A trip to the Westfjords of Iceland can feel like a trip to the end of the world. Especially when you have been confined to the concrete and urban surroundings of Reykjavik for over a week, there is no bigger contrast imaginable than the empty and out-worldly landscape there. And even more so when the last time you have driven a car on gravel roads was ten years ago, and you have to skid around 50-metre cliffs on the one side and crumbling mountain flanks on the other.

But yours truly proved himself worthy of driving the rallye Paris-Dakar, and did not steer the car into any abyss. On our way up motorway 1, overland-route 60 and gravel road XX we passed loads of awe-inspiring mountain passes, little coastal inlets, abandoned cars and (living and dead) sheep. We finished the first day of our trip in the huge fjord of Djúpavík, right next to the disused fish factory that was one of the concert venues for Sigur Ros’ Heima-shows.

Abba? Did he say Abba?

In Djúpavík, we met one of Iceland’s best singer/songwriters, Svavar Knutur, who was there to play a small show with blues-diva Kristjana Stefánsdóttir. Both perform together regularly in an acoustic setting, playing covers and singing own songs. Svavar had wryly warned us before, but listening to a set of Abba-covers in the former quarters of the female workers of the factory (now the hotel) together with (mostly German) tourists and the handful of locals, while outside the summer-sun was still reflecting on the water of the fjord, felt extremely surreal. But maybe this was just the 8 hour-drive and the 3 beers I drank during the show.

After the performance, Svavar gave us a very private tour of the place and the factory, including a improvised didgeridoo-performance inside a former tank for fish-oil. Svavar often comes to Djúpavík, which he uses as some kind of refuge for himself – he even recorded with Hraun inside the tank, and also plays in the hotel and the factory regularly. We concluded our evening with an Icelandic coffee at 11.30 PM and still fell asleep within minutes. Sonic Iceland off.

Long way round

After another coffee and a tour of the factory (which would have been off limits in Germany – the Bauaufsichtsbehörde would have seen to that), we set off towards Ísafjörður and Mugison the next morning. To fulfill all road trip-cliches, we also picked up two Swiss backpackers for company, and to make me responsible for even more lives when driving along cliffs. And how did I miss my gravel roads. Not a bit. But nevertheless we had to travel on these roads, and after stopping in the middle of nowhere to take some pictures of a spooky, empty house in the highlands and some ice (ice! In June!) next to a small waterfall, we finally travelled on some asphalt roads.

After 2 hours of driving and while in the middle of nowhere, Kai realised that he left the only warm jacket he brought along hanging in the closet in the hotel. But tough as he is, he only cried a bit and did not force me to drive back. Phew. In the meanwhile the asphalt roads kept on snaking around fjord after fjord, and even though I could go 90 km/hour here, it felt as if we would never reached our destination at all. Driving in rain and grey clouds, the landscape did not feel as if it suitable for humans to live there, only stones and water and the ever-present dominance of the dark, snowcapped Hornstrandir-peninsula on the horizon.

Therefore I was surprised how cheery and colourful a small town like Ísafjörður can feel when you finally see it after rounding the last fjord. Surprisingly, most hotel- and guest-rooms in town were booked, so we had to set up camp at a Hotel Edda-dependance in a part of the local hospital.

And boy, this was not nice. With the smell and the looks of the place, I can definitively say that I’ve never slept in a hotel-room before that reminded me of being prepared for an operation the next day. I was expecting a nurse to bring some pills every minute.

After a walk through town (where’s not much to do after 6 PM, it seems) we drove towards the small hamlet of Súðavík to visit local hero Mugison at his home-studio.

There, we were treated to some fine espresso and an overview of the stuff he is recording for his new album (no spoiler here), but could not talk as long as expected as he had to pick up his kids at the grandparents’ house. He did however provide us with some musical travel tips, and I could extract some interesting insight into living and making art in such a desolate landscape from him.

On the way back to the hotel, we passed my first Hákarl, hanging to dry in a small booth – I did not sample it, though. After a couple of beers at the hotel room I again felt the 6 hours behind the wheel, and fell again into a dead-like sleep.

Counting sheep

Luckily the doctors decided that I could keep my tonsils, so no operation took place the next morning and we and the two Swiss girls (who liked the town not so much, it seemed) were off to an early start. The rental car had to be returned by 3 PM – so we rounded the fjords again, drove another 30 kilometers on gravel roads and then through the southern part of the Westfjords in splendid sunshine. I’m always surprised how different the landscape here looks depending on the weather, and in this light even the fjords seemed welcoming and the drive was not exhausting as expected. The bright sunshine also enabled us to see some more sheep on the way – and also on the motorway, resulting in travel speed reduced from 90 to 10 km/hour at times. But then the sheep looked as surprised as us when we were driving past them. “Hu? More tourists? Run!”

We made it back to civilisation in time, and after a well-deserved nap and a coffee, we where back to our daily work of meeting interesting people. Not that meeting interesting mountains and sheep was a bad experience. Just a strange one.

PS: as Kai took about a thousand pictures (and made me stop even more), there’s another post coming up – this time with more pictures and less words. I promise.