The Power of Nature and the Nature of Contemporary Man. Volcanic Tourism in Iceland.
The Laws of Geology and the Laws of Globalization. The Power of Nature and the Power of Social Media. Nature and the crowd. Both worlds met in Iceland for the second time within a year and a half.
It is a cliche to say that the eruption of the Fagradalsfjall volcano, which took place in August 2022 on the Reykjanes Peninsula in Iceland, was a breathtaking spectacle. A spectacle worth marvelling at, especially after dark. A lake of fire in the middle, with "dense milk" bubbling in it, which my hiking companions compared to the magma spewed from the earth's bowels. However, the flowing river of lava, flickering in the distance and shimmering with colours, was equally impressive. I could also hear the volcano's song. Regular, rhythmic, and powerful. Although watching this spectacle, I kept hearing Bach's "Air on the G String" in my head. Somehow, this gentle melody harmonises with the manifestation of the elements that I witnessed. In short, the volcanic spectacle was fascinating. Equally fascinating were the people who came to witness it.
Fagradalsfjall means "mountain in a beautiful valley." Its eruptions took place in 2021 and 2022, starting in March and August, respectively, with the latter still ongoing as I write this text. I left Iceland at the end of 2020 after several years of staying there, and I only remember the numerous earthquakes preceding the first eruption, which occurred as early as December 2019. However, I only experienced the event through accounts - both on social media and over beers at a later time. In 2022, I had the opportunity to see everything with my own eyes, as I started a new job in May, which brought me back to the Land of Ice and Fire. Nomen est omen. Iceland twice forcefully reminded the world of the origins of its nickname.
The eruption in 2021 was preceded by numerous earthquakes. Along with them came an atmosphere of anticipation. I remember frequent reports in the media, not only Icelandic ones that I habitually follow wherever I am, but also international ones. I received messages from friends about numerous and disruptive earthquakes. Debates and considerations of "that moment" when it would happen. And a humorous comment from a friend on Instagram - "it finally gave birth" - under a photo taken from a window showing a red glow over the mountains. On March 19, a fissure opened and the first eruption occurred, lasting until September. It had a positive impact on the tourism industry in Reykjanes, gradually attracting crowds. Until then, the famous Blue Lagoon was the main attraction of the region. The events I had the opportunity to witness in August 2022 unfolded quite differently. For several days, the earth trembled slightly. Honestly, it didn't impress me much; I just turned over in my sleep. The earthquakes were much more frequent and stronger before the first eruption, long before my departure. But that's nothing unusual in Iceland, especially on Reykjanes, an actively volcanic "smoking peninsula." In my surroundings, the focus was on upcoming vacations or working overtime. Unexpectedly (sem reiðarslag, as we could say in Icelandic), Fagradalsfjall spoke again. I was on a break at work with my colleagues. We were all a bit sleepy; it was a busy and rather tiring day. The excited voice of our supervisor echoed through the room: "The volcano erupted." Like little boys, we instantly rushed to his monitor, and all drowsiness vanished. Needless to say, work that day didn't go as smoothly as usual. How could one focus on mundane matters in the face of such an event? It was my first indication that the volcano had also come alive in the human consciousness.
I arrived at the scene of events the next day. The first observation? Parking lots and shoulders filled with cars. I sarcastically asked my friends if they spotted any food trucks. In response, I learned that a year ago, there was a stand selling pylsur, Icelandic hot dogs. Two weeks later, a Fish and Chips stall appeared. After paying the parking fee (of course), we could embark on a pleasant trekking adventure with our companions. Well, it was enjoyable until we had to traverse a field of solidified lava. We chose a route that seemed shorter and easier, but to our dismay, it turned out to be much more demanding. Some people who had taken that trail gave up further hiking and settled for a distant view. Trails themselves are an interesting topic considering how quickly they were trampled by the crowds.
