For Klara Halldórsdóttir, the volcano that has roiled southwest Iceland for the last year is both awe-inspiring and devastating. She has hiked to a crater to marvel at the fiery eruption and the river of cooled lava stretching down toward Grindavik, the town she has lived in her whole life.
Last November, she was at the beach letting her dogs run wild when the ground started moving and did not stop. It was a swarm of earthquakes, the warning signs of an imminent eruption.
Her family packed swiftly and joined a line of cars rolling out of town. It was “like a terrible movie,” she said. No one knew whether they would be able to come back. Nearly a year on, only a handful of the 3,600 residents have returned.
Vikings roamed the last time the volcanoes on Iceland’s Reykjanes Peninsula raged. Now, eight centuries later, this slice of land close to the capital city Reykjavik is one of the more densely populated parts of the country.
Icelanders like Klara have a complex relationship with volcanoes. They are both a force of destruction — lava has already consumed homes and carved up roads in Grindavik — and a source of abundant clean energy, powering people’s lives.