Far From the Madding Crowd
A few years ago, just before Iceland madness began to accelerate logarithmically, I spent a little over a week in this gorgeous and welcoming country. I spent a day seeing the sights in Reykjavik including the Harpa and the waterfront, as well as the often overlooked but certainly unusual Phallological Museum. I also took a jaunt out to Þingvellir National Park where I visited the obligatory sites which have now been Instagrammed to death. On the way back to the city I stopped by the nearby farm belonging to the cousin of a friend. The farm included beautiful greenhouses and a complement of Icelandic ponies, Luckily this lovely woman did me a huge favor and lent me several down parkas, since being a Southern California person I had come poorly equipped for the cold. Layering tshirts and cotton sweaters with a light jacket just doesn’t cut it sometimes.
I undertook this trip in mid May, thinking it would be past the coldest, snowy season and thus safe enough from a driving perspective - yet unencumbered by the festival and sightseeing summer crowd. I wanted to see some of the less touristed parts of the country (skipping the “golden circle” except for Thingvellir) but didn’t have enough time for the full Ring Road. After a day and a half recovering from jet lag and sightseeing in Reykjavik, I rented a car and set off northward to see what I would find.
The drive north from the city was beautiful. Once you leave the outskirts of the city you’re in rolling farm country. The hillsides were stunningly green and dotted with sheep and new lambs. As an avid photographer I was ecstatic. The biggest problem was that the highway has virtually no shoulder so you can’t just pull over to take photographs or you’ll land in a ditch. I missed so many wonderful photos because of this! Occasionally I was able to pull over in a farmhouse driveway and take a few quick shots.
I planned to take the scenic route around Hvalfjörður, the long fjord where the US established a secret base during World War 2. I missed the turnoff and ended up in the tunnel instead, which was slightly terrifying because I hadn’t planned it and the tunnel is 5,770 m long and reaches a depth of 165 meters. A bit of deep breathing got me through to the toll booth, and I took the scenic route on the way back a few days later.
After a lot more driving and some incredible sights which I’ll cover in a future post, I arrived in the tiny town of Stykkishólmur (see above). This little fishing town looks like time has passed it by, being mostly filled with picturesque homes and lightly trafficked narrow streets. My main purpose in staying the night here was so I could catch the ferry to Flatey Island. Here is a photo of the sturdy ferry Balður. The open front allows entry and transport of vehicles for those traveling all the way across the fjord.
The small island of Flatey (including a group of even smaller islands) sits in the middle of Breiðafjörður and is barely inhabited for most of the year. It can only be reached by ferry and for most of the year, that ferry only crosses the fjord once per day. During a few months in the summer there are two crossings, so it’s possible to debark on the island for a few hours and then catch another ferry and go on to the Westfjords, or back to Stykkishólmur. When I visited in May, debarking meant you could not leave until the next day’s ferry at the earliest. That suited me perfectly.
At the dock, a small van from the one hotel on the island (cleverly named the Hotel Flatey) appeared. However it wasn’t there to transport the visitors, or even their luggage, to the hotel. Instead it loaded up with supplies and the driver instructed the handful of people debarking to walk up to road with our luggage.
There are no vehicles on the island, except the hotel’s van and a few trucks and tractors belonging to the farmer and other year round residents. So I tramped up the road to the hotel not knowing what to expect. I passed a number of well kept old homes which serve as summer homes for residents from Reykjavik.. Most of the island is farmland or marsh, and one portion is inaccessible due to being a bird sanctuary.
When I visited, the hotel was in its first week of opening and staff had just arrived, preparing for the reportedly busy summer season to come. The hotel itself is a conglomeration of several older homes and includes its own excellent dining room and bar (a good thing since no other sources of food or drink were open this early in the season and there are no shops on the island).
Below are photos of the hotel, and the lovely attic room I stayed in, perfect for a single traveler.
Once settled in my room I was free to wander the island from end to end. It was blustery, cloudy and utterly stunning. As far as I could tell there were five other guests on the island besides myself. I spent most of that afternoon and evening wandering the island in silence completely alone with my thoughts and surrounded by some of the most beautiful and untouched landscape I’d ever seen.The lovely houses that dotted the island were well kept but because none of the inhabitants were there, they were more like giant dollhouses. Many of the houses were built in the 19th century when the island was a bustling center of commerce. They’ve been beautifully preserved as these photos illustrate.
I caught a glimpse of the farmer who resides there all year. There is also a family that lives year round gathering the eider down from the thousands of eider ducks that inhabit the shores. The sheer volume and variety of bird life made me wish I had taken up birding. In that 24 hour period, the island was one of the most serene and restful spots I’ve ever visited.
There is also a lovely old church perched on the hill not far from the hotel. It contains a mural painted in 1926 by the prominent artist Baltasar Samper. Unfortunately I wasn’t able to see the inside because at that time it was only open by appointment.
During my peregrinations I also ran across a number of these odd looking structures containing fish strips, It turns out this is how harðfiskur or “stock fish” is made. It is most commonly made from cod and will last for several years after the process is complete.
After spending most of the afternoon and early evening wandering from one end of the island to the other, and back, (the entire island is only about .5 square km and, as mentioned, a portion was closed off for the bird sanctuary), I returned to the hotel for a delicious dinner and one of the best night’s sleeps I can recall having in a long time - despite the fact that it didn’t get completely dark until after 2 AM.
In the morning I work to this colorful view out my little attic window.
After a full breakfast and a bit more time wandering the landscape and reveling in the quiet, with no sounds other than the many flocks of birds and the occasional noise of sheep or cows, it was time to go. I made my way to the dock to catch the once-daily return ferry from the Westfjords to Stykkishólmur. As the ferry pulled away from the rustic little dock I said goodbye to one of the most soul satisfying travel experiences I have ever had. Even though I’ve been many beautiful and unusual places since, this little island is unique and I’ll never forget my time there.
