venta

And now on the theme of Iceland, we have...

I have an admission to make: I like rocks. My knowledge of geology is limited to differentiating rocks from animate objects, but I find them fascinating.

Iceland is, accordingly, a good place to visit. It's full of rocks. In fact, if you travel into Reykjavik from the airport on the sort of dank, grey day that has stolen the horizon you could be forgiven for thinking that there is nothing there but rocks.

In particular there are, on prominent hillocks, rocks piled on top of other rocks. This rapidly became a feature of the holiday. If there are loose rocks lying about on the ground, some enthusiastic Icelander will start putting them on top of each other. I don't believe they can do anything without first building a cairn somewhere. Even on quite lonely stretches of road you suddenly find heaps of stones - some looking properly constructed, some just the result of a few minutes work when someone was bored.

This reaches its freakiest at a point now on Route 1 (Iceland's ring road) where people traditionally added a stone to a cairn to bring them luck when undertaking a journey. The tourist board apparently sporadically drops rocks off there just to make sure there are plenty about, and signboards explain the custom (in five languages) and encourage tourists to do the same. The result is a vast array of cairns of slightly organic-looking black rock, spread across the plane like an invasion force from something sci-fi and low-budget.

Some rocks have become tourist attractions in their own right. One of our guide books noted the Dverghamrar ("Dwarf Cliffs") just off a route we were travelling. These turned out to be small(ish) clusters of basalt columns revealed by sea erosion, though now a long way inland. Basalt forms naturally into hexagonal structures, and these were stacked up in the middle of a field to form cliffs. I always thought basalt was black and shiny, but these were a sort of biscuity colour and sporting the occasional jaunty tuft of grass in cracks and crevices.

More basalt fun was to be had a few days later at Kirkjugólf ("The Church Floor") where the columns are below ground, their tops just protruding above the grass. Worn smooth, the area looks like a hexagonally paved section of stone flooring, incongrously surrounded by sheep.

Even in Reykjavik, which is a modern city, there are plenty of rocks to be had. The harbour is edged by a band of rocks (possibly for sea defence purposes) and, dotted along the edge of the seafront enterprising passers by have started piling the smaller ones on top of each other. There are pieces of sculpture everywhere, many of which involve rocks. Despite the complete lack of space constraints, Reykjavik has its fair share of tower blocks. I am firmly convinced that this is just the architectural equivalent of piling rocks on other rocks.

Vaguely in the rocks category we also have furry green sheep. We drove through miles and miles of furry green sheep. Actually, it's old lava fields - the lava dries into rounded hillocks and bumps and over time a rich, green moss overgrows it. The result ? A big area that looks like it's been colonised by furry green sheep. According to me.

Previously: Waterfalls, Volcanic Stuff.