{"id":20853,"date":"2019-09-25T13:19:42","date_gmt":"2019-09-25T11:19:42","guid":{"rendered":"http:\/\/peregrinusmundi.com\/?p=20853"},"modified":"2021-01-21T18:49:44","modified_gmt":"2021-01-21T17:49:44","slug":"the-enchanted-fjords","status":"publish","type":"post","link":"https:\/\/peregrinusmundi.com\/en\/the-enchanted-fjords\/","title":{"rendered":"The enchanted fjords"},"content":{"rendered":"\t\t
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The bus drops me off at Sta\u00f0arsk\u00e1li, at the bottom of Hrutafj\u00f6rdur fjord. Just at the beginning of the large peninsula with the many fingers that make up the West Fjords of Iceland. I took the bus from Myvatn, then Akureyri to avoid the road. The main road N\u00b01 filled with cars. It is almost 8pm and the wind makes the ten kilometers to go, to reach Bordeyri and its tiny campsite, very tiring. I pitch my tent in the falling night, shivering in the biting cold. September has arrived and with it, winter temperatures. I have decided to spend my last three weeks crossing the Westfjords and go hiking for a few days on Hornstandir. The last few weeks before winter conditions make the journey too difficult.<\/p>

And Iceland is playing with my limits. Following the hilly coast the next day, from Bordeyri to Holmavik, I thought of giving up. Giving up this country so inhospitable, so cold, with the constant exhausting wind. The difficult road, the headwind and a heavy downpour exhausted the little motivation I had left. And despite the landscape that is becoming more beautiful, I dream of a more welcoming country. I dream of the Alps and Provence in France. Of trees, of place without wind and with warmer climate. I pass difficult passes, rising to 200-300 meters. Enjoying the landscape of the small fjords that begin to emerge and the road right at the edge of the water but running without delay under the pressure of the strong wind. I go back down the other side. Then start the next climb. Again and again. I am exhausted and yet I pedal. Drawing in my last strength to reach Holmavik. 105 kilometers on the counter. My biggest day on a bike. It is in hardest moments that one is capable of greatest exploits. Yet I could have camped at the edge of the water stopping late afternoon after sixty kilometers. But something pushed me to continue and join the village. The prospect maybe to take the bus to reach Isafj\u00f6rdur and drop the crossing by bicycle.<\/p>

But there is no bus anymore. The last one passed yesterday. Today is September and the bus Holmavik – Isafj\u00f6rdur no longer passes. The tourist season is over. A morning full of questions about the course of events leaves me pensive and I attack the road around noon. I have decided to continue cycling. A long climb stretches in the valley to reach the plateau 500m above. I pedal at the speed of a snail. A car in the opposite direction stops a few meters from me. I see an old gentleman coming out, seeming to observe me and taking picture of me. “You’re almost at the top” he shouts at me. “Good to know,” I answer with a laugh. He seems blown away by my effort, my feat, to climb the slope. “This is unbeliveable! For me! I can not\u2026 “. I answer him, passing him slowly, that it is quite tiring and wish him a good day.<\/p>

“Have a good day!”
“You too! Do not drive too fast!”
“I’ll try!”<\/p>

The top finally appears, covered with pebbles. A desert. The plateau seems to extend for kilometers. I distinguish the Drangaj\u00f6kull, a great white mass shining in the distance. In the descent, vegetation explodes with colors. Red, orange, green. It is Autumn. There for only a few weeks. The small Isafj\u00f6rdur fjord stretches out before me. The city of Isafj\u00f6rdur, my destination, is still more than a hundred kilometers away. I look for the campsite listed on the map, but I can not find it. I pedal along the water on a small battered track looking for a sign. But nothing. Under the golden light of a perfect late afternoon, I filled my gourds in a river and set up my tent on the edge of a small church. Right by the sea, in the tall grass, bathed by the sun, relatively protected from the wind. Heaven. There is a small house at a hundred meters but nobody inside. Probably a summer residence. Tons of birds squeak in the evening that settles and I let myself be invaded by a feeling of well-being. The weather is beautiful and I found the most beautiful place to camp in Iceland. I regained my spirits and the worries of the morning now seem very far away.<\/p>\t\t\t\t\t\t\t\t<\/div>\n\t\t\t\t<\/div>\n\t\t\t\t\t<\/div>\n\t\t<\/div>\n\t\t\t\t\t<\/div>\n\t\t<\/section>\n\t\t\t\t

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