Reykjavík Grapevine - 19.05.2017, Qupperneq 50

It’s halfway along the dirt road be-
tween Hólmavík and Djúpavík that
the car starts to make a strange
sound. We grind to a halt and look
at the wheels in the midst of a soak-
ing rainstorm, and in the middle of
nowhere. The car has not one flat
tyre, but two. After a call ahead to
Hotel Djúpavík, we’re
reassured that help
is on the way, and an
hour later, Maggi and
Héðinn, the son and
son-in-law of the ho-
tel’s owners Ási and
Eva, come trundling
down the track. With-
in minutes, the car is
jacked up, and both
wheels are replaced,
one with a spare they
brought with them.
“We’re used to doing
this kind of thing,”
smiles Maggi, covered
head to toe in mud
from crawling un-
der the car. “Sometimes it’s in the
snow, so this wasn’t so bad.”
Maggi and Héðinn speed off
into the distance, and we trundle
onwards. At times, the track runs
so close to the violent, crashing
waves that we can almost taste
the sea spray; at others, it winds
up through high outcrops, with a
sheer cliff down to the ocean. When
we finally turn the final corner and
catch sight of Djúpavík, it’s breath-
taking—a handful of houses and
a rusting shipwreck nestled in the
fjord next to a huge, crumbling fac-
tory building that seems like a sur-
real vision in the far-flung reaches
of the Westfjords.
Ghost town

The factory closed down in 1955,
when herring stocks dwindled.
What remains is the evocative skel-
eton of a building—an atmospheric
labyrinth of spacious halls, rickety
stairways, peeling paint, and rust-
ing machinery. In recent years, it’s
been put to use as a car workshop,
a local history museum, and a gal-
lery space, but large sections of it
remain untouched.
The abandoned village got a
second life in 1985, when the old
workers’ quarters were converted
into Hotel Djúpavík by Ási and Eva,
who became the sole inhabitants of
the once bustling village. Over the
years, they converted the building
into a homely guesthouse with a
vast accumulation of books, photo-
graphs, curiosities
and bric-a-brac.
Thirty years on,
the business is go-
ing strong. As Eva
and Ási approach
ret i rement age,
Maggi has gradu-
ally taken over the
day-to-day running
of the hotel, with
help from the rest
of family in care-
fully renovating the
house. We sip coffee
and chat as the ho-
tel’s two dogs, Sóley
and Freyja, snuffle
around our feet. “At
first I came here to try out a differ-
ent lifestyle for one summer,” says
Maggi. “But this place has a strange
pull. I’d never have imagined my-
self doing this when I was living
in Reykjavík. But now, I love being
here. It’s demanding at times, but
it’s the most fun job I’ve ever had.”
Going viral

Djúpavík had an unlikely brush
with fame in 2006 when Sigur rós
filmed a concert in the factory that
became one of the most memorable
sequences of ‘Heima’. Last year, a
larger crew descended on the area
to film a key sequence of the forth-
coming film ‘Justice League’. Back
at the hotel, Maggi proudly shows
us the trailer, which features a dra-
matic shot looking down over the
factory.
“There were 350 people here on
the week of the shoot,” says Arnor,
another of the brothers who help
run the business. “I worked with
True North when it was happen-
ing—I felt like it was something I
had to be a part of. It’s exciting—it’ll
be nice to see it on the big screen.”
He pauses, smiling. “We’re just not
sure what’ll happen next.”
Art factory

Each year, the factory hosts a pho-
tography exhibition in a large hall
and a bright, heavily weathered
corridor. This year the curator is
Emilie Dalum, a Reykjavík-based
photographer who works at the ho-
tel each summer. “They asked me
to organise the show in December,”
says Emilie. “I’ve been finding the
artists, and working out the logis-
tics. You have to explain the condi-
tions of the factory to people who
haven’t been here before. It’s a very
specific kind of environment.”
Much of the photography is
mounted on aluminium to keep the
prints from warping in the damp
and cold. Most of Djúpavík’s sum-
mer visitors will see the exhibition
as part of a factory tour that Emilie
sometimes conducts. “I love getting
back here each summer,” she says.
“For the first few days, people often
feel very tired here—it’s like all the
tension leaves your body. Djúpavík
has this affect on people.”
Behind the hotel and the factory
a trail runs off into the distance.
I set out into the drizzle, followed
by Freyja, who’s decided to join the
walk. As we follow the route mark-
ers out of the village, the landscape
becomes gradually wilder, criss-
crossed by streams and dotted with
boulders. Before long, the huge fac-
tory is just a dot between the ocean
and the vast mountains. I sit down
to absorb the scene, and start to
feel the sense of calm that Emilie
described.
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The Djúpavík Effect
Peace and superheroes in a remote area of Strandir
Distance from
Reykjavík
295km
How to get there
Route One north then routes 61, 64
and 643
50 The Reykjavík Grapevine
Issue 08 — 2017
Accommodation provided by
djupavik.is
Emilie Dalum, curator of The Factory exhibition
Watch out for Ben Affleck prancing around in a cape
Words & Photos: John Rogers
“This place
has a
strange
pull... it's
demanding
at times, but
it's the most
fun job I've
ever had."