Iceland Update: The West Fjörds

“Sometimes there's so much beauty, I feel like I can't take it.” - American Beauty

The West Fjörds. I... ::sigh::... nope. Nothing. The words – there are no words for the West Fjörds. I wish I could write about what it looked like and do it justice. How the bright blue water and gray-pink striated cliffs in the foreground stood against the snow-white and grey striped “Snæfellstrond” mountain chain in the background. At sunset. All of this at sunset. Miles and miles, driving in and out of each fjörd, seeing this spectacle from sea level, then from cliff level as the road wound up and down and around. The sight made me weepy then and it's almost making me weepy now just thinking about it.

We were told by a friend of a friend to hit the West Fjörds because it was “the most beautiful place she'd ever seen.” As we made our trip around the island, we encountered no travelers who had come from or were going there. We knew it was going to be a bit of a job, and a long one, getting through it. The road, as I said last update, is sometimes paved and sometimes dirt, but the real thing of it is the length of the drive. There is no direct way to get from point A to point B. You can't just drive from the northeast to the southwest, for example. You have to drive across the entire north to the west and then down to the south. But it's not that simple, either. Have a look at a map of the West Fjörds, if you will. See how the edge of the land goes in-out-in-out-in-out-in-out-etc-etc-etc? The road – the only traversable road – follows the coast. Thus, the shortest distance between two points is not a straight line, but an unbelievably long meandering one.

The more we realized that no one else, it seemed, was making the West Fjörds a part of their trip, the more we wondered if we'd be wasting our time there. If it would be beautiful as the rest of Iceland has been beautiful, but with no new sights to see. The same beauty we'd been seeing all along. I mean, what more could there be, right? We were not prepared.

It is THAT BEAUTIFUL. It's like, just when you think you've seen as much beauty as can possibly exist, the gods throw this in your face like “BAM! You thought that was it? GET A LOAD OF THE WEST FJ ÖRDS.”

In addition to the gorgeosity, our West Fjörds trip became something of an adventure, too, as we weren't sure if we were going to have a bed that night. It took us ages to get to Dýrafjörður, where there were two guesthouse possibilities, both of which had been open since mid May, according to our brochure. And yet there was no one to be found at either one of them. One of them—Hótel Núpur—was unlocked, and we roamed the entire former-schoolhouse in search of someone to give us a room, but to no avail. Still, it was awesome because in one of the hallways hung large framed class pictures dating back to 1953. It was fascinating looking at the styles and names like Guðrún Ólafsdóttir and Halldór Bjarnason.

While searching the area, we met two girls from Hong Kong who were staying at Hótel Núpur. They invited us back with them to see if we could find someone to help. They were there with a photography group on some kind of working trip. Among others, there was a girl from England and a guy from Boston, and I think their trip leader was Russian, maybe. I have no idea how this trip came to be, but they were there to take pictures and also to do work on the hotel. They were staying in the gymnasium and invited us to stay with them, and we wouldn't have thought twice about it but we had no blanket or pillows or anything, so we thanked them for their attempts to help and scurried on our way.

Hayl: All we can do is hope we get to the next place by midnight and hope they have a room for us.
Thayer: Midnight?! It can't take us five hours to get there!
Hayl: Can't it?

It was a long, long, long, long, loooong, long time before the next guesthouse, Hótel Látrabjarg. And when we got arrived, there was no one there, either. But to be fair, it was 10pm. It may have felt like midday to us because of the sunlight, but to the natives it was not midday. While searching around, Thayer found the cook in the backyard doing some gardening. Because why wouldn't the cook be gardening? He didn't speak much English, but he knew what we were after, so he called the host and the host came over and gave us a room. It was a happy ending. Man, was it.

Today was stress-free. We had a lengthy drive, but a beautiful one, from Látrabjarg, back inland, and then back out again on the Snæfellsnes Peninsula. Along the way we stopped at the bird cliffs where, as you might imagine, there were many birds. We saw a puffin, too, which satisfied one of Thayer's goals. We also did a bit of frolicking at the westernmost part of Iceland and therefor the westernmost part of Europe, at Bjargtangar.

Oh, and in one of the small towns, we stopped at an Icelandic handicrafts store and I bought another Lopi sweater – this one is short-sleeved and has SHEEP as the pattern around the neck! I die every time I think about how adorable it is. After I did giddy jumpyclaps over it, I discovered that the woman sitting there knitting was the one who made it. She didn't speak English, but her daughter translated, and she was very happy I loved the sweater so much. It's not often you get to meet the maker of the stuff you buy. Then the two of them helped us plot our route to Hellnar, but not before several minutes of language barrier over the pronunciation of "Hellnar." Over and over, we said it, the repetition met only with their confused stares. Finally, we pointed to our map. "Oh, Hkbmfnvoslvd!" they may as well have said, for how much the Icelandic pronunciation sounds like "Hellnar."

Hótel Hellnar, at the tip of Snæfellsnes Peninsula, was warm and welcoming when we arrived, and our room is very sweet with a view of the ocean. The stormy weather is making the water quite angry and it is enchanting to watch. We had a delicious dinner—which rocked our world because we've been living on Clif bars for about a day and a half—of cheesy cauliflower soup with bread and smjör, the Icelandic word for butter. I'm sure you can guess how many times we try to work "smjör" into our conversation. Following the soup was cod in marinara for Thayer and bacon-wrapped chicken breast in mushroom sauce for me. And then came the Panna Cotta. Panna Cotta is a dream come true - like Baileys pudding with chocolate sauce and whipped cream. Bliss.

After dinner it was about 9:30 pm, so of course we went sight seeing. At the water's edge, there was a naturally-formed rock arch, snaking out from the cliffs like one of those Chinese dragons. The waves would come in and crash through the arch and the holes. The clifftops are shockingly green on top of slick wet black. The waves were so dramatic, exploding off the cliffs like fireworks. We stood in the rain and cold and watched, mesmerized.

Now we are snug in our bed and ready for sleep. Eyemasks, ready, go.

A couple of quotes to leave you with.

*

Hayl: Iceland, you can be really difficult sometimes, you know?

*

[lambs skipping along the road]
Thayer: Get away from the road, you damned skippies!
Hayl: [loses it, laughing hysterically]
Thayer: Oh dear, it's that point of the night, is it?

*

Hayl: Nice fjarm.
Thayer: Nice bjirds.
Hayl: Nice shjirt.
Thayer: Look, there's a ljamb!
Hayl: Hi, ljamb!
Thayer: Whoa, that sheep is shjorn.