Midnight fun

One evening, on the north side of the island, we stayed up to watch it bounce off the sea just after midnight. We sat surrounded by folk from all over the world, beers in hand, waves stroking the shore while birds floated above the fiery orange sea. I’ve been lucky to have seen some extraordinary sights in my life to date, but this was right up among the best of them. My friend Maddie and I were fresh from a 9pm ‘quick run’ which hastily morphed into a slow mountain climb. Since we were up anyway, we thought we might as well watch the sunset, and warm up again before bed in one of the hot springs nearby. Where else in the world can you do that?

There was only one full day of driving over stony, desolate landscapes where we watched wild horses being rounded up and herded over the crest of a mountain. The scenery was majestic, huge and magical. If you want a flavour of it, imagine a combination of Lord of the Rings, the rockeries at the Chelsea Flower Show, and a highly exaggerated ‘Visit Wales’ brochure and you’ll not be far off.

At mid-afternoon (or morning, night or some other time, we could never quite be sure) on the third day we won the lottery, joining a hoard of Dusters and motoring onto Diamond Beach, an itinerary destination Maddie was far more enthusiastic about than I. But oh, how wrong I was. To our right, a glacier the size of a small country cascaded into a lake below, scattered with icebergs amid the bright blue water. Seabirds dove and bobbed. A suspension bridge separated this sight from the black sand beach upon which we stood, as in the water in front of us a pair of giant grey seals played, showing us their vast, buoyant bodies every time a wave rose and fell. If I’d been holding a bucket of rancid fish, I’d have been concerned these vast creatures would have taken to the land to demolish fish, bucket, Maddie and me.

Some hours later we were, er, enjoying another adventure food dinner on the cliff top, said to be a great place for watching puffins. I had umm-ed and ah-ed before deciding to pack binoculars, as they often remain in my bag for the duration of my trips. This time, however, on the drive to the viewpoint, I spotted water shooting into the sky, which was pretty miraculous really given the size of the mighty Duster’s A-pillar.

We raced to the car park, applied the manual handbrake (yes, heaven be praised, it has one of those too), and switched off next to two other white Dacia Dusters. Binoculars glued to my eyes, I wandered off along the cliff, a slightly chilly, somewhat less tanned Dora the Explorer.

Over the next two hours, we watched Mummy and baby Humpbacks surface, dive and blow at such regular intervals we could almost predict their appearance. Only ourselves and a wonderful elderly couple with a big camera were watching – everyone else oblivious to the display.

The Duster never put a tread block out of place all the time we were exploring: no hazard lights or punctures leaving nothing really to report, negative or positive about the machine.

Actually, not entirely true. My Duster would involuntarily jump out of first gear, and I think the front-left wheel bearing was heading for the retirement home, while the blindspots caused by those  A-pillars was a constant source of annoyance. Other than that? Well… This award-winning confection of metal, plastic, rubber, water and oil had five doors which opened and closed, one steering wheel which pointed us in the direction we aimed at, seats that held us in place, indicators that worked, a gearlever… yup, it was definitely a car.

The highlights for us were the functionally positioned heated seat buttons – a rare and cherished luxury in my world usually populated by ancient Land Rovers – and these newfangled contraptions called cup holders. Nothing else of particular beaming positivity brimmed from the car enough for me to ask you to read about it. If I were to make a complaint, I’d question why it suggests you change gear quite so early on in your acceleration journey. A severe disdain of fun, perhaps?

It is a vapid car.

Which meant that unlike on my usual Land Rover adventures, Iceland was really all about what was happening beyond the windscreen. On this trip, the vehicle was simply that for us. A conveyance. It does, however, illustrate that incredible adventures can be hosted within the confines of a very basic, functional, spacious, unmodified and refreshingly, unusually affordable family car.

But for me, seeing jacked-up, turbocharged trucks on 44in tyres with snorkels and solar-grade lightbars whistle past en route to their next off-road trail was a little excruciating. These monster truck builds have provided some serious inspiration for Big Richard and my plans for him, so maybe one day I can return and enjoy an off-the-beaten-path Icelandic adventure in a vehicle with a touch more personality than a water biscuit.