Never romanticize Iceland.
But if you do, it will wrench you back to your senses quickly enough.
Out in the West Fjords, you can still find trolls caught in the act of being born.
And you can find Rauðasandur, the red sand beach (more like quicksand, beware), that is made out of troll stuff spread out flat as it wades out to sea.
Iceland: where the fun never stops!
When you live on the beach, well, that’s nice.
But if you have a church on the beach, you build a wall. That’s nice, too.
A bit dark, though. So it is. But not half so dark as the church!
Kind of a repetition of the motif of the cliff, really, but, heck, in this place, even the sea is a cliff wall.
The land has its way with us.
Some mountains are so powerful, their names are primal forces from a land of giants.
Urðahlið: The Broken Mountain, or even The Broken Gate.
Borgarfjördur in Arnarfjörður
It is good that we are small. It is good to know.
Most countries don’t have such a clear choice.
Worth a trip, I think.
Is that a troll mouse? Or a troll kitten? I need to go back!
Right. So maybe you see some tractor ruts. That’s tourist thinking, eh.
This is a city in the West Fjords. Yes, that’s the way they look out here. But, more than that….… this is the þingeyri golf course. Yeah, yeah, in Canada where I live, golf is a gentrified sport, reducing indigenous and agricultural land to suntans and beer. In Iceland, it’s a bit different. I like that. A lot.
Note the amenities. Mowing crew.
Clubhouse. Air conditioned.
Volcanic grunge. Very challenging.
9 holes, par 78. Watch that ankle. Here’s the first aid team.
Lumpy bits. But lovely.
Real lovely. A bit soggy in bits.
But a great city view.
Lose your heart in the West Fjords. You won’t regret it. Fore!