed the shore round for about 25k, so we figured this was the only thing that could be it. We drove through field after field, opening and closing gates, ushering sheep and horses out-of-the-way.
Locals peered out of their windows, wondering why the hell some random couple was driving up this way at 9pm on Sunday night. After what seemed like ever, because we had to drive so slowly and were so starving, we eventually got to the hot pool and it was breath-taking. There on the side of this pinnacle just a couple of feet from the rocky shore was a shallow steaming hot pool, which was about as rustic as it gets.
The only things in the vicinity were a few derelict old farm buildings, which no doubt in a couple of years time will become another outlet to rip off the unsuspecting tourist in the form of deluxe changing facilities, with entry gates charging a bomb to take a dip.
Braving the cold
So we’d driven all this way, now it was time to brace the elements, change into the swim kit and leg-it to the warmth of the pool. This involved stripping stark bollock naked (well not for me because I’m a lady but you know what I mean) in the howling wind while standing on gravel – not the most comfortable changing experience. Once in the pool it was awesome, we looked over the sea northwards and saw the island that some famous folk law character was supposed to have swum from and nearly carked it, were it not for the thawing therapy of the hot pool.
Anyhow, time was getting on. We’d spent 30 minutes “chilling”, or more accurately warming, in the pool and had succeeded in turning ourselves into prunes. So we concluded it was time to get on.
Getting out the pool, we realised that all this time, we had been sloshing around in the make shift hot pool, the real old one was set just behind. It turned out to be considerably smaller and slimy too. Sitting on the ledge was a hazardous experience, as you could easily slip arse over tit on the green gooie stuff, but it made for great pictures.
By this time, it had reached 10pm on Sunday and we still hadn’t eaten and we still had nowhere to sleep for the night…come back next time for the next installment.
p.s. double promise to tell you about hubby waking everyone one up in the middle of the night by leaning on the car horn.