TO THE VOLCANO THAT STOPPED EUROPE. WE STOOD JUST METRES FROM THE MOLTEN LAVA
In April 2010, we flew to Iceland to film a report on the economic crisis for Czech TV Prima. People were losing their jobs, their cars and the homes they could no longer afford to pay for. Meanwhile, in the south of the island, the earth had split open and begun spewing molten lava. We set out for the eruption, which was already visible from the Ring Road. Eventually, we stood just metres from the slowly advancing lava, watching orange fountains shoot out of the fissures. On our way back across the glacier, the northern lights appeared above us. At the time, we had no idea that just days later, the Icelandic volcano would be making headlines across Europe.
Iceland, where people were losing their jobs and homes
After landing, we rented a car and headed to see our friend Anna Kristine Magnúsdóttir. She prepared dinner for us and let us spend the night at her home. The following day, we went out into the streets of Reykjavík. Our assignment for TV Prima was to film reports on the economic crisis that had hit Iceland following the financial collapse of 2008.
Most people associated Iceland with prosperity, a high standard of living and security. But beneath that image, a very different story was unfolding. People were losing their jobs, and many could no longer keep up with payments on cars bought on credit or mortgages on their homes. Financial difficulties were affecting everyday life, including that of people who had come to Iceland from abroad in search of work.
We also filmed interviews with Czechs and Slovaks living there. For many foreign workers, losing a job was an especially hard blow. They had come to Iceland to earn money, often with specific plans and the hope of building a better life. Suddenly, they found themselves facing uncertainty, just like many Icelanders.
Anna helped us arrange a visit to the Icelandic Red Cross, where people in need were receiving food parcels free of charge. We had an interview scheduled with the organisation's director. But when we arrived outside the building with our camera, people waiting in the queue objected.
They did not want to be filmed. They were ashamed that they had reached a point where they needed food assistance.
I still remember that moment. We had come to film a report about the crisis, but suddenly we were standing in front of people who did not want anyone to see their misfortune. To them, the camera was not just a device recording images. It was a reminder that other people might see their private struggles.
Inside, in the room where they could collect food for free, they no longer seemed to pay much attention to us. We were able to film while their focus remained on what they had come for. The contrast between the queue outside and the room inside was telling.
It made me realise how easily people can lose not only their money, but also the sense of security they had taken for granted. We had come to Iceland to film an economic crisis. Yet alongside the stories of unemployment and debt, another story was beginning to unfold — a much hotter one.
Literally.
The 2010 Eyjafjallajökull eruption: when the earth opened up
A volcano had awakened in southern Iceland.
The eruption at Fimmvörðuháls began on 20 March 2010, along the mountain ridge between the Eyjafjallajökull and Mýrdalsjökull glaciers. A fissure opened in the ground, sending fountains of molten rock into the air. Lava spread across the surrounding landscape, gradually transforming the terrain.
We also filmed interviews with experts to provide context for the eruption. Our friend Pavla Dagsson, who worked as a scientist at the Icelandic Meteorological Office, arranged an interview with volcanologist Páll Einarsson of the University of Iceland. Thanks to him, we were able to include the perspective of someone who studied volcanic processes professionally, rather than relying solely on images and news reports.
But we did not want to stay in Reykjavík and tell the story of the volcano from a distance. We wanted to get as close as possible to the place where the earth had split open.
When we reached southern Iceland, the eruption was already visible from the Ring Road. Smoke rose above the landscape in the distance, and it was clear that something extraordinary was happening on the ridge. We decided to find out how close we could get to the fissure.
First, we tried approaching the eruption through Þórsmörk. But lava was flowing in that direction, and the area was closed. The route we had envisaged was not an option. We had to find another way.
We spent the night at Hotel Skógar in southern Iceland. There, we interviewed the owner, Thor, who told us that he slept well with the volcano behind him.
There was something typically Icelandic about that remark. Volcanoes, glaciers and unpredictable weather are part of life on the island. That does not mean people stop recognising their power. Rather, they learn to live alongside natural forces they cannot control.
