A few years have passed since that endless journey. We traveled between Iceland and the Faer oer Islands. Then, we went down from Scandinavia to Spain. Today, on a cold December weekend, I finally started scanning those wonderful photos. I took them with the old reflex to share that amazing adventure in Iceland and Faer Oer.

It was a hot summer in 2004. It was not so hot in Iceland. I embarked on a long journey around Europe with no return. This meant I ended up living over a year in Ireland. A travel companion, Matteo, was with me at the start of my journey. We shared the first tour of the Icelandic Ring Road by bus. We spent the first night at Keflavik Airport. It was inside our uncomfortable and cold runway tents. We landed late in the evening.

n distant memories I still have in mind a fisherman from Keflavik. He told us about his boat. He also spoke about Baldur, a deity of Norse mythology. We will carry the memory of both for days and days. At least until our arrival in Höfn, the day of the legendary football match

Höfn was the first clear example of the contrast. It highlighted the obvious desolation of Icelandic villages. At the same time, it showed the strong group life that binds these people. When you walk among the houses of some Icelandic village, it often feels like deserted areas. Yet, you may find yourself in small parties where people gather or meet. Despite everything, Matteo and I were invited by a group of kids to a football match between total strangers. And it wasn’t the only time someone made us sweat despite the cold … On my first Icelandic trip, I had the opportunity to try a fabulous fish soup. It was in a small restaurant in Höfn. Don’t ask me for the name. I never remember. I just remember the cold outside and the heat of the boiling soup.

In our infamous journey through the immense Icelandic lava fields, I clearly remember Landmannalaugar. The difficult pronunciation challenged us in the early days. We also suffered the absurd cold in the tents after the storm. It welcomed us among the magnificent canyons of the Icelandic valley crowded with tourists. The area was so crowded. We decided to rent a bungalow for the night. They informed us that all had been booked since March! (plan suitably)

The night spent in Husavik was equally frustrating. It was a little less spectacular from a landscape point of view. This happened a few days later. Matteo and I left for the usual walk around the village. On our return, we found my tent completely destroyed. I don’t know how it could have happened. Maybe some kid playing soccer. Matteo and I huddled for a couple of nights in his tent. We gave my tent a worthy Viking funeral. Then we wandered among the caravans of Husavik’s free camping. We were in search of the truth.

At this point there were few common stages left. We would pass Dalvik, then return to Akureyri, Iceland’s second largest city, where I would buy a new tent. I planned to travel alone around the island from there. Meanwhile, Matteo intended to embark on a flight from Keflavik towards Norway.

Dalvik welcomed us with the usual free deserted camping and the muddy soccer match with the local kids. It was practically a football field with changing rooms adapted to a public bathroom. In the field, there was only Matteo’s tent. A few kids played football with us. The usual summer rain fell around us. An absurd cold did not leave us even in the showers. Still, the cold disappeared when, in the evening, we passed in front of a village gym. There, we met a group of boys intent on taking part in a private party.
Matteo had so many flaws. Yet, his ability to get to know anyone and in any place did not displease me. There was even a rumor that he was among the few. They claimed he actually had sex on the legendary “hornet ship” (if the translation is correct). This ship is part of the Viking line. It is steeped in legends and rumors, crossing the Northern seas.
But he never told me anything about it. And I didn’t ask him for anything. I preferred the myth of youth to stay so.

Anyway… We were walking around Dalvik and Matteo stopped to talk to this group of guys outside the gym.
He went out of his way to enter but, as you know, a private party is private for Icelanders. No it goes wrong. Yet, they brought out drinks and things to eat and talked to us all evening.
The next day we met some of them around…
and the welcome was almost better than the night before.
I have heard this about Icelanders. They are like their volcanoes. They seem cold and icy on the outside but are hot and “fiery” on the inside. In Dalvik I really had proof of this side of their character.

The championship final

I had just arrived back from Akureyri with my brand new and ultramodern tent. Matteo and I were preparing to spend the last day together. It was a cold day in July 2004. Greece were getting ready to face the famous Portugal. This was the final of the European Football Championships. They had very little hope of victory.
Matteo made me sit in a pub in Selfoss. It was extremely crowded. We expected to witness Portugal’s probable victory.
Greece took home an inexplicable victory. We enjoyed an exaggerated amount of Icelandic food and beer. It was enough to get the 90 ‘.

