Vík í Myrdal
They are famous, these ship-stealing trolls of South Iceland. You can see them off the point in the distance below, looking east…
But it’s the few from the north, from their lair, that shows how close they came to dragging those fishing boats in for dinner, and how alive they still are.
Never think a troll is dead. That would be a big mistake for your subconscious life, indeed.
… I come for the cities.
Welcome to Vik, sprawling metropolis of 291 people on the floor of the sea. For Gunnar, this was a last remnant of Atlantis.
Welcome to the Vik suburbs! Well, urban sprawl, eh, but, still, the Atlantic drop straight off and smells only of iodine and salt, so that’s ok, then.
And the waves of the Sea of Atlantis splash up over the bones of the world.
I like it that it does that. I just wanted you to know that tonight. Whatever ladder you use…
… to climb out of the surf…
… and make land.
It’s black pupil is Iceland. It is watching the night sky. People walk across the eye, this way and that. Some take boats across the sun. They drop lines and nets and pull up the fish of the moon. In Vík, on the South Coast, eternity is never far.