Day 2
We did not leave our lovely green cottage in a rush, especially as Martin and Elenni prepared one of the most delicious vegetarian breakfasts I have ever had, complete with guacamole, spiced beans and luscious spongy bread (all of these things being real rarities in Iceland). Our destination for that day was the remote town of Seyðisfjörður in the East Fjords, enclosed by a intimidating ring of mountains on one side and the North Sea on the other. Historically speaking, this town was one among many on this stretch of coastline once tormented by marauding Viking invaders. It was then made wealthy and then even cosmopolitan by the presence of the Norwegian trading ships which liked to berth in the deep fjords surrounding the town. We set off for Seyðisfjörður in magnificent driving and hiking conditions with excellent visibility and not a single cloud in the sky. I found it hard to believe at that point that the Icelandic weather forecast predicted heavy snow showers across the whole of the east coast from 4 o’ clock. As we drove past Djúpivogur, we passed the famous Papey islands on our right, a place which was apparently the first place to be settled in Iceland by a clutch of Gaelic monks and hermits in the in the early ninth century. We had a brief stop off on the Breiðdalsvik coastline, examining the nesting colonies of seabirds – kittiwakes, black-headed gulls and guillemots – hidden in crannies in the cliffs, before the fjord landscape began in earnest.
En route to Eskifjörðer we briefly stopped in a moderate sized fjord just after Djúpivogur. It was the home, so a tourism board informed us, of one of Iceland’s first female photographers, whose farmstead could still be seen perched on the cliffs. I peered at the lack-and-white miniature portrait of Mrs. Nicoline Weywadt’s face; it was a typical Victorian portrait: austere, unsmiling, Lutheran. Yet in 1872, this woman was moved by the same impulse to document the beauty of her environment, that still infects the heart of every visitor passing through the region today.
By the time that we had finished the time-consuming crawl along fjord edges to reach Eskifjörðer, home to the eponymous aluminium smelter, we decided to stop off at a local, now disused calcite quarry on the dirt road to Svartafjall. I didn’t have particularly high expectations but went along with the plan anyway. How wrong I was. As soon as we read the information board at the foot of the gently inclining slopes of the quarry, I realised that this was a fascinating place. In the past, this quarry was heavily mined for the mineral ‘calcite’ which crackled and ebbed from a seam in the rocks. Calcite, for those who don’t know, is a transparent crystal-like mineral that looks a bit like quartz and has prismatic effects when held up against the light. At one point, Iceland was one of the chief exporters of calcite to mainland Europe which used the crystals in optical instruments and microscopes. As we scrambled up the slopes, delighting in the abandoned and rusty mining equipment scattered about everywhere, we discovered calcite practically lining the soles of the feet. It was everywhere, and when you polished up the pieces they produced lovely misé-en-abymes of rainbows. I almost couldn’t believe my eyes. After the dramatic rainbow suspended above the Skógafoss and the myriad rainbows I had glimpsed trembling in the air just above the crashing beach surf on the way to the East Fjords, I began to see Iceland as a land of rainbows. It was as though a distant prophesy somewhere where ringing true…
Despite the entertainment value of gawping at herds of reindeer who were still grazing by the sea (unusual for this time of year), one glimpse outside told us that the weather was turning. Sunshine and crystal-clear views were being rubbed away by an advancing army of clouds. My heart darkened. Speeding down the route 92 to Egilsstaðir it already began snowing – how quickly the Icelandic weather conditions can change! We hadn’t quite realised that the one thing standing between us and Seyðisfjörður (a short 40 km drive) was a high mountain pass, an easy drive that could get sticky in difficult conditions.
It was getting late now and we were alone on the road to Seyðisfjörður. Snow was falling thick and fast and the road had become a little slippery. Elini fell back on her reserves of residual German toughness and drove us fearlessly up the snaking road to the mountain pass. The only thing guiding us at that point were the yellow sticks marking the sides of the road; the heavy snow drifts made the road otherwise indistinguishable from the ditches and cliff edges on either side of it. As we ascended I had the sensation that I was bloody grateful we weren’t doing the crossing any later. Let this be a warning to anyone attempting driving in a cheap rental car in Iceland! If you do not have contour marks on your map and are crossing from an inland point to a fjord edge, you will be going up and down mountains! Planning ahead is crucial; you should never be complacent about driving in Iceland, even when fine weather makes it appear easy as pie. It was a hair-raising journey that awoke the child inside, surely we have done 10 km I kept mumbling to myself. Eventually, after following the dramatic switchbacks leading down to the gorge in which the picturesque town of Seyðisfjörder is situated, we regained level ground.
A View from the Window
Safe and cosy within doors, having checked into our very comfortable accommodation for the night (a YHA hostel set up in an annexe of the old town hospital which looked like a Victorian orphanage or boarding school), I looked out of the window with satisfaction. It was late May but we were transported into a winter wonderland. As far as the eye could see everything was dazzlingly white, every inch of the little town was covered in a frosting of snow. As we tucked into our evening meal I noticed through the window that yet more beads of snow were falling all the time.
833 words a day 