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Iceland in June


Remnants of the Grimsby fishing trawler Epine at Djúpalónssandur


‘We’re a bit waterfalled out’, the Australian couple I met on the tour bus expressed when discussing the unique nature of the tour we were on. Not that we didn’t see any waterfalls. It was just that this tour explored the more rugged and striking landscapes of Iceland, rather than point-scoring by ticking off the biggest waterfall, the best swimming hole, most active volcano, and so forth, like many other tours. Despite being the furthest away from Australia of all the countries I had visited, and the most expensive, I met (or heard) more Australians in Iceland than any of the other five countries I had visited on this trip. And this was in June, so there was no Northern Lights, it was (just) a bit too early for the Summer Solstice Festivals, too early for the puffins and before most school holidays. In many ways, however, June became the perfect time to visit: it was warm (if you can call it that) enough to be outside without discomfort; the days were long; in fact there was no darkness at all, just a bit of twilight between about 1.30-2.30am, then back to broad daylight, but this had the benefit of not having to worry about walking around the ‘dark’. Kids were still at school and above all, there was plenty of chicklife to see (and I mean the feathered variety); however, this could pose problems, as I’ll explain later. And, a bonus for me: there was also an arts festival happening with performing and visual arts happening across Reykjavik. But, like the other well-travelled Aussies on the trip, I was enticed by the dramatically rugged nature of the imagery and I booked a twelve-hour group tour exploring the Snaefellsnes peninsula and Kirkjufell.


View from the bus window: the road towards the Snaefellsnes peninsula


After my pick-up at the Reykjavik Camp Site/ Hostel, a convenient eight-minute walk from my apartment, I greeted the other six passengers (well, four, as the other two did not reciprocate conversation, possibly due lack of English), and I chatted away with two women from Upstate New York and two fellas from the UK. I was also impressed at the bus driver’s English, perfect and possibly with a better vocabulary than me and his encyclopaedic knowledge of his country. Not shy of expressing his own political views and opinions, he pointed out the only pollutant in the whole of Iceland: a steel factory just outside Reykjavik that recycles the aluminium sent to it by Alcoa in Australia! I shrunk into my seat but my secret was out as the driver later made a lame joke about there being no freshwater crocodiles in one of the beaches we visited.


Seals in the distance on the black beach of Ytri-Tunga


Our first stop was at Ytri-Tunga, a tiny farming village and beach where we were enticed by the thought of seeing “cute seals’. Whilst the seals were invisible from a distance, being June meant that there were chicks galore closer to the shore and I enjoyed watching some ducks heading out to shore with their tiny brood struggling to keep pace. The seals in this area are Harbour Seals and Grey Seals. As a backdrop, the tiny houses and huge mountains made for the quintessential Iceland landscapes that had enticed me to the country.


Mountains and flora surrounding Ytri-Tunga


Not far from Yri-Tunga we stopped at Búðakirkja, the 19th-century church, famous for its black colour. When I visited, the colour made a great contrast to the greenery around, but this site shows its aesthetic you will see for most of the year, surrounded by white snow. The church is a reconstruction of the original one built in 1703, but some of the interior is original.


Búðakirkja, a 19th-century church, originally built in 1703.


Another view of Búðakirkja with snow on the hills


One of the visual highlights of our next stop Arnarstapi was Miðgjá, a natural rock arch off the coast. However we also learnt about and spotted a large colony of Arctic terns (birds).


Miðgjá, a natural rock arch off the coast surrounded by black volcanic rock.


The area was once a heavily populated trading post and there are ghost and troll stories and legends about the area. The troll in one of the stories, Bárður Snæfellsás has been recognised in a sculpture on the hill of the pathway to the beach. Although this looks like a decorative pile of rocks, the Bárður Snæfellsás statue by artist Ragnar Kjartansso commemorates the story of a medieval Arnarstapi resident. Bárður was a half-man, half-troll who lived here after fleeing Norway. After a severe family argument, he exiled himself to the Snæfellsnes Glacier. For centuries, the locals believed he was their protector and called him the Guardian Spirit of Snæfell.


The Bárður Snæfellsás statue by artist Ragnar Kjartansso


Our next stop was the dramatic black pebble beach of Djúpalónssandur. On my visit people were picnicking on the black sand which gave a Surreal aesthetic. Our guide told us that the rusty pieces of metal cannot be removed as have historical significance, given that they are the remnants of the Grimsby fishing trawler Epine (GY7) which wrecked in 1948. The brown rusty shards and black sand made for an apocalyptic effect that did not frighten off a number of families who had decided to picnic on beach only meters from the large waves that our guide had warned us about not getting too close to (someone had died recently after falling into the water and being unable to be rescued from the cold water in time).


