About ten minutes passed since the F35 became a dirt road.

You know those dystopian films that occasionally appear among the news in the cinema? Here, focus for a moment the scene in which a lonely car wanders aimlessly in a landscape completely abandoned by anthropogenic life, animal and plant, raising a great fuss as it passes.

One would think of being in a place where man disappeared for a destructive war, or for the arrival of aliens with bad intentions, or worse still not finding a living soul could correspond to a past where a deadly virus did its part hitting humanity (very relevant to the time this article was written).

After the first day spent in the bright green, and the second in the middle of a barbarian invasion, there was total emptiness around us. The scenography had changed significantly, showing one of the most severe areas of Iceland: the polar desert.

Land, sand and rock as far as the eye can see, with the white of the ice caps in the distance, from which rivers flowed through the Icelandic hinterland.

We passed very few cars going in the opposite direction.

The mountain roads, or F-Roads, are passable only in late spring and summer, and only with 4x4 vehicles, but obviously the level of difficulty varies depending on the road, as there may be some sections to wade. In the latter it is recommended to go with real off-road vehicles, while for roads like the F-35 simple 4x4 SUVs are enough.

The road became more and more bumpy, with some treacherous spots for the poor wheels of the Vitara, as the landscape became more and more lunar.

For a moment I imagined finding myself stationary, with a torn wheel, in an area without a field, but this thought disappeared as soon as we turned right to reach Kerlingarfjoll, a place where we would spend the night: in a flat area of ​​grass, surrounded by hills of rhyolite yellow-orange, there were dozens of tents, campers and caravans, more or less all arranged next to the river.

There were small tents, slightly larger tents and tribal tents, and all this scenography, seen from our angle, resembled a Sioux camp.

The hotel refuge was on the other side of the river, and it was there that we left our suitcases.

We walked on the path that ran along the stream, and after a good half hour of walking, we reached the small thermal pool: the water temperature was not high, but the pleasure of diving after all the dust eaten and the effort accomplished was unparalleled.

We then returned to the hotel, and after a failed attempt to sight the Northern Lights (almost impossible due to the too many hours of light), we decided it was time to sleep.

The next morning we left for Akureyri, taking the second part of the F-35.

Studying the stages at a table comfortably from home has an undoubted advantage: it is difficult to go blind, thus optimizing the holiday time, especially so as not to make your movements coincide with those of the tourist mass.

We had read about negative comments about Hveravellir and about the impossibility of relaxing in its much vaunted small thermal pool due to the overcrowding, but the choice of "when to go" is the cause that generates the comment: negative when too many people want that little pool, positive when few people benefit from it.

We arrived in the geothermal area of ​​Hveravellir very early.

The whole area was full of beautiful fumaroles, small rivulets and mud pools, and the surrounding land ranged from a light gray to a yellowish with red and blue points. The route to visit them was well signposted, with well-maintained wooden walkways. The area was surrounded by a bright green lawn with the inevitable sheep grazing quietly, and there were areas reserved for camping.

Instead of going into the path that we would follow later, we plunged into the steaming and completely empty thermal pool (it was very early in the morning).

Two pipes, one of boiling water (100°C, be careful not to get too close!) and one of cold water filled a small rocky pool, with white stones that acted as a barrier allowing the pool to fill up.

The water was over 40°C and believe us when we say it was the end of the world!

We left for Akureyri, and after an abundant hour we exited the F-35, returning to the rural civilization of farms, sheep and immense rolling mountains and rolling green hills.

We arrived at our destination in the early afternoon, and after checking in at the hotel we visited the small capital of the Icelandic north, surrounded by high mountains that protect it from the winds, and located in the Eyjafjördur fjord, the longest in the country (60 km).

We preferred to allow ourselves a half day of rest after all the kilometers traveled, rather than attempting to spot a whale tail in the distance with the many excursions that departed from there or from nearby Husavik.

I think it is right to propose these beautiful excursions to tourists, but the real possibility that a cetacean makes a pirouette 50 m from the boat, just for us, is very limited.