Southwest Author & Travel Writer, 7 Constitution Square (2024)

01/10/2024

LASTING IMPRESSIONS

After returning home to Maryland, my head was a jumble of mixed-up memories from our fun time in Iceland. So, here’s my debrief.

Packing for Iceland, given the ever-changing weather conditions that usually suck, is a real trip.

Here’s what you (man or woman) REALLY need to bring for a summer trip:

• Hard shell luggage for walking in the rain from a hotel or bus.

•Long (below knees) & sturdy plastic or rubber poncho. Fancy rain gear, like Helly Hansen or North Face, regardless of the price, does not work in Iceland’s relentless wind & rain!

• Warm wind & water resistant jacket or pullover for fall weather

• Wool or Fleece Sweater

• Two or three long sleeve Under Armour shirts

• One nice long sleeve shirt for dining out

• Swimsuit

• Waterproof windpants (NRS Paddling Pants and Pullover tops are the best)

• Two pairs of jeans

• Wool or fleece gloves

• Wool hat that firmly covers the ears

• Waterproof shoes (Keens)

• Street shoes made for walking

• Socks for every day

• Underwear

• Daypack for hiking

Iceland, even cosmopolitan Reykjavik, is a very casual country and people don’t dress up. So, leave the fancy clothes at home.

Don’t bring anything with short sleeves. It will never get warm enough. And cotton can kill you if it gets wet in such a cold and windy land. If by chance you catch a warm spell, you can always buy an Iceland tee shirt.

I wore shorts the whole time, and I didn’t mind the chill at all. But I ain’t normal. Plus, it meant I didn’t have to worry about rain pants.

You should come expecting nasty weather every day; that way, it won’t seem so ugly, especially when you get one of those cold and windy days without heavy rain. You’ll feel lucky! And a nice day will make you dance for joy. We found that a steady dose of gallows humor helped make every bad situation better. And when all is said and done, there is no place on earth as spectacular and amazingly beautiful as Iceland, so whining is stupid and pointless. Be bold and proud!

Architecture is not Iceland's strong suit. It looks sort of like a North Pole Japan. Pretty plain. But every structure is clean and sturdy, so it’s ultimately a very pleasant place to visit.

There are two grocery chains in Iceland. The most popular is BONUS, whose logo is a smiling pink pig. The other is KRONAN with a smiling lemon. We shopped in both and thought that KRONAN was far superior—bigger, cleaner, better choices, and cheaper.

We loved the seafood soup and homemade bread that are served almost everywhere. They really do bread well. But after a while, we got tired of lamb and cod. KFC is the only fast-food franchise in the country.

Many hotels feature a free breakfast. They are all pretty much the same and quite good: fresh fruit, sliced meats, cheeses, an assortment of breads and pastries, raw salmon slices, cereals, yogurt, scrambled eggs, and American-style bacon. Unlike most European countries, they like their bacon crispy just like we do.

All in all, Icelanders eat well, and the food, while expensive, is absolutely delicious.

EVERYWHERE!

Most hotels do not have elevators or mini-fridges. The hotels tend to be rather modest and often slightly disjointed. Many have been converted from banks which became superfluous in the last few years when the country went cashless, especially in the heartland,

The musical soundtrack in every restaurant where we ate featured 70s and 80s Rock, like Creedence and Aerosmith, and lots and lots of soul, like Marvin Gaye and Stevie Wonder. They also really liked Big Band Sinatra and Dean Martin. Icelanders drink deeply of American retro culture.

The only farm crop is grass. We never saw anything else growing in a field—no corn or soybeans like back in Maryland. Hay is a major production all across Iceland, especially as summer is drawing to a close. The farmers are busily cutting the grass and shrink-wrapping it in a race against time. The circular plastic bales dot the fields like different-colored candies, or they are stacked in ginormous piles by the barns. All this effort goes into feeding their livestock come winter. And winter lasts a very long time in Iceland.

Most of the livestock consists of sheep, and they are either enclosed in fields or allowed to roam the countryside at will. There are surprisingly few given the available grazing land. I mean, there are way more sheep in Scotland or Ireland. But no matter where they may roam, sheep are dumber and lazier than rocks and ignore the passing vehicles just begging to be hit.

