70 metres north of the old island, Petersey, one of Iceland’s main elf cities faces the old sea coast on the South Iceland shore. The elves aren’t shy. Interestingly enough, though, Highway 1 runs north of the city, and no road signs point the way. Fair enough. They are the hidden people, after all.
It’s so easy to drive past the elf city to get to the Black Sand Beach.
It’s also so easy to stop by.
Oystercatchers on the prowl.
We were 500 metres from a pair of geese and their chick on the shore at Njardvik, when the parents flew out over the sea in a great flapping, honking noise, while the little one slipped into the rocks and did not move. It really did not move.
Shh! Not a word!
After five minutes, the parents were floating offshore, watching us. After fifteen minutes, we left. It was the only thing for it.
Sure, the Celts and Germans might have the Green Man, and the Sufis Khidr, the holy one (and also the Green Man), but Njardvik has a troll with green lips!
So, there!
Njardvik
Nowhere but in Borgarfjördur Eystri have I found mountains that so clearly express beings from another dimension of understanding. It’s no wonder that the great Icelandic painter Kjarval got started here.
The show changes daily, too:
All around. At distance…
… or up close:
Every step is through two worlds at once, and it’s your moving that makes the images move. Here, for instance, is the elf from the first image, three hours later, from a different angle. She’s like a very slow wind taking our measure.
Beauty is in the eye of the holder.
Not “photography of snow” but the snow making images of the land.
Such spirit!
If you’re going to follow the trail …
… the sheep won’t help you.
It’s best to follow the stakes set out by the Icelandic government, to keep things safe. You’ll have to stomp around quite a bit to find them.
It’s always a happy moment to spot one.
Even if you’re at the bottom of the trail at that point! It’s just a little game Iceland plays with you. You might as well play along.
No ultra modern farming here in the East Fjords, eh.
Njardvik
That’s a traditional Siberian driftwood fence, it is. Sometimes, tradition and thrift are worth much more than capital investment.
A Farm in Iceland 