Waiting for the Ferry

With only a half hour drive to Dalvik today, where we will catch the ferry, we puttered around, took in the scenery and finally relaxed at our cottage while awaiting our ferry to Grimsey Island in the morning.

So imagine this, if you will. You make one stop on your way to the town with the ferry, and its at a brewery where you hope to take a tour. Siggi, the owner tells you there are no tours today because he's short-staffed. "But take a look around," he says, "and ask me any questions. I'll pour you a beer while you look." The tour normally costs a lot but he shows you (and tells you) for free.

You find a cafe for a lunch of fish soup and homemade beer bread and eat in front of the cafe. A sign in the window says "Let it snow." The owner is Bjartni, a jovial man who loves to talk, tells you about puffins and shows you a video of a nearby waterfall. As it so happens, Bjartni also owns the cottage where you will stay tonight. He takes you there and promises to be back soon to get the hot tub ready.

Your cottage is small and basic, but it comes with a porch and three chairs facing the sun. Between walks around this very small town, you soak in the sun, talking with your companions about life and discussing scenes from old movies--and taking brief naps.

You meander around town, which doesn’t take long. You see children riding bike and hear others playing soccer. You stop to look at some whimsically painted rocks in a yard, along with a fading plastic Santa Claus. You admire the tulips in the yards and the lupines in the ditches. The lupines, you discover, are not native but are invasives. A sign in one window has one message and that is "love." Some of the houses and school are painted bright colors, because that's what people do in some places where half the year is dark.

Back on the porch of your cabin again, you listen to the ducks calling to each other in a nearby field. There are lots of other bird calls that you cannot identify. The town smells like a fishing town, which it is. Fishing and work on the ferries keeps this town going. There's a little fog rolling in, but it is low to the ground and you can still see the tops of the mountains that surround you. The sun still shines down and warms you.

While Bjartni cleans and fills the hot tub he tells you stories about life in harsh Iceland winters. He also tells you that their water is piped hot out of the ground and from a place about 5 kilometers away. When it gets to them, it has to be cooled to a temp that is manageable.  Don't ever jump into the hot tub, he tells you, without first checking the temperature.

This is your day and you wonder when waiting for a ferry has ever been so pleasurable.