There are a fair number of horses in Iceland, though it tends to be somewhat regional. For instance, there are quite a few ranches in the west and the south, but not so many in the north or the east.

What are all the pretty horsies for? Well, hold onto your saddle, little pardners, but while many of the horses you see frolicking about are for riding, a significant number are slaughtered for meat. And foal meat is the most popular cut because it’s tender, like veal.

According to Your Friend in Reykjavik: "Horses comprise about 4% of meat production in the country. Relatively speaking, Icelanders only consume 2% of horse meat compared to other types of meat. About half of the production is exported, with the best bits sent to Switzerland and Japan. The rest is sold domestically. So, Icelanders eat only about 1.5-2 kg of horse meat yearly. Nearly every Icelander has tasted horse meat.”

And horses played a big role in Iceland’s conversion to Christianity. The Church outlawed the eating of horses because the pagan Vikings loved a good horse steak after some serious mayhem. And the ban was only recently removed.

These days, most folks are slightly ashamed to admit they eat horses, and you don’t see it on the menus. You have to ask for it in a hushed whisper.

And bringing up the rear are the cows. There are about 70,000. Almost all are exclusively for the thriving dairy industry which is a big part of Iceland’s economy.

Even though it rained incessantly and the rivers and streams were raging torrents of water, there was no sediment running in the rivers. They ran crystal clear or like glacial milk every day. In Maryland, the rivers turn brown after less than an inch of rain, and in Iceland, they aren’t muddy after a foot of steady rain. Hmmmm…

Okay, the strangest thing we saw in Iceland took place in the rural areas. We called it the “seagull suicides”. Seagulls seem to hurt their feet fairly regularly—let’s say one in a thousand, or so—and it leaves them crippled. If they try to walk, they fall on their faces. It’s sad to watch. We never figured out how they hurt themselves—maybe they got clipped by a car or smashed on the rocks in a big wave. But they will sit calmly by the side of the road or trail like they are guarding their nest, when in point of fact they can’t move without doing the painful face plant dance. Apparently, they eventually can’t stand it anymore, so they go sit serenely in the middle of a busy road and wait to be run over by a car. Then again, maybe they’re just fed up with the lousy weather.

Inna and I sat down after the trip and asked ourselves how Iceland could up its game. Here are a few helpful suggestions.

1. Dome the cities. Nobody in their right mind would come to Iceland in the winter. I mean, even the summer ain’t so hot. But if they built giant, controlled-climate, glass domes over the cities and main attractions, like they’re doing in the Dubai desert, the visitation to Iceland would go right through the roof.

2. Introduce big game, like bears and wolves, into the rural environments. Iceland’s north is devoid of life other than the occasional sheep or horse. I have never traveled through such a wild country and not seen even a goddamn rabbit or deer. It’s time to add some serious predators and prey to the game.

3. Plant some trees. Lots & lots of evergreens and birch. Okay, I get it. The winds are brutal, but some folks have had great success growing trees. So, it can be done. Just lash them down with metal stakes and please, for the love of god, add some greenery to the sometimes brutally dull scenery.

4. Train some whales to come to specially-created harbor feeding zones where they can be easily seen. Whale-watching expeditions are way too long and too cold. And that’s on one of the ten days a year that are moderately nice in Iceland. When it’s wet, cold, and windy—meaning all the time—going out into the Arctic Ocean in a small boat is batsh*t crazy. So create natural, in the ocean, Sea Worlds. Put one in every seaside village. It would be a great boost to the rural economies, not just the chosen few like Húsavík in the whaling grounds. And put them in all the Eastern fjords too. Construct a sturdy mesh net to keep the buggers inside and then train a wide assortment of whales, not just the humpbacks, to come at specific times when called. Hell, put some great white sharks in there too and watch the killer whales go to town. This way, you wouldn’t have to freeze your ass off on a bouncing boat and you could sit in a nice warm restaurant and all the whales would come to you.

