( The Land of the Midnight Sun )
Go West (it’s the end of road, and we know it)
Day 3. 17 June 2004
Thursday. Independence Day. I wake to bright sunshine filtering in through the windows – a good day for the Icelandic National Holiday. Apparently there has been wind and and rain in the night though I haven’t heard it.
We are up early to have a quick breakfast and be on our way to catch the ferry from Stykkishólmur across to the western fjörds. This proves to be a charming little fishing village with colourfully painted houses; a blue-roofed church, supermarket and petrol station – selling hot dogs no doubt.
We board the ferry and, once out on the open water I duck down below stairs, leaving all the tourists and the majority of the passengers, to catch up on my journal, whilst the Icelanders sleep.
The ferry docks for all of ten minutes at Flatey Island to let off day trippers, before setting out north agains on the crossing of Breiðafjörður.
The docks at Bjánslækur are no more than a collection of fishing sheds and one shop on the other side of the road. In blazing sunshine we drive west around the coast on a road that weaves between foarms set in sloping pasteurs and craggy cliffs rising from slopes of scree, and beaches of golden sand stretching out into the flat calm sea.
A few kilometres on we stop to picnic on the beach on rye bread and cheese, flatbrauð and pâté, and kleinur to follow…
