Feel the rumble at Iceland’s new Lava Centre
Museum provides interactive, educational experience while in the land of fire and ice
ICELAND— Until now, my volcano expertise has been slightly limited. I know that a volcano is a rupture in the earth’s crust which allows hot lava to escape from magma chambers beneath the surface. But that’s about it. I thought that a fumarole was a type of food (it’s actually a gas-leaking opening in the earth’s crust) and that scoria was a girl’s name (it’s a type of lava).
All this changed when I set foot in Iceland’s Lava Centre, a new museum dedicated to the island’s geology.
The flat, low building, which reminds me of a space station, is in the town of Hvolsvollur. It’s surrounded by vast expanses of dark, volcanic rock and three active volcanoes (including Eyjafjallajokull, which brought flights to a standstill when it erupted in 2010). Inside, it’s all about interaction.
In the next room there’s an enormous globelike device demonstrating how the movement of tectonic plates creates volcanoes. A huge, interactive wall map highlights the main areas of seismic activity. I’m able to experience the latter for myself in the next section: a narrow corridor fitted with a panel which simulates an earthquake measuring 3.5 on the Richter scale.
As it judders from side to side, hidden speakers emit the same low rumbling Icelanders heard when Eyjafjallajokull blew its top. I’ve never experienced an earthquake, but 3.5 will do me just fine, thanks.
Equally unsettling is the ash cloud corridor, designed to recreate the thick layer of ash which blanketed-Iceland in 2010. Less unnerving and infinitely more spectacular is the room containing a model of the lava stream beneathIceland: a glowing tower which rises from the floor and twists upward, finishing just beneath an outline of Iceland, high above.
Barriers surround the structure, and when I lean over them, I notice that mirrors have been used to create the impression I’m actually peering into a lava-filled, bottomless hole. I also love the collection of different types of lava rocks which visitors can touch, and the room with floor-toceiling screens depicting Iceland’s different volcanoes. When I stand on a floor panel and point at a certain one, information about its size, history and previous eruptions appears.
And when the real thing happens, visitors can head outside to a viewing platform to watch the action unfold.
“Both Hekla and Katla are due for an eruption soon and the platform is the best spot to see them in action,” says Asbjorn Bjorgvinsson, the centre’s marketing director. I can’t help but think I’ll be running for my car rather than teeing up a volcano selfie.
I leave the Lava Centre imbued with a new, deeper understanding of the forces which have shaped Iceland over thousands of years.
Later that day, I don my helmet and clamber into the depths of the cathedral-like Raufarho-lshellir lava tube, created when a river of hot lava forced its way to the earth’s surface thousands of years ago.
Thanks to the Lava Centre, I’m slightly less baffled when the guide points out frozen drips of lava, some of which are still bright red. I’m able to understand why the light-absorbing qualities of volcanic rock mean that, when we flick off our head torches, there’s not a single pinprick of light, even though, just around a bend in the tunnel, is a natural skylight created when a section of the lava tube’s roof caved in.
When I visit the Geysir, which shoots boiling hot water into the air every few minutes, I’m less perplexed by its almost clockwork-like regularity, and I know that the startling, deep blue hue of the bubbling, steaming water is caused by the silica, and the way it reflects sunlight.
Iceland has a way of taking visitors by surprise.
Our final stop is the Krysuvík geothermal area, a maze of bubbling mud pits and hissing pools of boiling water, all surrounded by sulphurstained hills.
A boardwalk winds between pools of deep, bright green water and cra- ters puffing out gusts of noxious steam. The sensation that I’ve stepped onto the moon is heightened by the large footprints I notice.
But it’s not the dusty imprint of Neil Armstrong’s moon boots, but a hiking boot-sized print, well beyond the sign which clearly warns visitors not to veer off the path.
Depressingly, I’m sure this particular person wasn’t the first to put his or her foot straight through the paper-thin crust between themselves and a pool of bubbling, boiling hot water.
I might have Iceland figured out, but human beings? Not yet. Tamara Hinson was hosted by Promote Iceland, which didn’t review or approve this story.