Smile!

www.bystevecarr.com

29/09/2024

MAY THE CIRCLE BE UNBROKEN

We awoke to the third straight day of wind and rain—we only had one sunny day the whole trip, and that’s when we were sailing to the Arctic Circle dressed in moon suits, so it really didn’t matter. And while the lousy weather bummed us out a bit at times, it didn't stop us from seeing what we planned to see. That said, it does start to wear you down after a while. It makes you want to slap a puffin around.

About thirty minutes south of Vik, we came to the powerful Skogafoss Waterfall. The Skogafoss Waterfall marks the beginning of the 16-mile long Fimmvörðuháls Trail, or “Waterfalls Way”, which ends in Thórsmörk. Apparently, it's a waterfall conveyor belt.

We admired the thundering cascade from the bottom, and then Inna climbed the long staircase to the top of the waterfall to get a completely different perspective. I wasn’t interested anymore. Upon her return an hour later, she said she was lucky she didn’t bust her ass coming down the slippery steps.

While she was huffing her way up the stairs, I chatted with two young couples from Hong Kong in a camper van. Not that it matters, but the majority of tourons we encountered on our journey were Asians and India Indians.

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Like the Chinese kids, most people were driving counterclockwise on the Ring Road. I’m not sure why, other than the fact that it’s the quickest way to the Golden Circle, a loop drive popular with folks wanting to do an outing fairly near Reykjavik.

The problem as I see it is that you immediately start seeing attractions that you just have to check out, and you can easily burn up lots of time before your trip even gets started. Before you know it, the day is gone and you have only covered a hundred miles or so. That means you will have to drive many more hours each day for the rest of the trip because you burned up so much time right at the beginning. We went clockwise on the Ring Road and it’s not as action-packed at the beginning—there’s only Glymur Falls—so you can cover a lot of ground at the start of your long journey. Plus, we were doing the Ring Road in nine days rather than five which makes a huge difference.

Our next stop was Seljalandsfoss Waterfall, which is the one you can walk behind. Lines of curious fools were slipping and sliding their way through the slick mud and rocks inside a dripping cave under the cliff where they could see the water come crashing—and I mean CRASHING—down only 20-30 feet away.

Keep in mind it had been raining for three days straight. The rivers were swollen to the point of bursting. Every river we saw, no matter the size, was running at a Class 5 level, like Lava Falls in the Grand Canyon, the largest rapid in North America. Iceland has a zillion rivers and everyone looked completely out of control. They were unrunnable in a raft, or any watercraft other than maybe a sq**rt boat. They weren’t so much rapids as maelstroms.

So, imagine what the Seljalandsfoss Waterfall looked like, and then imagine getting near such a beast. Imagine a stray rock being launched from the top and you standing below. Now imagine trying to dodge the thundering side waterfalls in order to escape from the backside. Hey, many—but not most—people were doing it. But not us.

And to be honest, after seeing hundreds of waterfalls on our magical mystery tour, I was sick of waterfalls. To hell with waterfalls! Who needs ‘em?

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And we still had a busy day ahead of us. The last fifty miles to Reykjavik were a blur of busy roads, two-lane bridges, industrial farms, and the Reykjavik satellite towns like Selfoss and Hveragerði. There were even a few stretches of freeway.

We had Google Maps locked in thanks to Inna. She had purchased a month of Sprint’s “International Plan” service for $50. So, we always knew where we were going.

We drove directly to the Hotel Odinsve in the Historic District. It was 2:30 and they let us check in.

We returned our trusty rental car to Budget Command Central near the cruise port. And then we caught a cab to the BSI bus station, about six miles away, for $45.

At the BSI Bus Terminal, we caught our Reykjavik Expeditions tour bus to the Blue Lagoon. We had booked a package for $150 per person through "Get Your Guide" which included the following:

• Round-trip bus from Reykjavik

• Blue Lagoon entry ticket

• Towel

• Silica mud mask

• 1 drink at the water bar (for adults only)

All we needed to bring was our swimming suit and the whole thing went seamlessly.

