Life in a Nordic Town
Although happily immersed in village life, I’m mindful of early-onset cabin fever. Eagerly accepting a road trip invitation, I set out before sunrise with Maggie, the emroiderer and Alexandra, the writer. The sun seems to rise more slowly here, gifting that precious, dusky-blue glow for longer. A healthy dusting of snow had created a picture-perfect Icelandic postcard for our journey. We followed the coastline North from Skagaströnd, along the Skagi Peninsula, accompanied by Stevie Nicks’ dulcet tones. The only soul we encountered along those first silent roads was a sheep dog, whose efforts to catch us were merely for show. Pretty farmhouses dotted the landscape, glowing yellow from within.
Catching sight of the Kálfshamarsvík lighthouse, we snaked off the road and up a long winding gravel track. The girls headed straight to the tower. Their snowy footsteps and silhouetted figures afforded my camera the perfect capture. The lighthouse beam cut through clouds that sank against a steely sapphire sky. As I peered from afar, the only sound was the gentle lapping of dark blue waves. Everything in that moment was crisp and clean. I thought of the clarity coldness brings and recorded the scene in my mind for the safest keeping.
Onward, further north we drove, chatting of our hopes for the residency. As the sky finally submitted to daytime, we stopped for the obligatory ‘road trip’ highway photos. We tread the carriageway with caution, taking extra care not to become a road kill sandwich. Some Icelandic drivers ‘donut’ into bends, momentarily appearing without control, yet calmly facing forward. At a precise moment, they yank the hand break and snap the car to its new perpendicular trajectory. It is as impressive as it is terrifying. A nearby field of friendly horses also garnered considerable excitement. Icelandic breeds have evolved over the last 1000 years with no natural predators, making them less wary. Their curiosity towards us seemed to confirm the theory. A plucky foal with piecing blue eyes stole the show. Reaching slowly to pet him, I felt his fur, thick with ice and salt water.
Next came lunch at Sauðárkrókur (code name ‘Soda Cracker’). It is a slightly larger town than Skagaströnd with more cafes and bustle. We settled on a burger joint with an unnecessarily extensive menu. The food was expensive but delicious and the service, as per usual, was pleasant and welcoming. This is a friendly country, primed for tourists.
Our final pitstop for day 1 was the turf houses at Glaumbær Farm – a delightful scene, reminiscent of Middle-earth. Set back from the road behind a pretty church, the buildings were inhabited as recently as 1947. The oldest of the existing dwellings date to the mid 18th century. Although the museum was closed, we were free to circumnavigate the site.
Day two (swapping Alexandra, for Sabrina the painter), we headed west from Skagaströnd to Hvítserker, a hulking rock formation that guards the shallow shoreline menacingly. Also known as the ‘Great Troll of the North’, it involves a bracing climb down a steep, mucky cliff edge. The surface water on the beach below had mostly frozen, reflecting the sea, sky and troll beautifully. As the girls found a dry path to the sea edge, I photographed rock, ice and moving water in a small waterfall on the face of the cliff – three different states of being – solid, moving and impermanently frozen.
To finish, we chased the sunset in the direction of Kolugjufúr Gorge, to see Kolufossar Falls – so named in honour of the giantess, Kola. The violently churning water was a colour I had never seen. It made me think of algae, snow and life. Icy formations under the bridge that spanned the canyon, circled slowly, before being sucked toward a second raging waterfall. The sound of the torrent and the scenery it has created kept us static. It was truly awesome.
I have much to learn about endings. I want to disarm the illusion that a written piece requires a realisation or lesson to justify its existence. A simple description of an event, experience or place can suffice. The more honest I am with myself about what I need to learn, the smaller a mountain it becomes. Have I inadvertently ended with another lesson? Our two day road trip gave us lighthouses, blue eyed horses, trolls, mountains, Middle-earth and a brand new colour. I’ll leave it there.
Paul Scannell Photography 