A full truck of varying nationalities and ages disembarked Reykjavik campsite at nothing o’clock in the morning, heading northwest, toward Snaefellsnes Peninsula. We got a taste of the unique Icelandic landscape as we trudged through quaint little fishing villages, lava fields by sharp fjords and a certain lack of forests.

DO-do-dododo-doo-dodododo (dodododo, dodododo, dodododo)

Along the way there rose a majestic mountain: the iconic peak of Kirkjufell, made famous by numerous guide books and its appearance in films and tv shows, such as Game of Thrones.

Baby…. shark, dododododo

Iceland’s main source of income is tourism. Tourism and bank services. Among Iceland’s sources of income are tourism, banking and fishing. Some of those fishes are sharks, most of which are Greenland sharks, all of which are big and all of which are toxic. Their kidneys are too small to handle all of their intake, and so they basically filter their urine through their tissue, making them rather unfit to eat. Too bad, because a shark can feed a family a long time, and the meat is high in protein and minerals. So, obviously, someone figured out that if they just let the tissue ferment in its own juices for a couple of months, the toxins will break down, and the shark will be slightly more edible.

And therefore, at the Bjarnarhofn shark museum, we tried hákarl, the traditional Icelandic delicacy of piss-fermented shark chunks.

The rumours of the gut wrenching disgustingness of Hákarl proved to be highly exaggerated. The small bit of rye bread that went with it took over much of the palette, and so we soldiered on with a second chunk of shark, this time sans-pain. The reaction was…. meh.

The Bird is the word

The westernmost point of Europe is located at Latrabjarg, a steep, rocky outcrop into the unforgiving ocean. The harsh conditions make the peninsula sparsely populated by humans, but make it more suitable for those of a certain avian persuasion.

Along with the guillemot*, the area is home to cormorants, fulmars and kittiwakes and plenty more screechy birds, but the cute and beakly colourful puffin is the one drawing in the crowd.

Still to this day, some locals catch puffin in hoop-nets, and it’s easy to see that puffin hunting would be super easy, barely an inconvenience. They often roost right by the cliff edge, seemingly unafraid of any approaching human, whether carrying a net or a camera.

Waterfalls

Driving ever northwards, by the stranded wreck of the Gardar BA64, Iceland’s oldest steel ship, the landscape changed from amazing/meh (according to us and the crew, respectively) to breathtaking/cool.

The top destination of the day was Dynjandi, the largest waterfall in the Westfjords. The hike up offered many natural breaks, as smaller waterfalls lined the trail.

It’s been a while since I last overlanded, and even longer since I’ve been on a Drago truck. Yep, Madventure has bought a few of the old Dragoman trucks, so it’s slightly familiar. Some different routines, of course, but all in all a familiar feeling. Our brand new sleeping gear, including a wee tent, has not disappointed so far.

Caroline’s Corner

Day one of the official Madventure Iceland. Tonight we were going to meet the gang. Our travel companions for the next 17 days. We had already met two lovely ladies on the city walk so I was certain that the rest of the gang would be just as nice (and they were/are).

Early mornings are not my forte. But geting up at 0500 each morning during my oh so well deserved vacation was not as tough as i feared. Au contraire, getting up to take down the tent, roll up the sleep gear and pack up rhe necessities turned out to be rather straight forward. But I’m sure my partner in crime does not agree with me. Cause he is done in a blink of an eye and I am….not.

The famous TV-mountain.

Snaefellsnes peninsula. Leaving Reykjavik and travelling towards the first “horn” on the north west side of the island. Cloudy, with a dash of moisture. The husband (my husband) was full of anticipation as one of the sights today would be the famous Kirkjufell. Known from the tv-show Game of thrones. I should have known but nooo. I did not remember it from the show. I guess i liked the books better and the ending made me so disapointed that i try to forget ever seeing it (the truth is i really cant remember it as I found the series rather misogynistic).

Elemental becoming one with the mountains/sculpture.

One of the first photografic stops on the tour was the Arnarstapi.

With arches and cliffs, dramatic mountains looming on top of us and old hardened flows of lava streaming inte the sea I assume. I should have asked our fearless tour leader as we do have a tour leader who has a degree in geology. And has stayed in Iceland for a long time studying the rocks here. She has promised us to point out the house where she used to live. A “former” prison…. Anyways, I digress and lose my train of thought… back to Arnarstapi.