The Blue Lagoon is Iceland’s #1 attraction and it’s definitely a must-see. It’s a giant money machine and it’s crowded all the time. But its huge amoeba-shaped pools have lots of nooks and crannies where you can cavort and be virtually alone. The water is warm and in certain spots, it’s close to hot. They pump the 100-degree geothermal seawater directly from 2,000 meters beneath the surface of the earth. It’s quite salty and that’s what gives the water its distinctive milky blue color, along with the iconic white mud that is one of Blue Lagoon’s hallmarks.

We spent three hours at the Lagoon and immensely enjoyed what is certainly one of the Earth’s unique experiences.

Our journey ended as it had begun, with us passing by the nearby Sundhnúksgígar volcano eruption that was still spitting fire and attracting large crowds. Long lines of Darwin Award contestants were streaming like excitable ants toward the active volcano. Because, as we were told time and time again, it was perfectly safe, in spite of the fact the authorities had evacuated the nearby town of Grindavik a week before.

Inna and I had given this ambitious trip our best. We had experienced the full-on “Fire & Ice” experiences of Iceland. And while the weather pretty much sucked, it was well worth the effort to see so many different zippity-doo-dah worlds all in one welcoming country. And we proved yet again that we ain’t no "puskadroms".

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27/09/2024

GREEN CANYONS AND BLACK BEACHES

About fifteen minutes south of the Hotel Laki sits another very cool planet called Fjadrargljufur Canyon.

It was only misting, so we didn’t hesitate to do the mile-long hike along the ridge above the spacy canyon where the rock walls seemed alive, like large twisted black animals covered in a thick green moss and grass resembling velour. Inna kept wanting to pet them.

There were some amazing viewpoints where we looked down on water gone mad as several honking rivers converged inside the 400-foot-deep, half-mile-long chasm, and curved around the strange rock pinnacles and towering cliffs as if doing battle.

The canyon was free, but they charged for parking. That is normal at all the big attractions. And it’s always the same price: $7 for a passenger car. There was a sign by the trailhead that we scanned to download the parking app, and then we paid with our credit card. It couldn't have been easier. And they instantly sent us an email as a record of the transaction.

In Iceland, every transaction is made with a credit card. No cash! It’s super simple.

But we noticed at every park where they charged for parking that most people didn’t pay. I guess they figured that since they were in the middle of nowhere and there was no attendant, they could just get away without paying. And that really pi**ed me off, until I noticed there were small, somewhat easy-to-miss, cameras mounted on metal posts at each exit. If you didn’t pay, the parking gods would know, and they had a photo of your license number, so you were going to get a ticket. Karma usually wins out.

Between Kirkjubæjarklaustur and Vik, we stumbled upon the Laufskálavarða lava ridge with its curious piles of thousands of lava rocks, large and small. These rock cairns were made by weary and terrified travelers crossing the Mýrdalssandur desert and were intended to bring good luck.

We got out to explore this spooky area in the middle of a barren landscape, sitting at the southern edge of a mountainous glacier, and I clearly felt the spirits of the dead. This was a place of magic, for sure.

When Inna went to take a stone from one of the piles, I said, “Don’t you dare! You can add one if you like, but don’t mess with past wishes and dreams.”

We both offered our own stone offerings and then boogied. The place gave me the creeps.

Near Vik along the Ring Road, we took a turnoff for Reynisfjara Beach, passing a pretty red and white church near the water. This black sand beach is most famous for the Reynisdrangar Columns, huge hexagonal stacks made of black basalt, rising up out of the water like along the Oregon coast.

The ocean surf was the mightiest and scariest I have ever seen. When waves hit the shore, the ground literally shook. And even though we were standing well away from the shoreline, we were constantly on alert not to get hit with a “sneaker wave”, a.k.a killer wave that occurs frequently (about every ten minutes) at Reynisfjara Beach. They break much higher than the previous waves and arrive without warning. They can sweep an unsuspecting person out to sea in a matter of seconds where certain death awaits in such paralyzingly cold water.

The massive waves pound this particular area because the beach actually does a 90-degree turn at the stacks, and the right angle creates monster waves.

And, yes, we saw many people running in panic when they had gotten too close to the water, trying to snap that perfect photo as a wave broke higher than usual. The Darwin Award contestants are everywhere it seems.

