Touring Iceland on a Motorcycle
The
warden in the mountain hut at Nyidalur, a refuge at the very centre of this
islands vast interior, told me that "Iceland is actually the same size as
Ireland". I've been exploring the endless network of unsurfaced roads for
ten days now and the comparison seems unlikely.
After
fifteen hundred miles of volcanic dust, gravel and river crossings I head for
the city, the only city. More as a box ticking exercise than anything, I can't
leave without seeing Reykjavik.
After
so much jaw dropping wilderness the urban environment comes as a shock. I find
the cities only campsite and already I'm getting a bad feeling and not just
because I dislike campsites.
Travelling solo has meant I've met and talked to so many
people, indigenous and from afar, but here it's different. Pitching my tent on
a patch of land between the football stadium and a housing estate I notice that
even making eye contact is viewed as high risk.
Later
that evening, in the communal kitchen I turn my back on my cooking equipment
for five minutes and return to find my gas stove has been stolen by one of my
fellow campers. Reykjavik is without doubt one of the cleanest, greenest and
safest cities in the world but it also feels like the most expensive place on
earth and it's a betrayal I can do without.
The following morning, in a pathetic attempt to save the
equivalent of five whole British pounds I decide to visit all four of the
cities camping supply shops for the cheapest replacement stove. Walking through
the city centre I'm approached from the opposite pavement by a tall man in his
seventies. Jim is from California and has been admiring my muddy bike parked
further up the street. As a fellow motorcyclist he's intrigued to find out how
I got here and where I've been and we enjoy an animated conversation about a
shared passion. Jim's wife, Loretta appears from an adjacent shop and
recognising two men engrossed in all things two wheeled kindly invites me to
join them for dinner that evening to continue the discussion.
I gladly accept and an hour later I'm sat inside a warm
restaurant enjoying a delightful conversation and some delicious Icelandic
fish. The restaurant is on the outskirts of town and we are it's only
customers. Jim and Loretta, having called in for coffee in the morning
had been invited back especially by Skuli,the owner and chef, who'd insisted on
cooking up a traditional feast and he comes over to explain the cooking process
in every detail.
Over
dinner Jim mentions in passing his service during the Vietnam war and I ask him
if the movies I've grown up with bear any resemblance to his experience. As an
officer he was in charge of logistical support and he tells me that for every
man fighting at the front, 12 were supporting him from behind the line.
"They don't make movies about that" he says.
Loretta
jumps in and tells me that Jim was given the Bronz Star after the war but has
never told anyone,including her, any of the details surrounding the award. Jim
smiles, leans over and whispers "Its no big deal really. The mystery is
far better".
Riding out of town the following morning I
suddenly remember seeing a giant portrait painted on the side of a building out
by the docks. I'd seen it yesterday whilst hunting frantically for my
replacement stove and I turn back to find it for a photo. It's no where to be
seen but as I reach the end of the road and come to the roundabout to return
there it is facing me on the side of a large industrial unit. I position my
bike in front of it for the shot when a tall thin figure with a long beard
emerges from the building, covered in dust and carrying a portable drill.
Vinnustofa
introduces himself and tells me all about the artist, who's now travelling the
world on the back of the success of this particular piece of stunning graffiti.
He then asks if I'd like to join him for coffee.
I follow him through a small door and step into a gigantic
workshop where I'm greeted by a large polystyrene bull. As my eyes adjust to my
surroundings I'm confronted by other large statues, moulds, machinery and a
1950's Chevrolet pickup half buried in the chaos.
Vinnustofa,
it turns out, is a commercial artist and the extent of his talent and ingenuity
is breathtaking. His latest commission has been to design and build the giant
centre piece of Reykjavik's gay pride march, a huge multicoloured unicorn
carried on a low loader at the head of the parade. Made in three parts and
lowered into place by a crane, portions of it are still scattered across the
workshop.
Keen
to create a more lasting and permanent piece of art he then tells me he has
approached "the robbers" to help fund his next creation. His plan is
to build a giant arm reaching up from the sea, its hand clasping a Viking axe
in a stunning display of Icelandic defiance.
I'm confused by 'the robbers' part of the
plan and Vinnustofa goes on to explain that Icelands economic collapse of 2008
was caused by around twenty individuals some of whom are now in jail. Having
stolen the missing millions 'from the inside' these people then fled the
country and the cash has never been retrieved. He's hoping to bring some of it
back and I believe he'll succeed.
Vinnustofa's
also convinced another economic collapse is imminent and he's building an off
grid house out in the countryside to escape it. His plan is to power the
building from a salvaged electric car engine, in turn supplied by batteries
powered by a wind turbine. "The wind there blows twice a day" and he
shows me the written off donor car he's already purchased.
Three
hours later I'm back on the bike heading out of the city, my head spinning from
all I've seen and heard.
Suddenly
I begin to laugh out loud as it dawns on me that my experiences of the last twenty
four hours were all sparked by the theft of my stove and that I now owe the
thief a huge debt of gratitude.
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