Solo

I left Selfoss a couple of days later in the freezing rain. I was alone and eager to discover new corners of Iceland. In Vik, I returned to the usual camping site. I also went back to the same wooden house. I had been there a few years earlier.
The tent was soaked in rain and weighed heavily on my back from these first few weeks of travel. So I decided for a more solid roof while waiting for the tent to dry.
On the first trip, I was lucky to have the house to myself. This time, I shared it with a German family. They consisted of a mother, father, and two daughters.
Needless to say, I spent the night in one of the two double beds with the father. Meanwhile, everyone enjoyed the birthday cake of one of the daughters. They sang cheerful songs in German all evening.

After leaving Vik, I stopped again in Akureyri. I wanted to embark for Grimsey Island. It is the only point in Iceland from which the Arctic Circle passes. I’ve always had a soft spot for Akureyri. Once, a tiny little girl of extraordinary beauty approached me. She held out her hand. She then she opened it and handed me a black pebble. I asked what it was. Using perfect English equal to that of a university student, she explained that it was a piece of Icelandic lava. She wanted to give it to me.
It’s really true. The heat of the Icelanders is like that of their volcanoes. Even when the lava turned cold.

The skuas

Grimsey was a nice surprise and a perfect destination for a day trip. This small island features a small harbor. It also has a very colorful church, both inside and out. These make the island a little out of this world special. Yet, Grimsey was also the second place where I encountered the infamous skuas. These are very aggressive arctic birds. They are known for attacking anyone who dares approach their territory from above. At both Jokulsarlon and Grimsey, you will be given sticks that are a meter or more in length. The sticks are to keep skuas from “flying” above you. Nevertheless, the same thing did not happen when I arrived in Bolungarvik, in the fjords of Westfjordur.
In Bolungarvik, a rather “aggressive” group of skuas attacked me. My thin sweatshirt was going to shreds. At that moment, a small family with an SUV came to my rescue. I saw myself throw open the back doors and heard shouting: “Come in, come on!”
But in the back seats, there were two very small and very blond children. I was afraid of crushing them when entering.
Eventually fear prevailed, I jumped in and that dark SUV and got to safety.

Time continued to pass. August was nearing, bringing the imminent end of summer. In Iceland, summer typically ends around the middle of this month.
After exploring Westfjordur, I visited Ísafjörður. Then, I returned south. I stayed among the lesser known villages on the island.
I stayed one night in Blönduós to admire the small church turning orange at nightfall. The next day, I took a mail van. It was driven by a nice Icelandic gentleman who didn’t speak a word of English.
My destination was Sauðárkrókur and I would stop here one night. It would be the last in the tent. The postal driver and I tried to communicate and understand each other throughout the journey. A few minutes from Sauðárkrókur, he used wide and varied gestures. He made me understand that we should agree on the time and place of departure the next day.
His was the only semi-tourist vehicle that traveled to and from that village. If I hadn’t left with him, I have stayed in a small tent forever. It would have remained “parked” in the middle of a meadow.

Upon entering the village, the intrepid driver of the van looked for his nephew. He made me understand that his nephew spoke very good English. A tall, very confident blond boy poked his head out the window. He briefly told me that I would have to wait for his uncle the next day at 10.00 am at the same point where he was leaving me. In other words, at a near point in front of the free camping of Sauðárkrókur.

My penultimate stop was the tiny and unpronounceable village of Kirkjubæjarklaustur. If you repeat it several times, then it gets into your head. An excursion to Þórsmörk was waiting for me there. It was the wettest, wettest, most torrential and flooded excursion of my life. But I saw things that only in Iceland and in no other country in the world I have seen!

A tip: if you are not Icelandic, drive carefully. Avoid going into areas that are too “undriveable” just because you feel strong in your super Jeep. Were it not for an old Icelandic 4×4 bus (yes! The one in the photo above), now I would be talking about a jeep being pulled away by the river, rather than a brave Icelandic driver who pulled a group of tourists out of the raging river. terrified!