We walked south down the black sand beach toward the Dyrholaey Arch and Cliffs but turned around after about thirty minutes because it had been a long day and dinner was calling back in the nearby town of Vik.

Vik is a peaceful seafront village in the fertile Myrdal Valley, pleasantly perched along a dramatic stretch of wave-battered coastline, quaintly poised between glacier-topped mountains, rugged sea cliffs, and black sand beaches.

Just past the city police station, we stumbled upon Vik’s best eatery, the Soup Factory, where we had ourselves some very tasty soup, black bread, and Gull beer after a very long day of hiking in the rain.

And right next to the Soup Factory, we found Vik’s most popular attraction. According to their colorful brochure: “The award-winning Lava Show is the only live show of its kind in the world - bringing the live experience of real lava to life in the most captivating, educational, and thrilling way imaginable. By superheating real lava up to 1100°C (2000°F) we recreate a volcanic eruption but take away all the dangers. In addition to learning about Icelandic volcanoes and how they have shaped the culture of the Icelandic people, you will see real lava flowing into the showroom right in front of you, hear it sizzling, smell the melting minerals, and feel the intense heat that radiates from it. A must-do experience for everyone visiting the land of ice and fire. Now in two locations, in Reykjavik and in Vík, on the South Coast with two completely different storylines. Vík is smaller, more intimate and dives into the mysteries of Katla volcano. Reykjavík is grander, more luxurious, and addresses the latest volcanic activity on the Reykjanes peninsula. Choose one or visit both - you won't regret it.”

Inna and I chose the path of regret.

The Lava Show parking lot was also the staging area for several DANGER! DANGER! adventure excursions, like glacier climbing, ice caving, and snorkeling between the continents. Oh boy!

After poking around tiny downtown Vik, we drove up a steep hill to check out the Vík í Mýrdal Church where we caught an amazing panoramic view of Vik and the back side of the Reynisdrangar stacks. The rain even stopped for a few minutes and a faint sun tried valiantly to bust through the clouds.

The church was built in 1929, which is old for Iceland, and anyone can book the church for an Icelandic wedding. The doors, however, were locked tight.

Vik is the geographical and cultural dividing line between Reykjavik (the south) and wild Iceland (the north). After traveling the Ring Road through lands and waters where life just sort of meanders along at a rather genial pace, Vik, a city of only 318 people, seemed like the bustling big city.

And right on cue, the electricity went out in the whole town as we were unpacking our bags in our hotel room after dinner. And it stayed off for the next four hours. Nobody knew why it went off, or when it might come back on again. But if such a thing could happen in summer, what the hell do they do in winter when snow cyclones sweep the island regularly? What’s Plan B?

I’m not sure we are prepared for what comes next, but I guess we will all find out sooner or later because Iceland has a way of exposing our planet’s weaknesses and vulnerabilities. I think it’s just a matter of time.

www.bystevecarr.com

25/09/2024

BLUE GLACIERS AND VOLCANIC ERUPTIONS

We only had about a two-and-a-half-hour drive today, with a major stop about an hour out. But it was raining to beat the band the whole time and visibility was pretty much non-existent. So, the journey was a bit sketchy at times.

We were driving through Vatnajokull National Park, and under nicer weather conditions, I’m sure we would have had some stellar views of the Vatnajokull Glacier in the distance. This glacier is Iceland’s largest, covering 14% of the country. Unfortunately, we saw absolutely nothing except a cowabunga road.

To make matters worse, there was a low-hanging fog that limited visibility even more. The road had some deep puddles that would jolt the steering wheel and attempt to launch our little car into a lava bed when we hit them at speed (55 mph). And to add a bit more thrills and chills, there were a bunch of one-lane bridges scattered hither and yon, which would have been fine if we could have seen the far side, but felt like playing Russian Roulette when we couldn’t.

There were no towns, no mountains, no nothing. At least that’s how it looked to us.

There was a small gas station and cafe somewhere out in the middle of nowhere and the place was mobbed. Apparently, everyone was looking for sanctuary from the rain and fog. We just kept on rolling, rather than get caught in a COVID trap.

