We caught a ride with a weather old Icelandic man in an ancient RV. He didn’t speak a word of English, and rather than trying to explain where we wanted to be dropped off, we decided to ride all the way to Husavík with him. It was a charming little town, and we cooked dinner at a picnic table overlooking the colorful harbor.
Aftet that detour we got two more rides to Mývatn. The flies, although not biting, were miserably thick, so before pitching camp, we took the nearby 2km trail to Grótagjá, a super hot spring in a small cave. It used to be open for swimming, but now there is a sign saying you can’t go in. So, of course, we followed the sign and the following anecdote is pure fiction:
While standing outside the steaming rift in the ground, debating whether to climb in and see if it was cool enough to get in, an Icelandic guy and his Swedish cousins showed up and led the way. After sharing some beers while detoxing in the 43+ degree water and steam, the farmer who owned the land appeared ominously at the mouth of the cave to let inform us that , “You are leaving now.” So the Icelander gave us a ride back to the campsite by the lakeside, and we curled up to sleep soundly, our bodies feeling clean and refreshed by the natural sauna.