Route 35’s mid-point is marked by a short detour west to a grassy depression at Hveravellir hot springs, where you’ll find a campsite and well-appointed overnight huts. The only bathable pool is a small, waist-deep affair next to one of the huts, above which boardwalks head up a calcified slope; encrusted with sulphur, the hotter springs here bubble, belch and occasionally erupt violently. One of these is named Eyvindarhver, after the outlaw Eyvindur who lived at Hveravellir for two years and used the spring to boil up sheep for his dinner. In summer, the springs can get busy, so try to time your dip to avoid scheduled daily bus arrivals in the early afternoon – or stay overnight and have the waters almost to yourself.