Home Again
There’s something very homely about arriving in Vík. Especially if you’ve come from the south eastern region, just as we had done now. All of those miles of bleakly beautiful scenery, driving over wide black lava fields swathed in green moss, crossing furious meltwater rivers on single lane bridges, the mountains on your right hand side and the endless line of electricity pylons to the left, with the sea somewhere beyond. It’s a journey never forgotten once taken, and although you might have briefly stopped at Kirkjubæjarklaustur to fill up on hot dogs and coffee, you will have noticed the absence of anything that looks remotely like a town. I can only imagine what it must be like to travel across that huge expanse of wilderness in the middle of winter. One day I might just find out, although I’m not sure whether I want to be the person behind the wheel when I do.
You know you’re getting close when you finally see the low flat, almost rectangular form of Hjörleifshöfði rising from the black sand on the left hand side of the road, a lone sentinel that guards the town on its eastern flank. When you pass that unmissable landmark you’re just a few miles away from Vík and its attendant delights, and when you’re hungry you know the Ice Cave Bistro is going to be on the agenda before bedtime. There’s no denying that the smell of rampant tourism pervades the air here, with horse riding on the beach, the huge Icewear duty free store and hotels and guesthouses everywhere, yet it still feels like a place in which to relax and enjoy the quiet streets. And Vík is barely more than a village really, a permanent population of three hundred people almost permanently multiplied several times over by us visitors. And with four nights ahead of us here, we were going to enjoy a bit of that tourism too. We might even blow the budget by walking down the street to the Smiðjan Brugghús and doing the unthinkable - ordering a pint of beer in Iceland and trying not to flinch when the bill arrived. Ahead of us lay four buffet breakfasts in what passes for a budget hotel around these parts. Little did I know how much pleasure I was going to have with that waffle maker each morning. Start your day with two of those coated in large dollops of skyr and honey, and your only regret is going to be that you haven’t left any space for the rest of the goodies on offer. Everyone needs a waffle iron in their life.
I felt it the last time we passed this way too. The pull of Vík’s welcoming streets made me feel as if I was somewhere I belonged. Despite having loved every moment of our four nights adventuring around Eystrahorn and Vestrahorn, it was good to be here again, walking towards the beach. In a sense, it did feel as if we’d come home again. And on this first evening there was a glow in the sky that was going to add to the mood. It’s quite a contrast from the rather more famous beach on the other side of that forbidding headland, where coach loads of tourists on day trips from Reykjavík spill across the black sands and dice with death among mischievous sucker waves. While those unseen masses throng Reynisfjara, here on the town’s beach it’s rather more sedate. There were just a couple of togs at the edge of the beach when Lee and I strolled across the dunes and set up our tripods in the inevitable direction of those unmistakable sea stacks, and a few people strolling from one side to the other, but apart from that we had the place entirely to ourselves. No doubt everyone else was in the Ice Cave, filling up on food and buying itchy knitwear for Great Auntie Nellie back home. I love almost everything about this country, but they can keep the sheep’s wool thank you.
It turned out to be the last time we’d catch a sunset on this, our second adventure in Iceland, and the remaining four days involved working in rather more challenging conditions. No more western glows to grin at contentedly in the evenings. But then again, there’s no such thing as the wrong conditions is there? And the more engrossed we became in those final days, the happier the results seemed to be.
Home Again
There’s something very homely about arriving in Vík. Especially if you’ve come from the south eastern region, just as we had done now. All of those miles of bleakly beautiful scenery, driving over wide black lava fields swathed in green moss, crossing furious meltwater rivers on single lane bridges, the mountains on your right hand side and the endless line of electricity pylons to the left, with the sea somewhere beyond. It’s a journey never forgotten once taken, and although you might have briefly stopped at Kirkjubæjarklaustur to fill up on hot dogs and coffee, you will have noticed the absence of anything that looks remotely like a town. I can only imagine what it must be like to travel across that huge expanse of wilderness in the middle of winter. One day I might just find out, although I’m not sure whether I want to be the person behind the wheel when I do.
You know you’re getting close when you finally see the low flat, almost rectangular form of Hjörleifshöfði rising from the black sand on the left hand side of the road, a lone sentinel that guards the town on its eastern flank. When you pass that unmissable landmark you’re just a few miles away from Vík and its attendant delights, and when you’re hungry you know the Ice Cave Bistro is going to be on the agenda before bedtime. There’s no denying that the smell of rampant tourism pervades the air here, with horse riding on the beach, the huge Icewear duty free store and hotels and guesthouses everywhere, yet it still feels like a place in which to relax and enjoy the quiet streets. And Vík is barely more than a village really, a permanent population of three hundred people almost permanently multiplied several times over by us visitors. And with four nights ahead of us here, we were going to enjoy a bit of that tourism too. We might even blow the budget by walking down the street to the Smiðjan Brugghús and doing the unthinkable - ordering a pint of beer in Iceland and trying not to flinch when the bill arrived. Ahead of us lay four buffet breakfasts in what passes for a budget hotel around these parts. Little did I know how much pleasure I was going to have with that waffle maker each morning. Start your day with two of those coated in large dollops of skyr and honey, and your only regret is going to be that you haven’t left any space for the rest of the goodies on offer. Everyone needs a waffle iron in their life.
I felt it the last time we passed this way too. The pull of Vík’s welcoming streets made me feel as if I was somewhere I belonged. Despite having loved every moment of our four nights adventuring around Eystrahorn and Vestrahorn, it was good to be here again, walking towards the beach. In a sense, it did feel as if we’d come home again. And on this first evening there was a glow in the sky that was going to add to the mood. It’s quite a contrast from the rather more famous beach on the other side of that forbidding headland, where coach loads of tourists on day trips from Reykjavík spill across the black sands and dice with death among mischievous sucker waves. While those unseen masses throng Reynisfjara, here on the town’s beach it’s rather more sedate. There were just a couple of togs at the edge of the beach when Lee and I strolled across the dunes and set up our tripods in the inevitable direction of those unmistakable sea stacks, and a few people strolling from one side to the other, but apart from that we had the place entirely to ourselves. No doubt everyone else was in the Ice Cave, filling up on food and buying itchy knitwear for Great Auntie Nellie back home. I love almost everything about this country, but they can keep the sheep’s wool thank you.
It turned out to be the last time we’d catch a sunset on this, our second adventure in Iceland, and the remaining four days involved working in rather more challenging conditions. No more western glows to grin at contentedly in the evenings. But then again, there’s no such thing as the wrong conditions is there? And the more engrossed we became in those final days, the happier the results seemed to be.