Надо сказать, здесь очень популярен автостоп. Сплошь и...

I must say, hitchhiking is very popular here. Every now and then there are people with large backpacks who need to get closer to some damned gods hole where they plan to walk on foot along rocks and glaciers. Another example shows that there is almost no crime. Just imagine, ladies - will you go hitchhiking with one girlfriend somewhere in the Caucasus? And here it is everywhere. The first two, which we picked up, were German and Swiss, who moved to live in Reykjavik. They glanced at our map, pointed at a point on the shore, and said that it was cool there and we would definitely stop there. Then they left the board, threw their backpacks and walked a hundred kilometers deep into the glacier. And we sat down with the other two, this time from the former Yugoslavia. Slovenia and Montenegro, if not confusing. And they just went to this point. The point is located closer to the southeast, where the mountains move to the coast, and glaciers are shown above. A characteristic sign of a glacier nearby is a narrow iron bridge across a highway one car wide, under which flows a muddy rapids streaming over islets of black pebbles. We must understand that now is the end of summer. Judging by the terrain, in the spring a trickle turns into a full-fledged river, capable of messing things up. On the banks everywhere there are security cameras to nip a possible fucked up bud. But at the desired point the glacier is very close, and therefore the river Yokusla is always there. Sooner or later, the ocean will turn it into another fjord, but for now it is there, and blocks of bright blue ice float along it. The blocks are floating from a hefty icy lake, over which clouds constantly hang, adding diffused lighting. You can admire endlessly, but such coldness comes from the ice that soon you run into the car in a panic to get warm.
The farther east, the more glaciers. Over the glaciers are hanging caps of clouds, flooding down to the road. The conditional border of the regions passes through a one-and-a-half-kilometer tunnel cut in the rock. You just rode, admiring the low clouds in the light of the sun, and then you get to the East. Most of the East is similar to Skyfall: the same hopeless stony wastelands, small lakes, mountains and fog. A lot of fog. More just nowhere. The road winds through the rocks, rising higher, and visibility is reduced to a few tens of meters. On the map was the port town of Dupivogur with the note "fjord chic panorama", but in fact we only recognized it as a port when the masts of ships in the harbor came through the fog. I had to give up and break through to the north. Visibility is all reduced, the asphalt was replaced by a primer (this is, for a second, the main road of the island), and then hitch-up Max appeared from the mist.
Max was an Icelander, so I suspect that in fact his name is very different. And do not care, we also called ourselves Paul and Steve. Another thing is important - this positive pretzel was quite seriously going to stand with a tent somewhere on the stones in the impenetrable fog. Yes, and lane with a guitar. He drove five kilometers with us, got out and disappeared. I suspect that he is still a drug addict and now plays music with an elf orchestra.
The third checkpoint is located at an altitude of about 600 meters, and now there is officially no life around. But right behind the threshold are thermal baths with temperatures of 38 and 42 degrees. The second is what is needed. While you lie in it, the head is completely cleansed, and only the leaden cloud looming in the distance above the kilometer tops of the Flotsdalhpur glacier does not give rest. One wonders if you think about it - did Thor interrupt all the ice giants?