First impressions to Siglufjordur

On the road we go! With lots of places to see, and distance to cover, we get moving from Reykjavik as groups of campers gather their equipment and pack up their cars. Out of the city, along the Ring Road we go, and then its off of the Ring Road as soon as we can to take the way less traveled through prettier countryside.

Our forward motion doesn't last long, as we find ourselves stopping at every rest area and pull-off, finding some old farmhouse ruins here, a gorgeous little waterfall there - plenty of paces to be awed by the wonders of Mother Nature in Iceland. But still we pushed on, drawn to the twisting roads contouring the fjords, hugging every curve, gasping at every new vista revealed. Driving in Iceland can be VERY distracting.

We paused for a break at the Berserkjauraun lava field in the middle of the Snaefellsness peninsula, and lunched on cups of soup(borrowed from the communal kitchen in Reykjavik) and ham sandwiches made with the most delicious butter. We sat on the edge of a hill, food in hand, watching the flow of the river through a valley littered with lava stones. The wind picked up, chilling us to the bone, so we packed up and moved on.

Zooming through the fields of freshly-cut hay, wrapped in a rainbow of colours, we pulled up to Helgafell, a 73 m-high hill in an otherwise flat valley, once considered holy to the worshipers of Thor, and granter of wishes - if you climbed to the top in the right way. I didn't even bother looking into how, but I do know Mario was pretty solemn during the ascent, and I think there might've been something about looking to the East?...

We took an unsurfaced road back to the main highway, to continue our day's trek. The curling in and out of fjords, or up and down hilly landscapes can be quite interesting and diverting, while the opposite is true about the Ring Road being completely dull and boring. Thus, Mario decided that he needed a rest in Olafsfjordur. In the rain, we made coffee in the back of the car, and ate crackers smeared with more of that delicious Icelandic butter, and pondered the curious mounds of stones that surrounded us - could they be volcanic? Maybe the graves of long-dead Islandic kings? Maybe trail markers?




Into another fjord, somewhere past the views of stoic Malmey and Drangey islands, the clouds dropped down and covered the road with a blanket of fog. The sky got dark, the rain fell heavy and the GPS gave up and went black. Our descent along rather treacherous cliffs into tiny Siglufjordur was a hairy one. It was a great, albeit brief, relief to arrive at the campground in the centre of town.

Instead of setting up in the rain, we took advantage of the perks of geothermal energy and took lusciously hot showers, then hunkered down in the back of the Duster for the night. Cozy!