The pathway to the beach Djúpalónssandur


Grey sand on the beach of Djúpalónssandur


Black rocks on the beach of Djúpalónssandur


Looking down onto the beach of Djúpalónssandur


A short trip around the corner took us to Saxhóll Crater, which is estimated to have erupted 3,000 years ago, and much of the surrounding landscape is the result of that eruption. The collapsed core of the crater is fairly deep, and the rim around the crater offers 360 degree views of the surrounding terrain of Snæfellsjökull National Park. There is a new metal staircase which enables a safe ascent up to the crater; although its installation was controversial, I consider that it is actually protective of the volcano as it forces the visitor to ascend one particular part and not destroy the periphery around it. And of course, it’s much safer for the visitor too.


Looking down into the Saxhóll Crater


Down in the Saxhóll Crater

Descending the new staircase of the Saxhóll Crater


Some of the Snaefellnes tours start in the opposite direction as it is done as a loop but I think our route was the most logical as we were able to build up anticipation of visiting – yes, a waterfall! And not just any waterfall, but Kirkjufellsfoss waterfall, adjacent to the "arrowhead" mountain Kirkjufell. A photographer’s dream, we were able to squeeze two icons into one: a mountain and a waterfall. But before we got to the waterfall, our driver, who liked to personalise the tour wanted to take us to what he thought was actually the best view of Kirkjufell, only to find that the roads had only recently been blocked off with piles of rocks. Cheekily he double parked the minibus there and we wickedly piled off the bus to capture what he thought was the best angle. Then it was on to the official carpark and time to spend exploring the waterfall. Across the road, rising 463 meters above sea level, the formation of Kirkjufell mountain is a dramatic act taking place over millions of years - ever since the last phase of the Ice Age- by glacial erosion in Iceland. The mountain is very steep in all directions and layers of rocks are clearly visible from the bottom to the top. This was formed due to a unique natural phenomenon in Iceland named nunatak, a Greenlandic Inuit word referring to a high rock pointing out of glaciers. It’s exposed peak that’s not covered by ice. And apparently it’s in Season 6 of Game of Thrones!


One view of Kirkjufell.


Kirkjufell Mountain and Kirkjufellsfoss waterfall


Kirkjufellsfoss waterfall


So we did get to see waterfalls but also super surreal landscapes and unconventional beaches. I probably would have booked in for some of the other full day tours (even though they cost around $200AUD each if I wasn’t struck down with a bad cold (not covid; did the tests!).


Typical mountain views along the roads in the Snæfellsness Peninsula


While the 12 hour paid tours pack a punch, there are plenty of smaller activities one can do around Reykjavik to balance the budget, minimise transportation and allow a sense of spontaneity. On my first day out (after no sleep thanks to a late flight) I explored my own neighbourhood on the outskirts of the city to find it not only close to the beach, with awesome views of the huge mountains but close to what looked like two very different sculpture galleries. I was walking past one when a young woman asked if I wanted to visit. I couldn’t very well say no and as I had my ICOM pass, I visited the Sigurjón Ólafsson Museum, one of several sculpture-based studio museums dedicated to specific artists in Iceland.

One of the Modernist sculptures inside the Sigurjón Ólafsson Museum


On the original site of their house, the museum was established in 1984, two years after the artist died by his wife Birgitta Spur. The original home and adjacent artist’s studio were rebuilt and enlarged. A smaller museum than many, I found it unique mainly for its location, right on the beach. When I asked the attendant about the other place next door, she replied that it had nothing to do with the Sigurjón Ólafsson Museum and was owned by a film director and his artist’s wife.


Sculptures outside the 'Recycled House' owned by film director is Hrafn Gunnlaugsson


Indeed I found that the ramshackle building and outsider art did not always get a mention on the tourist list of places to visit in Iceland but had somewhat of a cult following. As I explored the periphery of what came to be known as the ‘Recycled House’ I found plenty of what I would consider Outsider Art, with plenty of found objects, masks and voodoo like objects. With no false modesty, a sign also proclaimed the importance of the owner: ‘Home to the director of the legendary feature The Raven Flies’.




Various views of the 'Recycled House' on the edge of Reykjavik


The film director is Hrafn Gunnlaugsson and the collection of recycled and repurposed objects is a living display of his love for and connection with objects, his travels, ideas, experiments, art, family and props from his films. His film ´When the Raven Flies´ is a 1984 Icelandic - Swedish adventure film. It is set in the Viking Age in Iceland. Inspired from the Sagas of Icelanders it aims to deconstruct Viking stereotypes and replace them with more authentic portrayals of the Viking era. And you can watch it on Youtube! The cinematography might be a little shakey but the scenery gives a great insight into Iceland’s geography.


