After scribing my misery in the wee hours of this morning, I did my best to try to eke out at least some rest, if not actual sleep, inside the hotel. I found a comfy leather chair and dragged it into the darkest room I could find: the kitchen. Then I proceeded to engage in my airplane or car sleep, which is not sleep at all, but various degrees of consciousness, semi-consciousness, and discomfort. It sucked, as you might imagine, but it was a lot better than laying out in that tent with those infernal creatures braying and crowing right nearby. I could still hear the fuckers from inside, but it was sufficiently muted to take the edge off. When people started to wake up and come into the kitchen I had to move. I was too fucking miserable and pissed off to be embarrassed about being stumbled upon by unsuspecting hotel patrons, slumped down in an armchair in their kitchen, jacket over my face, trying to sleep.

Views heading up towards the eastern end of Látrabjarg

One last shot of Ragnar before he leaves me to my hike

Some shots of the surroundings

I know I've said this before, and I hate repeating myself, but it's just simply the truth... You'd think after seeing so much amazing stuff here over the years that I'd be desensitized or that it'd have just lost its lustre a bit to me, but it just doesn't, or hasn't. It was fucking incredible. Sheer cliffs plunging hundreds of meters straight down to the ocean. Saw thousands of birds, dozens of sheep, and I think even a fox. Just plain fucking incredible. All the grass was still soaking wet from the night before, and the edge is so damn abrupt in most places that I was half the time in a state of absolute, unfettered awe, and half the time in terror of just how close I was to plummeting to an insane death. Of course, one is drawn to the precipitous edges and outcrops in order to maximize the view, but a lot of the times, I was shocked to see the trail skimming a very dangerous slope or edge. However, I was told by Ragnar that these are actually sheep trails, which explains why there's a pile of shit at almost every other step. I just couldn't understand why sheep would make such a precise and linear trail.

Anyway, the weather was pretty much great at first. A few wisps of cloud or fog or whatever, but certainly nothing to be alarmed about. However, as I continued to make my way west, banks of fog would roll in, particularly in the valley-like depressions. It bothers me how much these relatively minor events put me immediately in a bad frame of mind. I start thinking that if the fog gets really thick (which it frequently does here) I might lose the trail, end up lost in the middle of nowhere, and just shit like that. Of course, in this particular case, where I was had such obvious geography that that scenario was actually impossible, but I still get in that jittery, uneasy frame of mind. This happened on and off until I got to, I believe, Saxagjá, the highest point along the cliff. I say I believe because the spot wasn't marked, which I found a tad disappointing. It would've been nice to know when that milestone was reached. So there's this spot that I got a sense was the highest point but I couldn't be sure. After this spot the fog hit hard, heavy, and stayed with me all the way to the end. Then, at the end, it magically cleared up. Shame I didn't have all clear views for such a monumental trip. Probably better off, though, as I was taking pictures of everything.

The grassy approach towards my first glimpse of the cliffs. I knew I was in for something big.

My first views from the cliff's edge, left, right, and down. These do not begin to convey what it was like in real life.

Pre-fog views

Post-fog

As I neared the end of the cliffs, the fog cleared up. Here's my first sight of a person near the end.

Some sheep hanging out

Views from the end

At the end of the coast is the lighthouse at Bjargtangar, which is the westernmost point of Europe. It was cool to have walked there. The whole hike took four hours, and I was a bit sore. Man, I hope I'm up to this Hornstrandir hike! Anyway, from there I set out hitching again. I was gonna stop by Ragnar & Hilda's house in Látravík to say hello/goodbye/thanks again, and maybe to rest my aching feet, but I ended up getting a ride just minutes from their house. This was far more important, of course, so I jumped in. It was a truck with three huge blokes who, as it turned out, were these weightlifter guys who compete in heavy lifting competitions where they lift stones and barrels of water and whatnot. On the way out of Látravík they stopped and picked up some of these special lifting stones. We stopped at the museum at Hnjótur where one of them bought me a coffee. Earlier, another one of them gave me some of his harðfiskur. I'm continually astounded by how nice everyone is here.

The lighthouse at Bjargtangar	The view from the absolute tip of the peninsula, looking west. This is the westernmost bit of land in all of Europe.	The harsh surroundings around the end of the peninsula	Looking northeast along the coast
Pounding the pavement again, heading into Látravík	Looking down into Örlygshöfn	Hnjótur and surroundings	Sand dunes near Sauðlauksdalur, heading back up along the coast

From there they brought me to Patreksfjörður where my first priority was finding somewhere to sit down, get a coffee, and just rest my weary bones. Found a guesthouse that fit the bill and as a bonus they let me charge my camera batteries. The guy there tried to talk me into staying there, but the day was still rather young and I felt the urge to cover some more distance, so after a quick walk around the town to pick up the aforementioned sleeping potion, I broke out the thumb again.

