Tourists are often surprised at how low Icelandic mountains are. With the country being so rugged and mountainous, they envision majestic mountain ranges with extreme ski resorts like the Alps, Andes or Himalayas which reach out for the heavens.

Instead, while there is hardly a place where you don’t have a view of a mountain in Iceland, the mountains here are low in comparison—the highest peak is Hvannadalshnjúkur at 2,110 meters (less than one fourth of Mt. Everest)—and often have strange colors and shapes.

And many of them are oddly flat on top. They even say it’s possible to land an airplane on the top of Reykjavík’s Mt. Esja (914 meters).

The reason for this is while the greatest mountain ranges of the world were created when continental plates pushed together, Iceland’s mountains were created in repeated volcanic eruptions caused by continental plates pulling away from each other.

This is why mountains in Iceland often appear to be stacked. Their flatness was caused by the Ice Age glacier which wiped off their peaks. It also carved valleys in between them.

Mountaineers will not find challenging peaks in Iceland if altitude is what they’re after. However, although they may be bleak in comparison to K2, Icelandic mountains do offer some hazardous climbs and strenuous treks across rough terrain and glaciers in unstable weather conditions.

My mountaineering achievement list is rather short. Practically non-existent.

I’ve always enjoyed hikes and have been meaning to plan longer treks for years, such as the popular Laugavegur between Landmannalaugar and Þórsmörk, or across the new lava on Fimmvörðurháls, but somehow I’ve never gotten around to it.

I hiked to the top of Esja for the first time in 2007 and proudly exclaimed that I’d made it to “the top of the world”—well aware of the irony in that statement, as the peak Þverfellshorn to where I climbed is 720 meters.

Some years earlier I tried to reach the peak of Súlur by Akureyri at 1,213 meters but my friends and I were never sure we actually did because the sunny Easter weather suddenly turned foggy and we couldn’t see anything in the frosty whiteout.

Now that I’ve taken up regular hiking, the mountains seem to lose height each time. I went from over 1,000 meters to 720, to 340 (Helgafell in Hafnarfjörður) and 215 meters (Helgafell in Mosfellssveit).

On Sunday, in clear, calm and frosty winter weather in between rainstorms, the Icelandic Touring Association took me and the ‘one peak per week’ group to yet another excuse of a mountain, Húsfell in Garðabær at 280 meters.

Húsfell stands close to the first of the two Helgafells, only two weeks earlier the area had been covered in powdery snow. A week later we walked in slush, waded in flooded moors and crossed wet icy patches on our cleats, now there was hardly any snow left.

Instead, we walked almost ten kilometers in rocky lava terrain and across frozen spongy moss and I earned respect for Húsfell because, albeit short, its slope was pretty steep.

No less because one of the guides informed us that it’s the highest mountain of Garðabær and went on to present an impromptu poem on how we were fortunate to be hiking on “Garðabær’s Everest” while capital region residents were sleeping on their couches.

So what’s next?

The ‘one peak per week’ group will continue their mission, gradually increasing the intensity level with Hvannadalshnjúkur scheduled in May.

I however have bid these inspirational hikers farewell (for now, at least) and will move on to greater challenges: Garðabær’s Everest will be followed by the actual Everest.

Seriously.

On Monday I’m off on a six-week trip to Nepal. The first three weeks I will be based in the country’s second-largest city Pokhara and will teach English at an elementary school as a volunteer on behalf of the local organization Volunteer Aid Nepal.

Extensive traveling will follow: a three-day jungle safari on elephant back in Chitwan, followed by a flight to Lukla and a 20-day trek to the Everest Base Camp with stopovers in villages along the way so that we can get acquainted with the local culture.

I’m not sure what to expect. Culture shock is inevitable, as is altitude sickness—I’ve never been at an altitude of 5,300 meters before—but I’m as prepared as I can be.

I’ll tell you all about my adventures upon my return in late March. Meanwhile, please keep following the website; it will be updated in my absence.

May peace be with you, namaste.

Eygló Svala Arnarsdóttir – eyglo@icelandreview.com