Iceland, Part Three

The next day we drove north to Húsavík, a fishing village and popular whale-watching destination on the eastern shore of the bay of Skálfandi. In town, we opted to visit the whale museum instead of the phallological museum (world's largest collect of penises, over 200 species!), which was an incredibly informative tour, housed in an old slaughterhose and containing the complete skeletons of eight or so different species of whales suspended from the rafters.

Continuing north on the Tjörnes peninsula, low-lying clouds sometimes thinned enough for us to glimpse the mountains on the opposite shore, a dark ridge draped with snowdrifts rising steeply out of the Arctic. On our side of the bay, however, was low farmland on bluffs overlooking the sea. Ahead of us, we spotted a waterfall cascading onto the beach, and so begins our first adventure of the day.

We parked by the side of the road at the presumed creek, hopped a low fence, and attempted to hike down to the afore-mentioned waterfall. We didn't make it, due to the incorrect assumption that we were crossing just another sheep pasture. Instead, a curious black stallion was alerted by two mares in the neighboring enclosure, suddenly appeared at the top of the hill and unhesitatingly galloped down to us. Now, Iceland horse are quite small, but not being associated with their habits (or any other horse's habits, for that matter), we quickly retreated, hoping he wouldn't react to the certain smell of fear surrounding us and vowing to learn a little bit about common farm animals.

Back in the Land Rover, we headed to the crumbling brown cliffs on the peninsula's northern tip in search of a much different animal -- puffins! We spotted their unmistakeable orange beaks and black and white bodies from above, as they clumsily flew, low over the water, to their nests in the cliff walls. Not having binonculars and desiring a closer view, we drove a few miles east where the road descends to the beach for adventure #2 of the day: Puffin Quest. For nearly an hour we picked our way over rocks like dinosaur eggs piled at the base of the cliffs. But alas, it was too far, and we were late for dinner at Ingibjorg's house back in Akureyri. At least I got to touch the Arctic Ocean for the first time -- cold, clear and a deep blue-gray, gently lapping at the shores of the black sand beaches.

We had a couple more days, more delicious and relaxing family meals in Akureyri and on our way back in Reykjavik, but I will leave off with this last bit. That night, we drove the seasonal road over the top of the mountain between Akureyri and the summer house. It was 12:30, and in the north the sun was setting, skimming slowly over the sea between mountains in the narrow entrance to the fjord. No sound carried up from the city west across the water; there was hardly a breeze, but the air was cool and pure. No other cars were on the old gravel road, only an old ewe and two lambs grazing nearby. The mountains and the sky had faded to dusty pink, lavender, blue and gray. I've never believed the artists who painted landscapes in such colors, but, I guess so far north on such a drawn-out sunset, things become softer -- a film covering the world to blur the distinction between sky, mountain, city, sea.