The legend from this place is that the deity of mt Snaefellsnes, Barður Snaefellsnes, the gardian spirit, lived here around 9th century. He was not only a descendent of giants and men but also the son of a king in Hellaland in Scandinavia. He clamied the land by the glacier Laugabrekka but after many, many years he could no longer deny his magical heritage. He went up to the glacier and stayed there. He did not die, instead he became one with it. To this day, people say that he can hear your plea and held you if he wishes to do so.

Lava fields.

A majestic, austere and at first glance, a very harsh landscape. But that is at a first and very shallow glance. When you look closer you see lush life. Moss covering most of the lava except for the tips of the rocks. You notice among the moss that there is small lowgrowing bushlike plants and mini flowers. The colours are muted but for the little splashes of purple. Just like some giant flicking of drips of purple coloured water from their finger tips. A landscape to remember (although all of this darn island is memoryworthy).

Jaws

Hàkarl- the famous or infamous (depending who you ask) Icelandic traditional dish. With my eyes (and my soul) filled with joys of experiencing an epic landscape it was time to put the big girl pants on and visit the small but well worth visiting shark museum. Our guide infirmed us that the museum (and the sharkprepping) is a family business handed down from generation to generation. The museum was a large museum but more of a “hey let’s clean up grandpas attic and shed…” variety, and then add on with whatever we can find in the neigbourhood. It used to be a very harsh and hard life on Iceland. The old generations never wasted nor wantonly destroyed their belongings. Everything was saved, cherished, patched, fixed, reused or saved as spare parts. Life was hard, is still hard but not as hard. So instead ogetting rid of old stuff,  we can see the saved treasures and nontresures in small local museums. Ready to be used again if need ever arises.

The famous dish Hákarl is just one example of how hard life really was. Sharks have no kidneys and instead use an intricate system of excreting urea through their skin…. and therefore is very deadly to eat as it is. Not a good fish to eat if it means you are going to die. So whenever the olden fishermen caught the shark they just kicked it aside, buried it and let it rot away. So the first person digging up the rotted, dried up shark remains must really , really been out of their mind from starvation. The hunger must have been so bad. And imagine the joy of not only dying but also finding a good source of protein and fat!

And I can, from the bottom of my heart, say that it does not deserve its reputation. It tastes good. Really god. Definitely eat it again.

So the fishdish that basically is meat marinated in ita own piss for a month or two, then hung up to dry for another couple of months is a fish well worth eating.

It tasted ok. I would not mind having it again but I don’t think I’ll spend money importing it back home. But another checkbox ticked on the ol’ bucket list.

Lots of photobreaks (and a small windowbreak- but a bit of MacGuyverlike ingenuety it got fixed. Sort of. But some magic sticky teip and an old sleep mat and off we drove with a rainproofish window.

Puffins! Puffins! And a murder* of ravens.

I saw puffins. And smelled them way before I saw them. They are lucky they are cute because they sure smell like a small nasal death. Someone (not me, but I did marry him) went above and beyond to get the good shot ie he climbed up all the way to the top. Me, I took a leisurely stroll to the half way point and found a pretty guillemot to admire. Black with very striking white strips along its beak. And a born poser.

Then I saw the star of the show. A puffin! Small but fluffy, it’s aptly named puffin in english. A very puffy bird. A delicacy according to some. Not shot with a rifle, nor caught in a net but the traditional Icelandic way to catch puffins is to have a guy (one must always have a guy wether it is for procuring tickets to a show or Puffins for your table) stand at a bottom of a cliff (I presume) and wave with a butterfly net (that is what my native speaking English companions call it. But I do think they are pulling my leg a wee bit).

I did not expect to see ravens out in the wild but when we stopped for a quick lunch and a stroll in Þingeyri I heard a guttural caw. I will not be mushy enough to say it called to me but I definitely started to scan my surroundings. And then I saw my raven. A true raven with a sharp, strong beak forceful enough to tear you apart, or at least get an eye.

Hugin and Munin. Thought and memory. Odin’s faithful messenger and intel birds. Another check of the old bucketlist and a very personal one at that.

Coffeshop in the middle of nowhere.

The birthplace of the great Icelandic poet Steinar Einarson and the place where you can treat yourself to an amazing cake, the “happy marriage’-cake.

They use their binoculars to see if someone is coming and then they bake their cakes fresh. Oh so yummy. But it is in a really, really very isolated place.

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*) the penguin of the North

**) more of an attempted murder, really, as there were only two of them /Martin’s note