I definitely breathed a sigh of relief when we finally arrived at the Jökulsárlón Glacier Lagoon and Diamond Beach.

It was still raining hard but we no longer noticed such silly inconveniences. We just put on our crappy rain gear (I don’t care what they advertise, nothing other than rubber or plastic is truly waterproof in the steady Icelandic wind and rain!) and headed out into a mob scene.

The Jokulsarlon Glacier Lagoon is one of the most unique (and popular) sights in Iceland. It features icebergs floating out to sea and beached on the black volcanic sand. Some were streaked brown and black with sand and dirt. Others were shiny and clear. They mobbed together in the blue lagoon as if planning a jailbreak.

We climbed a muddy hill for a better view of the entire area and noticed several happy harbor seals frolicking in the lagoon. The whole scene was totally surreal, like some Disney creation.

It was a three-ring circus around the parking lot with tour operators hawking walking tours, zodiac boat tours, and even Duck Boat tours. We weren’t interested.

It might have been raining but we didn’t care. We wanted more! So we followed a lava stone trail along the river which led from the lagoon to the ocean.

It was amusing to watch the icebergs drifting downstream and then getting slammed by the incoming current. The icebergs first stopped, then started spinning lazy circles as if confused, before getting slowly pushed back into the lagoon from whence they came. Some even flipped upside down, exposing their psychedelic blue bottoms.

The river trail led under the Ring Road bridge to the ocean where the black sandy beach was littered with shiny icebergs the size of baseballs. They glittered against the black sand beach, and even in the gloomy rain, they really did look like glittering gemstones. That’s why it’s called “Diamond Beach“. They were the wave-smashed fragments from the larger icebergs that made it from the lagoon to the ocean. And you could pick them up and even give ‘em a good lick. The ice was over a thousand years old and the cleanest and tastiest water you could ever drink on earth. I couldn’t resist.

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I would be remiss if I didn’t mention that up until a few days ago, this was where you could catch an ice cave tour. But that was before two knucklehead Americans were killed when they were crushed by falling ice. Since then, all the ice cave tours have been shut down while the matter is investigated by the powers that be. The Icelanders are quick to point out that the operator was an American who took risks they would never take. Yeah, maybe.

But when we were preparing for our Iceland trip, we watched a YouTube video about how much fun could be had on an ice cave hike, and I said to Inna, “That’s for Darwin Award contestants. I wouldn’t crawl into a melting ice cave at the point of a gun. It’s dangerous as sh*t.”

Well, stupid is as stupid does.

We subsequently learned that the American tour operator did in fact carve a renegade trail into the glacier and then started leading tours which ultimately ended in disaster. But we also found out that ice cave tours had only been offered in the winter until COVID almost destroyed the tour companies’ livelihoods. So, think about that if you decide to go strolling inside a thawing glacier in summer.

A few minutes farther south from Jokulsarlon, there was the Fjallsárlón Glacier Lagoon, where we could get much closer to the glacier than at Jokulsarlon, and there were better views of all the cracks and crevices. But we were sopping wet and needed some serious car time to dry off.

We drove through the fog and rain, catching only quick glimpses of the terrain passing by. It was like a really boring, and yet stressful, video.

By the time we arrived at our destination in Kirkjubæjarklaustur, we were finally dry and we checked into the splendid Hotel Laki where we settled in for some farm-style hospitality.

The Laki area is infamous in geological circles. Between June 1783 and February 1784, there were a series of eruptions in the region around Mt. Laki that were some of the biggest and most poisonous in historic times. Over the course of eight months, there were ten eruptions, creating 135 craters and two vast lava fields. And the consequences were enormous for Iceland, as 75% of the domestic animals and 20% of the human population soon died.

The sulfurous cloud from the eruption eventually covered most of North America and Europe, leading to acid rain defoliation and extensive crop failures. The overall temperature of the planet was lowered by two degrees and the effects lasted nearly three years, ultimately impacting all of the planet.

And today, Laki has some wonderful hotels and guest houses where we can all pretend that everything’s gonna be alright.

