Reykjavík Grapevine - 12.01.2007, Qupperneq 42

30_REYKJAVÍK_GRAPEVINE_ISSUE 01_007_LONESOME TRAVELLER/SKAGAFJÖRÐUR
“It’s not the destination, it’s the journey”,
have you ever heard that one? Even upon ar-
rival at Keflavík International Airport the trav-
eller is reminded of the Chatwinesque saying,
as it stands out on the Hertz Car Rental ads
along the corridors. And yet, in the case of
Icelandic winter, that same statement could
be taken as a warning or witty advice, rather
than a philosophical outlook on the experi-
ence of visiting places. Even when travelling
by car, sudden waves of cold and bad weath-
er can actually play havoc with the plans of
the most intrepid and systematic journey-
man: as the snow and the ice sever all com-
munication, access to (and escape from!)
entire localities becomes indeterminately
forbidden, until conditions get favourable for
the Road Administration’s snowploughs to
do their job. In this sense, a well-architected
trip is not necessarily the one relying on ac-
curate and defined plans, but rather entailing
no plans at all. Being ready to change route
at any time in order to avoid the blizzard,
lending space to flexibility and improvisa-
tion, privileging the fact of moving around
over reaching prefixed destinations, being
content with what discoveries the course of
events will lead to – under particular circum-
stances, these represent the founding pillars
of organisational wisdom.
I became most acutely aware of this sim-
ple truth – and of the joys offered by roam-
ing without actual goals – on the occasion
of my last escape from Reykjavík. I had set
out with the intention to reach Látravík in
the Northwest Fjords, and stand on Europe’s
westernmost point; I found myself drifting
from farm to farm somewhere else, in an al-
most archaeological quest, a few hundred ki-
lometres away from my original destination.
Challenging the Weather Gods
As I left town, the forecast was not omi-
nous. But, as occasionally happens, simply
inaccurate. By the time I reached Búðar-
dalur – almost a midway point on the way
to the Northwest Fjords – in the afternoon
premature darkness, large flakes of snow
had started descending, already covering all
stripes of asphalt in an impenetrable mantle.
The storm had reached the western coast
a couple of days ahead of expectations. I
called the Road Administration switchboard
for advice – “It is difficult to make predic-
tions,” they told me, “but if you go forth, be
prepared for the eventuality of being stuck
in the most remote parts of the fjords quite
longer than you wish.” I pulled eastwards:
the forecast – if it still was to be trusted –
was giving fair weather over the north-cen-
tral part of the country for the next few days.
An initial sense of malaise accompanied me
as my plans went up in the air.
As one travels in the midst of Icelandic
winter, erratic and sometimes prohibitive
weather conditions represent only one of
the possible sources of surprises – gener-
ally, the least welcome. Another class of
unforeseen events can be brought along by
other factors and circumstances, such as,
the facts that the tourist flow is nearly null
at this time of the year, and that Iceland re-
mains a country characterised by a very high
and diffused sense of trust. As I reached the
Sæberg youth hostel in Hrútafjörður, what I
found was – not so unexpectedly – an utterly
unlit white building, almost camouflaged in
the snowy surroundings. No sign of life. A
note on the door suggested contacting the
warden by phone.
“Good evening. I am travelling around,
would it be possible to get sleeping bag ac-
commodation at the hostel for tonight?”
“Sure, just go in and pick your room. The
door is open. Have a good sleep.”
If I was amazed to find the door unlocked
– I hadn’t tried the chance myself – I was even
more amazed by being let alone the whole
time: nobody showed up, neither to make
sure all was in order, nor to collect payment
for my overnight stay.
In the Country of Grettir
The bays of Hrútafjörður, Miðfjörður,
Húnafjörður, and Skagafjörður follow one
another in a peaceful and almost lazy succes-
sion, so different from the jagged and ner-
vous inlets of the northwestern coast. They
are the maritime border of a vast agricultural
area, renowned for its horses, its farms and
its history. While most foreign visitors tend
to traverse the region without lingering – a
sort of rush-through between Reykjavík and
Akureyri – Skagafjörður in particular has be-
come a favourite with the locals, in virtue of
the many possibilities for hiking, horseback
riding, and especially river rafting that a
largely unspoilt nature offers in summertime.
Quite evidently, none of these activities go
well with the winter harshness, and my visit
had to be limited to sightseeing and digging
into the area’s historical heritage.
A few kilometres from the main road, lies
the farm Bjarg, birth- and resting place of
Grettir Ásmundsson, the hero/antihero pro-
tagonist of the Saga of Grettir the Strong.
The exploration of the Icelandic past and its
remains is largely an immersion into the cruel
and inspiring world of the sagas, an in-be-
tween territory where myth and historical
truth find themselves inextricably blended.
National history here seems inscribed into
the evocative power of the toponyms, as
they recall the deeds of a hero, the refuge of
an outlaw, the occurrence of a prodigy… In
such a context, the visitor is not summoned
to stand in awe before monumental vestiges
of a glorious past, but rather to fill in the
gaps in the landscape, drawing from their
own knowledge and imagination.