At the time, we had no idea how dramatically the situation would develop. First, however, we wanted to reach the lava.
A superjeep: several hours into Iceland's wild interior
In the end, we decided to pay for an expedition in an Explorer superjeep, driven by an experienced driver who knew the terrain and understood how to get close to the eruption.
The ride was wild. At times, we were travelling at nearly 80 kilometres per hour across the glacial landscape. The vehicle powered through terrain that an ordinary passenger car would never have managed. Sitting inside, I began to wonder whether such a machine could actually roll over.
I asked the driver.
“Anything is possible,” he replied, bursting into laughter.
It did little to reassure me. But he was an experienced driver who knew where he was going, and we trusted him. Several hours of travelling through a landscape that looked as though it belonged on another planet lay ahead of us: ice, snow, dark volcanic rock and seemingly endless open space. Somewhere ahead was the fissure from which molten lava was pouring.
By the time we arrived, it was late afternoon and dusk was beginning to fall.
Our first stop was about half a kilometre from the active area. From there, the entire spectacle opened up before us. The air was thick with smoke and the pungent smell of sulphur. Fountains of lava shot dozens of metres into the air. Helicopters circled above them, while glowing rivers of molten rock flowed continuously down the valley towards Þórsmörk.
Seeing an active eruption in person is very different from looking at photographs or television footage. At first, you take in the whole scene — its scale and power. Only then does it begin to sink in what you are actually witnessing: rock that was deep beneath the earth only moments ago, now moving across the surface of the landscape.
And we were about to get even closer.
A river of lava beneath our feet
We approached as close as conditions at the time allowed. We were only tens of metres from the active area. The river of lava was practically beneath our feet, while nearby, more orange fountains of molten rock rose into the air.
We could feel the heat radiating from the lava.
We made our way around the area to a point where one of the flows was advancing. There, we were able to approach within just a few metres. Glowing chunks of rock moved slowly forward, cracking and tumbling over one another. In places, the surface had already darkened, forming what appeared to be a solid crust. But between the rocks, the incandescent interior glowed red.
The black surface was deceptive. Beneath it lay temperatures difficult to imagine until you feel the heat on your own skin. Hot air rose from the fissures, while the incandescent rock continued its slow advance. The lava was not a motionless mass. It was a river, constantly changing, solidifying on the surface while continuing to push its way forward underneath.
We filmed as much as we could: the movement of the lava, its colour, the cracking sounds and the changing landscape around us. We were witnessing a process people normally associate with the distant geological past. Here, it was happening right in front of us.
We spent almost two hours at the site, yet it felt like a brief moment. Time seems to work differently during an experience like that. You watch the rock move, try to take in the details, and remain aware that you are standing before something you can neither control nor stop.
The lava fountains continued to shoot upwards, while glowing streams slowly advanced into the valley. Smoke, sulphur and heat surrounded us. Before us was a scene that leaves a far deeper impression than an ordinary tourist experience.
By the time we finally headed back to the vehicle, darkness was setting in. But the biggest surprise was still to come.
The northern lights above an active volcano
As we drove back across the glacier in the superjeep, the northern lights appeared above us.
The sky lit up directly above the eruption. After several hours spent beside molten lava, we were suddenly witnessing another natural wonder, this time high overhead. Below us lay the glacier, the active volcano remained visible in the distance, and above us the northern lights began to dance across the night sky.
Two Spanish travellers were riding with us. They had never seen the aurora before. For them, it was their first experience of the phenomenon. For all of us, the journey had turned into something impossible to plan: in a single day, we had seen the Earth's incandescent interior and then watched a light show high above a glacier.
But the romantic picture had its limits. The glacier was bitterly cold, and the thermometer inside the vehicle showed minus 38 degrees Celsius. Outside, the cold cut through our bodies despite several layers of warm clothing. You only had to stand still for a little while to understand that, beautiful as the northern lights were, the Icelandic cold left no room for lingering.
