So, things were looking grim: your humble servants, exhausted to the point of stupor, and dreading the onset of dusk, were pondering what to do next. Suddenly Andrey exclaimed: “Look, there's a house by the lake.” And sure enough, there was one marked on the GPS map too, I confirmed. Instinct inexorably drew us toward light, warmth, and human society, so we hauled ass with all our might toward the alluring structure.
Before that, we bombed down a crazy hill
As always, things turned out to be far from simple. A river blocked our path, and the most raging one we'd seen yet at that.
It was only later that we were told the depth at the crossing point was practically waist-deep, and whether we would have managed to make it across is a big question mark.
Then, fortunately, a small miracle occurred — the river turned out to be navigable not far from the vehicle ford, the river disappeared under some rocks perfectly suited for pedestrians, which is what we were half the time in Iceland.
Having struggled down a path quite obscenely littered with sharp-edged cobblestones, we finally reached the coveted shack, not even suspecting what it actually was. We were hoping, of course, for who knows what. That they'd take us in out of pity, like last time? Or that they'd at least let us pitch our tent nearby and use some of the facilities?
Things turned out to be much more interesting, and at the same time simpler. I knocked, cautiously stepped inside calling out, “Who's there?”, but only silence answered me. What I'd read before about rescue huts for trekkers came to mind, but the dwelling's size didn't exactly match the descriptions of those. The mysterious inscriptions in Icelandic right at the entrance, frankly speaking, didn't clear anything up in the first few seconds either.
The toilet off to the side
No stomping on the wooden floorboards in your boots!
But this little box put everything in its place
It turned out that the house is a perfectly commercial enterprise, meant for tourists to spend the night. If you wander in here by accident, the price list and payment options are readily available — you see them right in front of you in the form of a price tag and a little box. A night costs 17 Ls.
Of course, to us, exhausted and already bracing for trouble, this house seemed like a heavenly palace. Especially when, in the hefty weird little coffins with grilles and reflectors, I recognized Japanese liquid fuel heaters. Unlike Kitya's, our heaters ran not on kerosene, but on a special mixture of suitable hydrocarbons, but that doesn't change the essence: these devices are indispensable where there's no electricity or gas, but the smell they leave in the room is like what a cyclist gets from a KAMAZ driving by.
Nevertheless, when I figured out how to fire up these marvels of Japanese engineering, our happiness knew no bounds. In theory, gleaned from the English manual, they should easily turn on automatically from a battery, but if there ever were any in them, they were recycled into their components by ecologically conscientious Icelanders a decade ago. Nobody bothered to buy new ones for the simple reason that they wouldn't last long in the cold and damp, and supplies, by the looks of it, aren't delivered here all that often. I just had to open the grille and light the wick in the center with a lighter. It's soaked in liquid fuel, flares up in a few minutes, and blasts out heat like nobody's business.
We also found gas in the house
And a stove for it
An abundance of kitchenware
Lighting supplies
Eating supplies
And a guestbook, which we were too shy to fill out
In the end, we cooked meals a whole two times (the gas was a freebie), made tea twice (we found brown cane sugar on the shelf), dried our clothes, and slept in the warmth on soft beds. Water to the house comes from the waterfall in the photo above, also convenient. It was as if I knew there would be occasions when we'd have an excess of gas, and I brought along some slow-cooking provisions like rice and millet, although it defied rational logic at the time. Andrey was lucky too: if the house hadn't appeared on our path, he'd be risking a smack to the forehead from me for being stingy on buying gas, but as it was, he got off the hook. The previous tourists, by the way, were in the hut just a few days ago, judging by the guestbook.
I remembered, by the way, that on the rock-road I wiped out on my bike and tore my favorite pants, bought in Vietnam. And the whole thing happened because I locked the fork to make riding easier, but forgot to unlock it when the terrain changed. I'm inattentive as it is, and when I'm tired, I'm a lost cause. Good thing I didn't get scratched up too badly, I'd slowed down in time.
This day remained in our memory as something exceptionally fantastic, practically on par with the day of the storm. It's all about the contrast: first, the alien, human-devoid pseudo-road with its harshness that made you grimly press your lips together, and then the house — as a symbol of peace, hospitality, and abundance.