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23/09/2024

FJORLAND

The Eastern Fjords of Iceland will bring you to your knees. The landscape is overpowering because everything towers over you at close quarters without any space to measure scale. And it smells different, like fish and freshwater mixed with cut grass and the ocean. Sounds get swallowed by the immensity of the land and water. Light swirls and throbs with something much stronger than different colors. It’s like walking into the biggest church on earth and you’re the only one there. I often wanted to laugh and cry at the same time.

Up until we got to the FJORDLAND, our journey was defined by the stops at the famous attractions—Godafoss, Dettifoss, Akureyri, Lake Mývatn, the Dimmuborgir Lava formations—distinct places on a map. But the eastern fjords are a dreamscape of ten majestic peninsulas jutting into the Norwegian Sea. From outer space they look like ten arthritic fingers with dark blue fjords dividing the oddly-shaped peninsulas. They aren’t a specific spot, but rather, a moving target.

Scattered at the water's edge are small fishing villages where the lifestyle is not just simpler, it’s deliberate. And it takes a sturdy person to live in such a place.

There’s Breiðdalsvík which is nestled in a picturesque harbor with hunkered-down homes. We stopped for lunch in Djúpivogur where we caught some great views of Berufjörður Fjord and the tiny toy ferry that services the isolated Isle of Papey where there’s a lighthouse, a private house, a church, an automated weather station, and a large colony of Atlantic puffins. Papey is said to be named after the monks called Papar.

Every village in FJORDLAND has a small fleet of brightly painted fishing boats that look way too small to work in the angry ocean. But they undoubtedly do. Talk about some hard crabs! And there is usually at least one fish processing factory where large vessels take on shipments for Europe and beyond.

The variety of fish in Iceland's waters is a wonder to behold. I had never heard of many of the fish appearing on the menus of the restaurants where we ate, like wolffish, plaice, redfish, lumpfish, saithe, whiting, and capelin.

As we drove along the Ring Road, hugging the edges of the shimmering fjords, we also saw expansive salmon farms, taking up long stretches of the fjords, where millions of salmon are raised inside ocean nets. Salmon is big business in FJORDLAND. But the whole nasty business is also quite controversial because the nets allow the free flow of diseases into the wild fishery, and an escape of thousands of a Norwegian strain of salmon last year from a FJORDLAND fish farm has already spread genetically modified fish into 32 rivers.

According to “The Guardian: “The escape – at a pen in Patreksfjörður owned by Arctic Fish, one of the country’s largest salmon-farming companies, which is owned by Norwegian salmon giant Mowi – has reignited calls from environmentalists, sport fishers and some politicians to restrict or ban open-pen fish farming. It is not the first big escape: just last year, another salmon farming company, Arnarlax, was fined £705,000 for not reporting an escape of 81,000 fish in 2021.”

Right now, money and jobs for the rural economies are doing the talking, as would be expected.

The next biggest economic player in FJORDLAND is aluminum. International behemoths, like Alcoa and Rio Tinto, ship raw bauxite to Iceland where it is turned into aluminum. Many small villages like Reyðarfjörður are home to big-boy factories, churning out building materials for the world. Why Iceland? It’s simple: Cheap power and less regulatory oversight than in the EU.

FJORDLAND constantly reminded me of the Scottish Highlands. The landscape is remarkably similar though more overpowering and less green. And they both share the Norwegian Sea. Unfortunately, the people are nothing like the Scotts. The Scotts are quite chatty and born poets. But not the people of the eastern fjords in Iceland. They are the strong silent type.

That said, the people seem genuinely happy, even if they aren’t exactly friendly. They are what you might call “reserved”, and they seem to be wound up rather tight. When you wave at them in passing, they usually don’t wave back. And while they are rather gabby amongst themselves, they ghost most strangers. And it’s not a matter of language because they teach English from an early age in all Icelandic schools. So, almost all Icelanders speak fluent English.

Inna said, “They’re doers, not talkers.” Yeah, maybe. They definitely follow the cold weather characteristic of being inherently industrious. They reminded me of the maniacs from the great state of Maine.

Inna described them best. “They don’t have much, but what they do have is of high quality. And they don’t need or want more from life. And that’s why there is such a deep sense of peace about the place.”

