Geysirs are fun for humans, but look at them, trekking up hill.
Making new humans is funner.
The question is: who has the right to erode Iceland? The Icelanders, by inviting rock stackers?
Or the rock stackers themselves? Iceland invites visitors to view nature.
Human nature is what the modern world can deliver instead.
Be careful what you wish for. Ethical dilemmas don’t go away by wishing so.
One eye? A raven for a brow and another tucked in by his chin?
Þingvellir
Well met, Oðin!
Here’s an ancient troll in Dimmuborgir, keeping an eye on those flighty humans.
And a modern one in Víðimýri, doing the same good work.
Thanks guys, for the hand.
Even the trolls did it.
Some good head action by the troll team at Þingvellir.
Nicely blocked by Team Iceland!
Colour match.
The rest is improvisation.
Forget white! Skeiðárjökull wears her ash well.
Before it melts…
… and goes to sea…
… and comes back.
Dyrholáey is a wonderful bird sanctuary, and you can drive up the cliff on something approximating a road and look out over the sea from the lighthouse stoop. Wondrous. But when it’s your first visit to Iceland, and you don’t know any better, you can also stop in the wrong place, with Italians and Germans dodging around you in their rented Yaris’s, and take an image of the lighthouse from the edge of the bird fields (there really is nowhere to stop, and walking on the grass and disturbing the birds is strictly forbidden), and see the Island (that is an island no more) plowing out to sea.
Being in the wrong place is best. You can find the unexpected end of the trail.
Or be plodding cold through the dawn fields, blowing on your fingers, dreaming of coffee, when suddenly it’s 20,000 years ago and you know, you just know, you can read the Earth like a book.
You can take a picture of a shop window that strikes you as incongruous, and years later realize that it’s not. It’s Iceland at heart. This is what comes of 1100 years of Irish women freezing in the cold.
Interchangeable, insulated tattoos. You just never know. That’s the thing. You walk down the street, and there it is: the Tower of Mordor!!!! With the nuclear clock at two minutes to midnight!!!
You can go to Kjarvalstaðir, the Art Gallery, to see Kjarval’s works…
… and realize that everyone else comes for the lunch! You can find a trail on the internet, then try to follow it through the, well, bog, but you get to know the mountain.
You just never know. Do it all wrong, I say, to do it right.
You might as well mix it up, eh.
In Iceland, even the grass has a mind of its own.
And the clouds.
This makes farming hard. There are even traffic rules for tractors in downtown Reykjavik!!!!!
Well, you can always make some art.
And the geese have run away for the day.
Under the cover of the rain.
Sheep, too.
Just try to make a living like that!
Can’t even walk across your field without breaking a hoof.
And the fields are vertical. Tricksy.
And your horses are begging from passersby.
Sheesh.
You wind up commuting into town for work, that’s what.
Danger in that in summer too. Not enough tourists in the summer in the rain to keep down the grass.
Note to self: bring a weed whacker.
After all, gas is expensive.
And the artists have gone strange.
It’s not normal, you know.
Good thing there’s golf!
Well, yeah, the wind’s blowing, but, hey, you know. You can always pretend its not there.
Right?
Right! 
The Iceland the Icelanders send you to on the bus is magical.
Seljalandsfoss
So is the one they live in, across the road.
One has water blowing in the wind. One has volcanic ash blowing in the wind. These are the big choices. Hmm. OK, also the Atlantic Ocean blowing in the wind.
Snaefelsnes
And, right, fog and rain blowing in the wind.
Seydisfjörður
Do they tell you about that? No, they do not. They tell you about the Blue Lagoon:
Not your style? Well, there’s this story, too.
Did you notice the consistent use of white? It’s a message. Let me show you again. One …
…two…
…three.
Icelanders know about whiteness.
How blue it is.
How watery.
And how it covers everything with illusion. OK, well, a backdrop for illusions.
And that in Iceland ghosts are everywhere.
And they are white.
Well, white and red. And white.
Right, and snow blows in the wind, too.
So, off you go!
… I come for the cities.
Welcome to Vik, sprawling metropolis of 291 people on the floor of the sea. For Gunnar, this was a last remnant of Atlantis.
Welcome to the Vik suburbs! Well, urban sprawl, eh, but, still, the Atlantic drop straight off and smells only of iodine and salt, so that’s ok, then.
And the waves of the Sea of Atlantis splash up over the bones of the world.
I like it that it does that. I just wanted you to know that tonight. Whatever ladder you use…
… to climb out of the surf…
… and make land.
A Farm in Iceland 