My plan was to spend the night in Bíldudalur, but the ride I got was only going as far as Tálknafjörður. I reconsidered and, based on an article I read at the guesthouse about this great new campsite they have here, decided to just stay here. I think I made the right move. They have a swimming pool here, in which I spent about an hour-and-a-half. I was so fucking tired I was afraid I was gonna fall asleep in there. Did the trick, though. I came out feeling clean and refreshed. It was wonderful. The clean, cool air, the clear sunshine, the majestic surroundings. After that, I walked around the town a bit, where I was alarmed to see the weightlifters drive by. They recognized me and pulled over. They were in town doing something for an upcoming competition. Such a coincidence. Then came back here to try to eat and get and early start on my writing, but apparently it didn't work cuz it's after fucking midnight now!! Damn, where does the time go? I write too damn much is my problem. Can't believe it's almost half-past midnight. Sunlight's still hitting the top of the mountains and it's light as hell. Again, very deceptive. Gotta get this alcohol in me to insure some decent sleep at long last. I feel so tired and worn out and rather achy. I really need a good night's sleep. Please let that be tonight.

Various sights around Patreksfjörður

Coming down into Tálknafjörður

Various sights around Tálknafjörður

The church

The mountain that dominates the town

The sun setting over my tent

Some views looking out the fjord in the fading light. Kría abound.

 

Wednesday, 27 June.   Skálavík.

Well, the vodka worked great. I slept like a log. Problem was that I woke up feeling like absolute shit, so I'm not so sure it was such a good idea. Due to my less-than-vivacious state, I ended up setting out later than I intended. Made my way out of the town feeling quite under the weather. The sun was shining strongly and it was promising to be another perfect day. Within a few hundred feet of leaving the official "city limits", I was picked up by this seventy-something-year-old fisherman. He was even wearing his fluorescent rain pants. He was actually only going just down the road a tiny bit, but was nice enough to take me a bit further on up the mountain. As soon as he dropped me off, before I could even get my pack on my back, I got another ride, which got me quickly into Bíldudalur.

My friend Palli recommended I check out the concrete statues and monuments in Selárdalur, way out near the mouth of Arnarfjörður. As with any out-of-the-way place I was nervous about not being able to get a ride, so I asked a couple people about it. They were pretty much like, "eh, I don't know...you may get lucky, you may not." So, I decided to start walking, and if I didn't get a ride in about an hour, I'd turn around. I ended up getting one within about 30 minutes. A couple from Reykjavík and the woman's mother. The place was pretty cool. Apparently it's being restored by some German guy as no one here cares enough to do it.

Tálknafjörður city limits!	Heading down into Bíldudalur	Some pictures of Bíldudalur	Literally just outside of the town limits
Dramatic views on the way to Selárdalur	My ride makes a stop at a particularly inviting beach	Listasafn Samúels, Selárdalur	Selárdalur, further up the valley

Since they were going straight back to Reykjavík I asked if they could take me to the turnoff to Tröllaháls. They said sure, but that they had to stop at this museum back in Bíldudalur first. Apparently it was run by some friend of Sigurjón's (the driver) and they promised him they'd stop by when they were in town. Turns out it was an Icelandic music museum run out of this guy, Jón Ólafsson's house. He has all sorts of memorabilia on display: shitloads of records, musical instruments and outfits worn by some of the luminaries of Icelandic music. I only knew a handful of the artists, but I still found it really interesting. Some of the records in there really piqued my curiosity and I would've loved to have had the time and opportunity to listen to them. This guy's also a singer himself and had some of his records for sale. He was also in the award-winning movie Börn Náttúrunar. He's the singer in the festival scene at Dynjandi.

Soon enough they dropped me off at the prescribed place, which was high on a mountain pass. A desolate and rather intimidating place to me, especially after they drove away and the perfect silence closed in around me. The sun was beating down in desert-like fashion so I smeared some sunblock on my face and set out down the road. Once again I was picked up in about an hour. This time it was a big, fat, old man in a business suit on his way to Ísafjörður. I tried talking to him, as I do with everyone, even sometimes totally in Icelandic to the people who are more comfortable with that, but this guy was rather reticent, and when he did talk, sounded like he had a mouthful of mothballs and asbestos, so I quickly gave up and instead just listened to him whisple (a word I just made up to describe his whistling in a breathy, barely-audible fashion). I was glad I was so close to my next destination, Dynjandi, and didn't have to spend a long time with him. Not that he was a bad guy or anything, but he just gave me the creeps a tiny bit. He dropped me off to strings of "já, já, já, já"s, I thanked him, and we went our separate ways.