There is also a certain eccentricity in each village. For instance, the hotel we stayed in in Eskifjodur was a former bank and the layout was a bit odd. To get to our room we walked down some steps and through a dark corridor that led us past the old bank vault filled with cheap clown and horse paintings, and then up two flights of steps—few hotels in Iceland have elevators—to a small wing of former offices that were now hotel rooms. The receptionist, a sweet young lady with a friendly disposition, gave us a key to the front door because she had to go home and cook dinner for her family.

Each house in the small FJORDLAND villages usually sits on a good-sized grass yard. Most are tidy and well-taken care of, though some have boats or fishing gear scattered around with careless abandon. And small greenhouses have become quite popular, allowing folks to harvest some cheap veggies year-round.

The average income in Iceland is $5,500 a month. Take THAT America! But wages need to be high because EVERYTHING is terribly expensive. We thought prices were high in Hawaii, but they are much higher in Iceland.

I can’t imagine what it would be like to live in Iceland in the winter. Of course, I live in Florida every winter, so I’m probably not a good judge when it comes to enduring cold weather. But apparently escape isn’t part of the Iceland life equation.

At the headlands of each fjord, there are meticulously maintained farms that had us scratching our heads, going, “How could you live out here without going crazy? There’s no place to shop, no movie theater, no neighbors, no nothing, and the weather totally sucks. You’d be stranded out here for months on end. What would you do?”

And on the subject of crazy, we saw many cyclists with their bikes laden down with bulky panniers, bicycling around FJORDLAND. Having ridden my bike twice across the U.S., I can say without fear of contradiction that every person who does it is nuts, and lying if they say they enjoyed the ride. It is not uncommon to get two or three days of non-stop rain. And wind? We’re talking about a country that can’t grow trees because it’s too windy. And hilly? Forget it. Every cyclist we passed looked miserable and ready to die. I waved and they scowled, and I felt no pity for them because five minutes of weather research would tell you to find some other place to go touring on your bike. I would sooner walk around Iceland than bike.

Arts & Crafts are big in every FJORDLAND village. They are pretty much all the same: a small nondescript building selling Icelandic wool sweaters, gloves, and hats; baseball caps with a whale or puffin logo; folklore books about faeries and trolls; hand-painted greeting cards; candles; paintings of birds and fish; hand-carved wooden bird statues; sketchy local sauces and spices; knitted towels; and weird knick-knacks you might find in a hoarder's house. These shops are quite popular with the tour bus crowds and I think it’s a match made in heaven.

We spent the night in Höfn, home to almost every fish processing company in Iceland. And every plant looked abandoned. I didn't see a single soul. Maybe they only work at certain times.

But there were two very interesting attractions in Höfn.

The first was a ginormous indoor soccer complex with several artificial turf fields. The fields were lined and there were goals and balls. But the place was completely empty. I kicked a ball around and scored some easy goals before heading on to a monument by the sea, commemorating the first around-the-world airplane flight that finished its 5-month and 22-day epic journey from Seattle, Washington when they landed safely in the waters off nearby Mikely Island. It remains the most important thing that ever happened in this part of the world.

But the highlight of our stop in Höfn, was our dinner at the Pakkus restaurant where we dined on their famous langoustine dinner. We had never heard of a langoustine.

Langoustine are known variously as the Norway lobster, Dublin Bay prawn, and the shlobster (shrimp-lobster). The langoustine is a slim, coral-colored lobster that grows up to 10 inches long and is the most important commercial crustacean in Europe. It lives in the northeastern Atlantic Ocean and parts of the Mediterranean Sea.

They are rather expensive. We paid $75 for about 8 langoustine tails oven-grilled in Icelandic butter, garlic and parsley, served with a baked sweet potato, fried potatoes, some local bread, and tzatziki lathered in cold langoustine sauce. It was out of this world!

All in all, FJORDLAND might not grab the Iceland headlines when people tell you where you should go, but it totally rocked our world. And it will rock your’s too!

www.bystevecarr.com

Southwest Author & Travel Writer

01/10/2024

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