After several hours at the eruption, we headed back exhausted, frozen and overwhelmed by what we had seen. We did not reach Hotel Skógar until after midnight.
And that was when the final episode of the day began.
Ninety minutes with Thor
We wanted to put our equipment from the eruption into our rental car. But while doing so, I managed to lock the keys inside.
After a day spent getting close to molten lava, crossing glacial terrain and watching the northern lights on the way back, we suddenly found ourselves standing outside a locked car. No volcano, no lava, no glacier. Just the keys on the wrong side of the door.
Thor, the hotel owner who had already given us a place to stay and whom we had interviewed earlier, came to help. He tried to get into the car, but what should have been a simple task turned into a lengthy struggle.
It took him an hour and a half.
During that time, he could not resist commenting on his own efforts. A thief, he said, could get into the car in thirty seconds, whereas it had taken him a full ninety minutes.
His frustration was understandable. After such a long day, though, we could eventually only smile at the situation. We had just spent almost two hours near active lava, survived a wild superjeep ride and watched the northern lights above a glacier. Yet it was ordinary car keys locked inside the vehicle that kept us at the hotel.
Looking back on the journey today, it is precisely these little details that remind me what real experiences are made of. They are not just spectacular images of nature. They are also about people, their reactions, the small complications and the situations that cannot be planned.
The volcano that brought Europe to a standstill
When we set out for the eruption, we had no idea how much attention Iceland would soon attract. The Fimmvörðuháls eruption was primarily an effusive eruption, dominated by lava flows. But on 14 April 2010, activity began in the summit caldera of Eyjafjallajökull, this time beneath the glacier's ice cover.
The interaction between magma, ice and water helped drive explosive activity. Large amounts of fine volcanic ash began rising into the atmosphere. That was what turned a local volcanic event into a European crisis.
Volcanic ash is not ordinary smoke. It consists of tiny fragments of rock, minerals and volcanic glass that can remain suspended in the air and be carried thousands of kilometres by the wind. It poses a serious risk to jet engines: at high temperatures, the particles can melt, adhere to engine components and compromise their operation.
As the ash cloud began spreading across Europe, countries gradually closed parts of their airspace. Aircraft safety took priority over normal operations. Airports emptied, passengers found themselves stranded far from home, and airlines struggled to get people to their destinations.
According to the European organisation EUROCONTROL, approximately 104,000 flights were cancelled during the main eight-day period of the crisis, from 15 to 22 April. The disruption affected millions of passengers and demonstrated how easily a natural process in a sparsely populated corner of the world could affect everyday life across an entire continent
Suddenly, Iceland's volcano was being discussed around the world. Its name appeared in news reports, and people who might otherwise have struggled to find Iceland on a map were learning how to pronounce Eyjafjallajökull.
When I think back to that journey today, I remember not only the molten lava slowly folding over itself or the northern lights above the glacier. I also see the people queuing outside the Red Cross, ashamed that they needed help. I hear Thor complaining about the keys locked inside the car. And I remember standing just metres from a lava flow, looking into its incandescent interior.
We had travelled to Iceland to film two events that could hardly have seemed more different: an economic crisis and a volcanic eruption. One revealed how fragile human security can be. The other showed the power of nature, beyond our control.
A few days later, the 2010 Eyjafjallajökull eruption became a problem for the whole of Europe. But what stayed with us most vividly were the things we had witnessed at close range: molten lava, the glacier, the northern lights and a landscape that reminded us once again that Iceland is more than a beautiful place on the map. It is a living land, whose power can sometimes reveal itself in ways that affect the entire world.
About the Author
Iceland has fascinated me for many years. Over the course of numerous journeys across the island, I have driven tens of thousands of kilometers, experienced storms that changed travel plans within minutes, and witnessed days when choosing the right route meant discovering places that most visitors never see. I documented many of these experiences in my documentary film Island in the North.
Through this website, I share practical travel advice, up-to-date information, and firsthand experiences from the field to help others explore Iceland more safely and gain a deeper understanding of its unique landscapes and ever-changing nature.
Komentáře