Wet but happy I could go to Seyðisfjörður, the colorful village where the Icelandic port of Norröna is based.
If you don’t know it, it’s the ship. Or rather, it’s the huge multi-storey building that travels between Denmark, the Faer Oer Islands, and Iceland. I slept one night in a village school and the next day I embarked for the Faer Oer Islands. Iceland has so many tourists in relation to accommodation that, in peak season, some schools are used to accommodate travelers.
That evening, I arrived when the village was now sleepy and deserted. The local gas station vending machine was the only one that still had something to eat. I took a snack with the last few coins and walked between the houses in the village.
After a few minutes a car stopped and the driver asked me if I wanted a ride. I cannot hide my willingness to stay. If the girl of my dreams had appeared, I would have stayed to live even in the North Pole. We had a short conversation. I attempted to speak with the few words of Icelandic I had learned in these 60 days. Then, we arrived in front of the school.
I thanked, got out of the car and understood (once again) that this journey had to continue. The journey started with a crazy group of Italians. They arrived late at night and offered me all the good things to eat.

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The Faer oer Islands

Although we were now approaching September, the days I spent in the Faer Oer Islands were the prelude to summer. A phase of high pressure with splendid and warm days (for the area to be clear!) Invaded the islets in those days. I had booked a bed in a hostel in Torshavn, the tiny but charming Faeroes capital. I ran out of money before I even got off the ship.
My old credit card could not make withdrawals in such a remote place. It took me two or three days to get some money sent from home. Something similar happened to me in Turkey and in Trujillo, a very small village in the Extremadura in Spain.
I shared the mixed dormitory of the Torshavn hostel with 4 other people. Antonio was a Spanish boy. I shared long walks around the capital with him every evening. We also had long chats about the habits that bound Italians and Spaniards. They love not staying indoors when the weather is good. An American woman offered several times to lend me money. She wanted to help me continue the journey. Still, I preferred to manage alone. I did not want to spread debt around the world. Finally, there were two Swedish guys who continued to show their wish to move to Italy… and I never understood why..

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Mykines

Ever since I started traveling, Mykines has always been one of those legendary islands I wanted to visit. Together with Foula in Shetland. Because I had seen photos, read stories and this distance from everything attracted me more than anything else. And, I must admit, the journey here was absolutely worth it.

Mykines is permanently inhabited by about fifteen people. An incalculable number of seabirds come to lay their eggs on the island’s cliffs.
When the tourists arrived, some of the inhabitants waited at the small port. Meanwhile, some men repaired the grass roofs of the houses. I don’t remember ever seeing so much beauty and simplicity put together in another place.

In the coming days, I explored the islands in different ways. Sometimes, I walked through the deserted streets. Other times, I took small postal or tourist boats. I particularly remember the Gjógv hostel and the people lying in the hot September sun admiring the sea. In my memories of these beautiful islands, there are sheep eating grass in every corner. Thousands of seabirds fly free in the sky.
A fisherman told me about the start of summer. He said the sheep were brought to the tops of some hills. This was to eat the grass and prevent it from overgrowing. I think all the other animals came more or less spontaneously and will never go away …

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Conclusions

I have never made such a long journey again. If I can, I would do this in exactly the same way. The people, the places and the climate have marked the beauty of everything that happened in those “moving” months. The photos I managed to recover are only a small part of what I took. They consist of two heavy books of old prints on photographic paper. Resurrecting the memories of yesteryear with today’s quality is not always possible.
But then, let’s face it … some memories are nice to carry inside: like the driver of an Icelandic bus who sang a typical song on the road that led to the Viti volcano, which in Icelandic means hell (it’s not a name given at random!) , or chats with the many people met along the way…
There is no need to always photograph everything … the beauty will still stay within us…

My two favorite books on Iceland and the Faer Oer Islands

• Last places. A Journey in the North
  by Lawrence Millman
  I have read and reread (the Italian edition) this book several times. The author travels on a journey starting from the Shetland Islands. Then he continues to the Faer Oer Islands, Iceland, and Greenland. He follows the route of the Vikings to the extreme North America. One of my favorite books ever!
• 101 Reykjavik
  by Hallgrimur Helgason
  The story of Hlynur is a bit peculiar. Unlike many of his peers, 30-year-old Hlynur still lives with his mother. He struggles to take control of his life seriously and maturely. Life in the Icelandic capital is made for him of pub nights and wake up late in the morning. An unusual Reykjavik described in an original way by Hallgrimur Helgason’s “pen”