The Life of Brian
"Brian? What's he going on about?" you may be asking.
Brian is what we named our yellow VW Campervan, the sole reason being that we rented him from a delightful company in Reykjavik called Snail. This may still require further explanation unless you grew up in the UK in the 1960's and 1970's. Here I invite you to google "The Magic Roundabout" (which for reference is not the almost equally bizarre traffic junction in Swindon) and wonder at what was going on in the imagination of the team who made this curiosity in a time capsule. Suffice to say it is fondly remembered.
Brian is a seasoned veteran of Iceland's roads. He had 283000km on the clock when we collected him. By the time we reluctantly returned him to his owners the odometer was closer to 285000km. Beautifully maintained, he ran flawlessly and uncomplainingly in the 24 hour daylight across this stunning country as we made our way around Snaefellsnes before taking a tour of the entire ring road with a whale watching stop at Husavik. Sadly the owners told us they were retiring at the end of the season. In fact as we collected Brian, a Norwegian gentleman was embracing the owners with a solemn farewell as he made ready to depart with one of Brian's siblings which he'd just purchased as a memento. A regular customer, we were told. We gave serious consideration to purchasing Brian. A leisurely drive back to Cornwall with an extended stop in the Faroes. A friend in Denmark made ready to receive us on the continental mainland following which we'd eventually arrive home one day. Eventually. What stopped this idyllic daydream? Work of course.
So to the photo itself. Those who have followed (thank you by the way) my recent small surge in output may remember a minimalist black and white offering from the beach at Hvalnes, just 40 minutes away. The white waves broke mournfully over the black sand. All around were stunning mountains. Apparently. We couldn't be sure given that visibility was almost non-existent. And then we arrived at the eagerly anticipated Vestrahorn. We've seen a million stunning photos of it taken throughout the seasons. We stood where others had, where they had marvelled at the iconic range of mountains leading into the sea. And we saw nothing. Well, for a moment the southern extremity appeared, and then the clouds temporarily rose at the northern slopes. We waited; it's a game of patience after all. But what had briefly appeared returned to the safety of its shroud and eventually we concluded that we only had so much time left to see the remaining highlights of the south coast. So we moved on to Hofn with heavy hearts, vowing to return. As we made our way along the causeway back to the cafe we stopped, just to try and come away with something. I found two rocks in the shallows between the mountains and the road. And Brian deserved to be included.
The Life of Brian
"Brian? What's he going on about?" you may be asking.
Brian is what we named our yellow VW Campervan, the sole reason being that we rented him from a delightful company in Reykjavik called Snail. This may still require further explanation unless you grew up in the UK in the 1960's and 1970's. Here I invite you to google "The Magic Roundabout" (which for reference is not the almost equally bizarre traffic junction in Swindon) and wonder at what was going on in the imagination of the team who made this curiosity in a time capsule. Suffice to say it is fondly remembered.
Brian is a seasoned veteran of Iceland's roads. He had 283000km on the clock when we collected him. By the time we reluctantly returned him to his owners the odometer was closer to 285000km. Beautifully maintained, he ran flawlessly and uncomplainingly in the 24 hour daylight across this stunning country as we made our way around Snaefellsnes before taking a tour of the entire ring road with a whale watching stop at Husavik. Sadly the owners told us they were retiring at the end of the season. In fact as we collected Brian, a Norwegian gentleman was embracing the owners with a solemn farewell as he made ready to depart with one of Brian's siblings which he'd just purchased as a memento. A regular customer, we were told. We gave serious consideration to purchasing Brian. A leisurely drive back to Cornwall with an extended stop in the Faroes. A friend in Denmark made ready to receive us on the continental mainland following which we'd eventually arrive home one day. Eventually. What stopped this idyllic daydream? Work of course.
So to the photo itself. Those who have followed (thank you by the way) my recent small surge in output may remember a minimalist black and white offering from the beach at Hvalnes, just 40 minutes away. The white waves broke mournfully over the black sand. All around were stunning mountains. Apparently. We couldn't be sure given that visibility was almost non-existent. And then we arrived at the eagerly anticipated Vestrahorn. We've seen a million stunning photos of it taken throughout the seasons. We stood where others had, where they had marvelled at the iconic range of mountains leading into the sea. And we saw nothing. Well, for a moment the southern extremity appeared, and then the clouds temporarily rose at the northern slopes. We waited; it's a game of patience after all. But what had briefly appeared returned to the safety of its shroud and eventually we concluded that we only had so much time left to see the remaining highlights of the south coast. So we moved on to Hofn with heavy hearts, vowing to return. As we made our way along the causeway back to the cafe we stopped, just to try and come away with something. I found two rocks in the shallows between the mountains and the road. And Brian deserved to be included.