Olafsfjordur

This is the second night we're staying in Brimnes Cabins. The town is Olafsfjordur, and the fjord we're on is Olafsfjordur. Last night we asked our cabin hosts if they thought the Folk Museum just south in Dalvik would be open. They checked the internet, and were shocked to find no Easter hours posted. As though everyone in Iceland is conscientiously posting hours and updating their websites. Not to worry though, they assured us there was so much in Dalvik to do, it would be worth the trip regardless. Having just driven through the town to arrive last night, we found this assertion hard to believe.

Nevertheless, we headed the 20 minutes back south through the one way (what the guidebook calls a "thin") tunnel, to try our luck at breakfast and the Folk Museum. We found an open door, but they told us they were closed. The only place open for breakfast was Olie, the gas station. Turns out it wasn't half bad. The Folk Museum, however, was closed. We looked to our right, and saw a couple of other stranded tourists locked outside of the Whale Watching center. Laughing at their naivete, we walked down to the water, then over to the now open Cafe, Gisli Eirikur Helgi, named for three brothers and some famous adventures with their hungry cat.

I'm so glad we did. It was by far my favorite dining experience in Iceland. Super quaint, everything was made from scratch and served in mismatching antique dishware. At last, my taste of fish soup, a really fresh salad, 3 types of home made rye bread, a huge chunk of butter to carve, and all the sea salt crystals my heart desired. Every bit was delicious. My previously delightful gas station breakfast became shameful to me. The heretofore inhospitable Dalvik became charming and quaint. The first highlight of my day.

We then headed north to make our way around the top of the Troll Peninsula, or Trollaskagi, in a blizzard. The Garmin, determined to do us wrong, tried to head us directly into the peninsula on an unsurfaced road, which eventually ended as Impassible. Fortunately, I brought a real map, and my hard earned map skills, honed from decades of being lost around the world, brought us back on track, through a 7km tunnel, followed by a 4 km tunnel, and stopping at the northernmost city of Siglufjordur.

Here, the Herring Museum and the Fold Music Museum were kind enough to post which 3 hours of the day they would be open for business. Unfortunately, our windows of fate did not align, and we continued down the other side of the peninsula for our most sought destination of Hofsas.

I'm so glad wee did. Leaving the blinding blizzard behind us, Hofsas was beautiful and sunny. Their claim to fame is their fjordside hot spring \swimming pool. Icelanders are sticklers about hot spring hygiene, insisting on a fully nude shower with soap before heading in. They even post diagrams of which parts of your body are most in need of a wash. The views were incredibly stunning, making near the look of an infinity pool on the side of the cliff. Along the beach to the south, massive basalt columns hung over the ocean, the first I've seen in nature here.

Though the length and depth of the tunnels freaked me out at first, I was glad to have so much of their shelter on the drive back to Olafsfjordur in the evening. The blizzard had worsened. Snow and sleet were driving sideways, while the wind was gusting out toward sea. The arctic ocean was frothing and crashing against the cliffs below me. I could easily imagine the frozen demise of countless vikings over the years. All day I was also thinking of my book, wherein the hero, Bjartur of Summerhouses, just survived a blizzard and a dip in a glacial river while riding a reindeer, only to find his wife at home, already dead.Read more