Dynjandi was, of course, incredible. The pictures I've seen of this do it far less justice than do pictures of most things here, so I was rather unprepared for just how spectacular it was. There is also a campsite there. At that point I was getting very tired, and the extraordinary beauty of the place was imploring me to stay. However, there were no facilities there, only a campsite, and I needed to call home to take care of some personal business. Also, I didn't really feel I had covered quite enough ground for the day, so I reluctantly heaved my pack onto my aching back and tried to get back to the main road as quickly as possible. The quicker I got to Þingeyri, the quicker I could rest. I was really tired at this point.

The music museum

Heading out from Bíldudalur

Trostansfjörður

Dropped off at the turnoff to Tröllaháls

Dynjandi

I got a ride reasonably quickly, thankfully, from another guy on his way to Ísafjörður. This guy was a carpenter and drove a little too fast for my comfort. He told me about how he drives up into highlands and over glaciers in the wintertime. I can't even imagine doing that shit. Really nice guy, though. He even dropped me off right at the campsite. I tried to get all the necessities out of the way as quickly as possible. All I could think about was relaxing in the late-evening sunshine and smoking a cigar. Luck wasn't on my side, though, as the call home turned into a raging shitstorm. An irreconcilable argument broke out. I must've caused a scene at that Esso station, yelling and just losing it. Between this and my physical condition, I descended into a really miserable state despite my exquisite surroundings. I only ended up getting to finish half my cigar before the sun dove behind the mountain and the cold drove me into my tent. Couldn't resist the vodka again, but didn't sleep as well as the night before because it was so fucking cold! I did sleep, though. Not sure how much good it did me because I woke up feeling like death warmed over again. I came to the sorry conclusion that I just wasn't cut out for sleeping in a tent. In order to get some decent rest I realized I'd probably have to rent a room tonight.

Wearily hitting the pavement again	Heading north over Hrafnseyrarheiði	Great view coming down on the approach to Þingeyri. Visible is Dýrafjörður and Sandafell, the ramp-like projection behind which Þingeyri lies.
Just before Sandafell	Coming down into Þingeyri	Various sights in Þingeyri

Feeling like shit about myself (and just feeling like shit period), I packed up my stuff and hoofed over to the Esso station to get some badly-needed coffee. First cup was good. Second cup did the trick. After that and some real food (pretty bad when you're in a position to hold gas station food in such high regard) I felt pretty much human again. Not only that, but I asked a couple sitting next to me if they knew what the weather forecast was and ended up getting a ride to Bolungarvík. Soon after arriving, I called home and was able to smooth things over from the previous evening. With nothing particularly holding my attention in Bolungarvík, I cast my gaze to Skálavík, an uninhabited bay to the west, where I am now.

Heading out from Þingeyri	The barely 10-year-old tunnel connecting Flateyri, Suðureyri, and Ísafjörður	Scenery just outside the tunnel in Tungudalur
Possibly the two shortest tunnels in the world. On the way to Bolungarvík.	Bolungarvík from across the bay	Some sights around Bolungarvík

As with the bid for Selárdalur, I was skeptical about being able to get here. So, after asking around town and getting the same responses, I decided to do the same thing: head out and, if I didn't have any luck in an hour-or-so, head back. A mitigating factor in this case, though, was the fact that it wasn't nice and sunny, so it was unlikelier for people to be going there. I set out anyway, and after an hour, another sign indicated that I was a third of the way there. I was feeling so good at this point that I decided to just go the whole way myself, and with everything settled back home, spend the night here. Basically, the worst idea in the world had you asked me about it this morning. I had a good feeling about it, though, and shortly after I descended into the valley, the skies cleared up and now the sun is shining beautifully again.

I was so happy as I took off my pack and fell to the ground and just laid there for a half-hour by the seashore. I was sore and tired but felt great and was really glad that I finally had time to actually relax, eat, and write and everything. All that's left to do now is smoke a nice, big, fat cigar and soak up this incredibly gorgeous scenery around me as the big, bright sun arcs across the sky. It's exactly halfway across the bay now so I know I have at least a couple more hours. Life is so fucking good right now! The only way it could get better was if I had a hot meal, 3 or 4 beers, and an actual bed to sleep in. Speaking of sleeping, I really hope I don't regret this decision. We'll see. If so, there's always a guesthouse tomorrow night. Now to burn down that cigar...

Making my way to Skálavík	At the top of the pass	Coming down into the valley	An emergency shelter near the shore
Sights along the shore	At my campsite	Sitting on the hillside watching the sunset	One last shot before I turned in for the night. Absolutely gorgeous.