Ah, the crowds... My friends who accompanied me that day were even more struck by them than I was. According to them, in March 2021, there was initially a sense of uncertainty. The volcano eruption was something new after all. But it wasn't long before tensions grew between Fagradalsfjall and its admirers. Trails were marked, buses were organized, and parking lots were created. Taking the appropriate selfie became mandatory for residents of Reykjanes, Reykjavik, Selfoss, and beyond. Meanwhile, the second time around, things unfolded much faster. It was as if people's behavior was imitating nature. The crowds attacked just as quickly and unexpectedly as the opening of the fissure. From the beginning, the situation was under the watchful eye of the appropriate authorities, and the national airline even started adjusting its flights to circle over the volcano for passengers' viewing pleasure during landing.
Who did I encounter on the spot? Senior couples, as well as young children with their parents, sometimes carried them on their shoulders. People of middle age and teenagers. Some were properly equipped for hiking, with trekking poles, headlamps, sturdy boots, thermoses of hot drinks, as well as fleeces, jackets, and comfortable backpacks. Others came in Adidas shoes and sports jackets, without even a flashlight. The same applied to their familiarity with the terrain. During the return journey in the darkness, I remember a teary-eyed girl who was afraid to conquer the last stretch, a rather nasty and slippery slope. I offered her my hand, helped her descend, and reassured her, saying, "It's okay now." A few days later, I laughed at my friend's statement, "I'll never go to any volcano again, just rocks, rocks, rocks. Everywhere rocks along the way!"
An interesting category was photography equipment. Some held smartphones in their hands, most likely recording countless Insta stories, and taking selfies. One couple, in particular, stood out in my mind. They spent a good fifteen minutes conducting a photoshoot, clearly aiming to capture the perfect shot. The central theme was relaxation in a sleeping bag with the volcano in the background. On the opposite end of the spectrum, there were users of "real" photographic equipment, likely worth tens of thousands of dollars. I saw the latest high-end camera bodies from top brands, often accompanied by powerful telephoto lenses. There was also an intermediate group armed with older or slightly lower-end gear, as well as those defying the photographic arms race using analog cameras. Personally, equipped with a worn-out mirrorless camera, I used it as my main workhorse as usual. However, I couldn't resist the temptation to capture a short film with my cell phone, showcasing the impressive fiery panorama. Simultaneously, I brought along my old Praktica PLC3, a gift from my dad, loaded with the iconic Ektachrome E100 film.
I had the opportunity to catch snippets of Portuguese, Spanish, French, Italian, Russian, and, of course, Icelandic, Polish, and English—the most popular languages on the island. In addition to conversations, one could hear curses, exclamations of awe, or snippets of songs playing from phones. Some made it a point of honor to light a joint made of lava. Others apparently didn't feel the need for such a spectacular gesture, so they smoked tobacco or marijuana while contemplatively observing the spectacle. Some relieved themselves on the lava. Others operated drones, their buzzing sound omnipresent. They patiently and calmly explained the extraordinary natural phenomenon to their children, providing them with binoculars. Some sketched. Others drank beer, whiskey, wine, and champagne. Tenderly cuddling with each other, mesmerized by the grand fires. They joyfully indulged in the delicacies they brought, and I am not an exception in this regard. Some littered while others, disgusted, picked up trash left by others. Some grew bored, either alone or with friends, disappointed by the sight they had to put so much effort into seeing. Hypnotized, they marveled at the view—alone or in a group of friends. A strange combination of a peculiar fair and a reverential mystery of admiration for the forces of nature.
Returning to my venerable Praktica - back in the early 90s, my dad used it to capture my first steps. Could he have imagined then that the camera he held in his hands would end up in a distant corner of the world, taking pictures of an erupting volcano? I must ask him about it during my next visit home, although I already know the answer. The world has shrunk, and adventure has become commercialized. And today, the eruption of a volcano has something of a festival atmosphere. But damn it, instead of constantly complaining, I think I'd rather say this time - it's great that I could be there!
Only one photo. Made by Praktika PLC3, of course.
Update 27.07.2023: In July 2023, another volcanic fissure opened up. Here we go again.
