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Off a remote coastal road on a hillside
topped with low cloud, we found our
guest house for the night, Littl Brekka.
Hosted by the charming owner who lives
next door, this comfortable bungalow
was equipped with every conceivable
mod con, including an outdoor hot tub
on the patio. We made it to the local
village just before the one and only
restaurant closed for the night, and had
the best cheeseburgers in Iceland (not a
MacDonald’s in sight during the whole
of our trip by the way). Too chilly for me
outside when we got back, but Mike,
Dan and Conor took to relaxing in the
hot tub.
We saw more spectacular scenery on our
drive the next day to Heydalur, further
down the coast. We noticed, washed
up on every shoreline, tree trunks of all
sizes bleached white by the salt water
and sun. Strange on an island with
no forests, but it seems they drift from
Norway and the local farmers gather
them up and use this free resource for
fencing and other building projects.
We found our hostel at the end of a
track, on the side of a deep, grassy
valley, settled into our cabin and took
stock. It was a calm, warm evening and
sunset was 3 hours away, a great time to
visit the natural hot tub, fed by volcanic
springs, on the banks of the stream at
the bottom of the valley. Approached
by stepping stones across the brook,
we almost missed the pool. Just about
big enough for the four of us, it was
bliss to step down into the water (about
37°C) and soak for a while, enjoying
the scenery, the cooling breeze and the
curiously muffled atmosphere caused by
the lie of the land. We imagined being
here in the winter, with the chance of
seeing the Northern Lights in this magical
setting. Not very dignified emerging from
the pool mind you, slipping around on the
soggy ground and trying to get dry and
dressed with no handy shrubs in sight to
hide our blushes from passing hikers.
The hostel could probably do with
a visit from the Hotel Inspector (not
sure about the pet parrot out of his
cage in the dining room) but the sight
of their domesticated black arctic fox
cub trotting around outside was an
unexpected treat. The friendly owners
and their staff more than made up for
the slightly shabby décor and basic
accommodation, but we were ready to
move on for the next leg of our journey.
Another 3 hours weaving south along
the Atlantic coastline, we noticed signs
of increasing farming activity, not just
sheep this time but lots of ponies and
the occasional small herd of cows. Giant
shiny pink and white marshmallows
seemed to be dotted around some of the
fields, until we realised they were bales of
hay, shrink-wrapped in plastic for winter
storage. We found out later that the pink
ones signify support for the Icelandic
breast cancer awareness campaign.
Our penultimate night was spent in the
coastal town of Dalakot, in a converted
fisherman’s cottage directly overlooking
the bay. The choppy sea reflected the
pure blue sky and we were dazzled by
the view of the ocean when we walked
into the main living room. It was like
standing on the prow of a ship. Before
dinner Mike and I took a brief trip inland
to visit the tiny reconstructed ancestral
home of Leifur Eriksson, reputed to
be the first European to reach North
America, centuries ahead of Christopher
Columbus. In the early 1960s, the
discovery of the ruins of a Viking
settlement in Newfoundland lent some
weight to the tales of Eriksson’s voyage,
since when the USA has recognised
October 9 as “Leif Eriksson Day”. His
humble family origins in a turf-covered,
one-room hut next to a bleak inland fjord
goes some way perhaps to explaining
his lust for travel and adventure on the
high seas.
On Friday we prepared to re-enter the
hustle and bustle of city life, sad to leave
behind the sense of space and silence,
austere landscapes, ancient sagas of
heroes, travellers and mythical creatures.
The road south got wider and busier as
we approached Reykjavik and checking
into our centrally situated AirBnB flat for
our last night in Iceland left us feeling
a bit deflated. So we were really glad
that we had booked a 9pm visit to the
Blue Lagoon, a major tourist attraction
just a few miles away. The lagoon is a
natural lake of milky-white geothermal
water which is beautifully managed and
presented to the paying guest as a spa
where you can float in the mineral-rich,
naturally warm waters while buying
drinks at the poolside bars and getting
a free mud f ace mask. With the sky
aglow with pinks, reds and orange, the
sunset was still playing out when we left
at 11pm. Tomorrow we would be back in
Sussex, dreaming of returning to Iceland
one day.
By Carol Hewit
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