Travels in Solitude: A Midsummer's Dream, Part 2: The Westfjords

With Reyjavik as a basecamp, Sif and I travelled to many beautiful places over the summer.

When I visited two years ago, we made a roundtrip around Iceland on the ringroad #1, taking us to all the major sights along the way.

This time though, we wanted to get of the main road and see the more remote places. So as soon as Sif could get a week off work, we packed our camping gear in my little car and took off to the Westfjords in the North-West Iceland.

The Westfjords are geologically the oldest part of Iceland. They are very mountainous and the coastline is heavily indented by dozens of fjords surrounded by steep hills.
It is a land where fairies and trolls are said to dwell. Driving through this remote peninsula, it is not hard to imagine just that.

The mountains are recipe for changing weather and
beautiful cloud formations.

Gently drifing over smooth gravel roads. Following the coastline.
You can see the Snaefelsjokul glacier in the background.

Sandy beach, blue sea.
But it is definitely not warm enough to take a swim!

Though we were very fortunate with the weather,
it often gets very gloomy here.

Wondering what lies behind the next rise...

Sometimes those gravel roads are a joy to drive over and slide sideways through the corners like a rally driver. Other times, the road is almost non-existing and my old car crawls over rocks and loose gravel.

Arnarfjordur

We are on our way to a remote and now abandoned settlement where many Icelandic artists have lived at the very end of the Arnarfjordur. There was not much left of that settlement, but some ruins torn down by the merciless winds of the North Atlantic Ocean.

We continue, well actually head back on the same road. Around midnight we reach the beautiful waterfall Dynjandi. It falls down about 100 meter (330 feet) in many small stages. It is just magical to sit there and watch the water flow down.

Dynjandi waterfall

The next morning we head out to the most western part of Europe, Látrabjarg. After a long long drive over something resembling a washboard, the road goes no further. I park my car next to two big German 4x4 vehicles. The drivers look very annoyed that such a little old car has made it there over that same road.

Priceless!

This is officially the closest I have ever been to America!

Látrabjarg, the most western part of Europe.

Magnificent camping spot.

After a good night's rest, we continue our way to Isafjordur, the main 'capital' of the Westfjords.

Along the way we stop at a small fishing settlement near Bolungarvik, where time seem to have stood still for many years. It is actually a reconstruction of how the local fisherman lived in the old days.

Ósvör

Isafjordur is the largest town in the Westfjords, it even has an airport. It is a good place to stock up on provisions. We head over the mountain plateu on the way back to Reykjavik and find this old mountain rescue hut. You could definitely sit out a storm in this one.

A few hundred meters away though, there was a modern bright orange one complete with radio and emergency supplies.