The territory between Bjarg and
Sauðárkrókur – the largest settlement in
the whole region – is all a dense collection
of similar locations, backdrops to Grettir’s
roaming and violent deeds. All the way to
Drangey, in the middle of the Skagafjörður
fjord, the inaccessible islet where the saga
hero found first refuge and eventually his
doom, betrayed by witchcraft and by his un-
trustworthy slave.
While the island of Drangey can be
reached by ferry only during summer, it of-
fers – together with its sheer, impregnable
cliffs – a most spectacular sight throughout
the winter months, as it appears frightening-
ly close in the cold arctic light. It first revealed
its presence to me as I drove my way around
the perimeter of the Skagi peninsula – a high-
ly scenic road, along low but menacing cliffs,
solitary lighthouses, and scattered farms.
Sculptures of ice adorning the fences, and a
surreal whiteness spread over the land. The
car thermometer read, a not so indulgent,
–7º outside. It is probably true: when travers-
ing similar scenery, the pleasure of simply
being there can be such, that any thoughts
about direction and getting somewhere be-
come basically irrelevant. Not that I expect to
have been so keen on these considerations,
on those very moments: more likely, I was
dwelling on concern for the thick layer of ice
covering the steep track, or on the violent
wind drifting the snow towards the North;
possibly, on a warm sense of thankfulness
for having a 4WD at my disposal.
Sauðárkrókur may well be the most
populated settlement in the area – and even
the second-largest town in North Iceland,
for accuracy’s sake. As I saw it in the dwin-
dling, blue-hued light of the afternoon, all
gathered around its church, however, it just
looked cutely sleepy as a small crib under
a bell glass. With a certain disappointment
I found the entrance to Kaffi Krókur shut
– the somehow celebrated one and only lo-
cal bar, occasionally hosting remarkable live
music events – and I had to feel content with
the rather discomforting coffee one is usually
served at any gas station.
Although the island of Drangey keeps
stealing the horizon away from the coast,
Sauðárkrókur’s real landmark is represented
by Tindastóll, the mighty massif towering
straight above the Ocean’s waters, only a
few kilometres north of the town. And at its
root, Grettislaug, the hot spring pool where
Grettir the Strong supposedly bathed, after
swimming the four miles of sea that sepa-
rated the coast from his refuge on the islet of
Drangey. Immersion into the pool’s water felt
comfortably warm, but the idea of an oce-
anic swim could only evoke cold thoughts.
I found overnight accommodation at a
farmhouse in Hegranes, a short way east of
Sauðárkrókur. Again, I didn’t really have to
struggle for space with fellow visitors, find-
ing myself as the only guest in an overly
comfortable six-person cottage. And again,
further historical reminders around me: for
some three centuries, Hegranes used to be
an assembly site, where the chieftainships of
Skagafjörður met to hold festivities, as well
as settle feuds and legal cases. One of these
assemblies was also the occasion for one of
Grettir’s most infamous exploits.
Waking up to a glorious dawn the next
day convinced me that pulling eastwards
and avoiding the blizzard had actually been
a wise decision. Staring at a morning sun
raising among conically-shaped mountains,
piercing the clouds, and casting its warmth
over a white-clad country can be a most ful-
filling sight (especially after a pleasant sleep):
it’ll be an uncomfortable season, but winter
at these latitudes can definitely have its mo-
ments.
Heading Home
Þingeyrar is referred to as one of the funda-
mental historical locations in Iceland. Once
the site of an important monastery, today
only a 19th-century church is left on the
spot, inspiring in its solitude as it stands out
in the magnificent surroundings: on the east-
ern side the imposing Víðidalsfjall massif, on
the western one the Hóp lagoon, flat and
smooth like a mirror in a windless day.
Even more fascinating I found the visit to
Borgarvirki, a mysterious fortress-like natural
enclosure, formed by tall columns of basalt.
Despite being an established archaeological
site (traces of human activity have been certi-
fied) its purpose is still obscure. As often in
Iceland, legend and history intertwine, and
tradition from the saga wants Borgarvirki to
have been a military defence post – the only
castle in the country, as the information plate
at the parking lot proudly recites. Whatever
the case, the place holds a strong, arcane
charm, and on such a clear day as the one
I was luckily given to enjoy, the view from
the top can be utterly stunning, as the gaze
effortlessly reaches the highlands of Kjölur,
and the great Langjökull and Eiríksjökull gla-
ciers.
The completely still weather and starlit
sky I enjoyed on the way to Reykjavík felt
like ironic counterpoints to the strong snow-
storm warning that forced me to change the
course of my trip, just a few days before.
And yet, as I thought back, I found no actual
reason for complaining about the final out-
come. After all, there had been something
highly revealing to this casual and totally im-
provised itinerary. As a trekker and outdoor
enthusiast, I had never felt much attraction
for the investigation of historical Iceland: I
always thought that more about the place is
told by its nature than by its past. And I will
not claim that my outlook has been entirely
modified, in the wake of this last experience
– at least enriched, however, yes: that’s no
overstatement. Especially in the short days
of winter, sightseeing and bedtime stories
make up for a most healthy mix, one that by
no means should be underrated.
Car provided by Hertz Car Rental,
Tel.: 50 50 600.
Exploring the Historic Sights of Grettissaga
Text by Fabrizio Frascaroli Photo by Fabrizio Frascaroli