Bieberland
Not everywhere in Iceland met with our universal approval. While some places brought a pleasant surprise, there were others that found us harrumphing noisily as we pulled up at a packed car park, and sighing as we realised we’d need to do battle with other human beings to get a view. Take Fjaðrárgljúfur for instance. It was a place that had all the hallmarks of great promise, a high sided narrow winding canyon, through which runs a shallow river, small soft cascades offering a happy detour from the main road near the equally difficult to pronounce town of Kirkjubæjarklaustur. The place names around here seem to be even more arcane than is usual in a country where attempting to say anything at all requires a certain degree of tonsillar dexterity. Come to think of it, I’m not sure I can get through “tonsillar dexterity” without tripping up somewhere in the middle. I’m glad nobody asks me to read this stuff aloud.
Fjaðrárgljúfur seemed to have attracted quite a number of visitors. Ok, so we were here in the middle of the afternoon, gradually making our way towards Vik from Jökulsárlón, but even so, it felt busy as we squeezed our van into the car parking area. And of course we already knew that the welly boots would be redundant here. That’s the problem with Feeyardarawotsit you see (spell checker just blew up by the way); it’s been tainted by a teenage pop sensation and now it’s mostly off limits. All the fault of one Justin Bieber. Apparently his music videos have blighted the plane wreck too.
I should stress here that I’m a leading authority on neither Mr Bieber nor his work. In fact I know nothing about him at all, other than the fact that the “i” comes before the “e” in his surname, he’s aged somewhere between twelve and forty-six, and is either a fresh faced teenager with carefully airbrushed pimples, or on his fifth marriage and counting after a number of high profile alimony disputes. I gather he is, or was very popular. If you can name one of his songs, you’re doing better than me. I didn’t even bother to watch his videos during the countless hours of research I did before this trip. You can only do so much preparation you know. I’m sure he’s very talented - I just wish he’d stayed away from Iceland. It’s bad enough fighting off other togs for the prime spots, but when a gang of Instaselfie teenyboppers arrive, armed with giggles and iPhones, things can get nasty.
What I’d have loved to do here, is quietly potter around in the canyon, revelling in the fact that while others packed a bottle of gin or two in their suitcases, I kept the space free for my wellies, planting the tripod in the water here and there, mostly getting it wrong, but maybe just once finding something worthy. Of course it’s a fragile space that the authorities want to protect, but then again if that teen idol had stayed away, a tide of adolescent adoring hordes might have done too, instead leaving the canyon to a pair of peaceful middle aged seventies rock fans who were only too aware of how sinful it is to tread on the moss.
So sadly, the only option open to us was to traipse up the dedicated path to the dedicated viewing point, a thoughtfully placed balcony at the head of the canyon, where we waited our turn. Once we were installed in the best position, we still had to wait for one of those “in-between” moments when the balcony was vacant apart from ourselves. That’s the trouble with those lofty steel platforms - the minute anyone shuffles from one side to the other, it bounces around like the main stand at a football stadium when the home team has just scored a vital goal. And with all those energetic young Bieberites around, bouncing was the order of the moment. This was only a six second exposure, but it needed to be a bounce free six seconds unless I fancied trying a bit of ICM.
We didn’t stay long. Maybe an extended visit might have resulted in some amazing discovery, but on the face of it there was only one shot, unless you had a drone. Neither of us are brave enough to own one. With some dramatic light the view here can come to life, as I’ve seen in one or two fine examples, but in the middle of the day, there was nothing doing. This shot looks like pretty much every other shot from Feey…whatstheuse, and the fact it’s taken me four years to post it probably tells you what I think. It’s only because I wanted to write a story about a pop star whose music I’ve never knowingly listened to that it’s here at all. I hope the read was worth it…..
Bieberland
Not everywhere in Iceland met with our universal approval. While some places brought a pleasant surprise, there were others that found us harrumphing noisily as we pulled up at a packed car park, and sighing as we realised we’d need to do battle with other human beings to get a view. Take Fjaðrárgljúfur for instance. It was a place that had all the hallmarks of great promise, a high sided narrow winding canyon, through which runs a shallow river, small soft cascades offering a happy detour from the main road near the equally difficult to pronounce town of Kirkjubæjarklaustur. The place names around here seem to be even more arcane than is usual in a country where attempting to say anything at all requires a certain degree of tonsillar dexterity. Come to think of it, I’m not sure I can get through “tonsillar dexterity” without tripping up somewhere in the middle. I’m glad nobody asks me to read this stuff aloud.
Fjaðrárgljúfur seemed to have attracted quite a number of visitors. Ok, so we were here in the middle of the afternoon, gradually making our way towards Vik from Jökulsárlón, but even so, it felt busy as we squeezed our van into the car parking area. And of course we already knew that the welly boots would be redundant here. That’s the problem with Feeyardarawotsit you see (spell checker just blew up by the way); it’s been tainted by a teenage pop sensation and now it’s mostly off limits. All the fault of one Justin Bieber. Apparently his music videos have blighted the plane wreck too.
I should stress here that I’m a leading authority on neither Mr Bieber nor his work. In fact I know nothing about him at all, other than the fact that the “i” comes before the “e” in his surname, he’s aged somewhere between twelve and forty-six, and is either a fresh faced teenager with carefully airbrushed pimples, or on his fifth marriage and counting after a number of high profile alimony disputes. I gather he is, or was very popular. If you can name one of his songs, you’re doing better than me. I didn’t even bother to watch his videos during the countless hours of research I did before this trip. You can only do so much preparation you know. I’m sure he’s very talented - I just wish he’d stayed away from Iceland. It’s bad enough fighting off other togs for the prime spots, but when a gang of Instaselfie teenyboppers arrive, armed with giggles and iPhones, things can get nasty.
What I’d have loved to do here, is quietly potter around in the canyon, revelling in the fact that while others packed a bottle of gin or two in their suitcases, I kept the space free for my wellies, planting the tripod in the water here and there, mostly getting it wrong, but maybe just once finding something worthy. Of course it’s a fragile space that the authorities want to protect, but then again if that teen idol had stayed away, a tide of adolescent adoring hordes might have done too, instead leaving the canyon to a pair of peaceful middle aged seventies rock fans who were only too aware of how sinful it is to tread on the moss.
So sadly, the only option open to us was to traipse up the dedicated path to the dedicated viewing point, a thoughtfully placed balcony at the head of the canyon, where we waited our turn. Once we were installed in the best position, we still had to wait for one of those “in-between” moments when the balcony was vacant apart from ourselves. That’s the trouble with those lofty steel platforms - the minute anyone shuffles from one side to the other, it bounces around like the main stand at a football stadium when the home team has just scored a vital goal. And with all those energetic young Bieberites around, bouncing was the order of the moment. This was only a six second exposure, but it needed to be a bounce free six seconds unless I fancied trying a bit of ICM.
We didn’t stay long. Maybe an extended visit might have resulted in some amazing discovery, but on the face of it there was only one shot, unless you had a drone. Neither of us are brave enough to own one. With some dramatic light the view here can come to life, as I’ve seen in one or two fine examples, but in the middle of the day, there was nothing doing. This shot looks like pretty much every other shot from Feey…whatstheuse, and the fact it’s taken me four years to post it probably tells you what I think. It’s only because I wanted to write a story about a pop star whose music I’ve never knowingly listened to that it’s here at all. I hope the read was worth it…..