Further along the beach from The Recycled House and the Sigurjón Ólafsson Museum is one of the cheapest and best days out you can have. For around $20AUD you can catch a return ferry to Videy Island. The ferry itself takes around five minutes, possibly one of the shortest ferry trips in the world, but once you are there you can roam around this pristine and history steeped island, visit the restaurant, view Yoko Ono’s Imagine Peace Tower and hike around the numerous pillars as part of Richard Serra’s Áfangar (Milestones). When I visited, there was plenty of birdlife and baby chicks throughout the island. However, as the island isn’t visited that much, my arrival caused a bit too much excitement and I was swooped as I made my way through some narrow pathways. There was a small playground and just enough to keep families or solo travellers like myself entertained for a few hours.


Yoko Ono’s Imagine Peace Tower on Videy Island - and those clouds! No filters!

Two of Richard Serra’s Áfangar (Milestones) pillars on Videy Island


Gull activity on the coast of Videy Island


An ideal location for workshops or a classroom on Videy Island


An Oyster Catcher hanging out near an anchor on Videy Island


Birds perhaps protecting nests on Videy Island (don't be fooled, they were savage!)


Richard Serra's Áfangar (Milestones) pillars on Videy Island


Reykjavik itself was well worth the several visits I made, taking the time to walk along the promenade from my apartment to the centre, breathing in the immensity of the mountains opposite. Locals must live with constant blustery wind and rain and joggers would run by in any conditions. There were a multitude of museums and galleries to visit; I visited mostly those related to art and was not disappointed. I decided not to visit the iconic Icelandic Phallological Museum after being put off by the tacky souvenirs in the shop, I did visit the Iceland Punk Museum, which I found disappointing: the idea of tracing the history of punk in Iceland had great premise and the history itself is a great story. But its presentation (in an old toilet block and actually in toilet cubicles) made for difficult reading and interpretation; all videos were running simultaneously in this small area and even the few headphones could not drown the noise out of one of the louder videos. I really wanted to listen and appreciate some of the punk bands, but it just wasn’t possible. And most of it was about Bjork, who, whilst, talented and significant, is not what I would define as punk. When I explained all this to the ‘curator’, he just shrugged.


Solfar’ or ‘Sun Voyager' a sculpture by artist Jon Gunnar Arnason, and one of Reykjavik's icons


Harpa, Reykjavik's large performing arts centre


Whilst in Reykjavik I was taken by the prevalence of coloured corrugated iron buildings, both domestic and commercial. I discovered that these funky houses were called bárujárnshús, and extensive use was made of corrugated iron in reconstructing the city following a devastating fire in 1915. It was during the mid-19th Century that corrugated iron and Iceland started importing it in the 1860s. Ships travelling from England to Iceland to buy sheep would carry cargoes of corrugated iron to sell in Reykjavik. The timber-framed, two or three-storey buildings with pitched roofs, developed in response both to the climate and an historical shortage of construction timber that can be traced back to the Viking occupation. Vikings are said to have decimated the remaining ancient forests for shipbuilding timbers and allowed sheep to overgraze the land preventing regeneration of the forests. Once heavily insulated, the corrugated iron framework proved ideal for Iceland’s harsh climactic conditions.



One of the bright bárujárnshús or coloured corrugated iron houses in Reykjavik.



More examples of bárujárnshús, corrugated iron homes

Arriving in Iceland can be a bizarre and unique experience, depending on what hour it is. Unlike many airports around midnight, KEF (Keflavik, which is Iceland’s International Airport) looked like it was just getting going, with people still in departure lounges, food and drinks for sale and everyone looking wide awake and spirited. Keflavik is actually not in Reykjavik and it is important not to confuse it with the local airport and to plan carefully as taxis from the airport are outrageously expensive (around $200AUD) and most of the shuttle buses stop for a few hours early in the morning. Once you’re in your bus though, you may be in for a visual treat as the bus drives in a straight line along a road with nothing on either side but dark craters and rock formations. It’s like driving through Mars. If you arrive, like I did at midnight, you may even get to witness the midnight sun and an eerie, not quite twilight light along your drive.


Midnight at the airport: only in Iceland


Perhaps one of the most important things to do when you arrive in Reykjavik and even before collecting your baggage at the carousel is to go into what looks like a Duty Free Supermarket; the locals take in a supermarket trolley and stock up on as much booze as possible. This is because alcohol is taxed highly in Iceland and beer has only been legal to purchase since…. 1989! Surprisingly, for what seems like an open-minded country, it is one of the few Western Countries to have experienced prohibition in the 20th century, and of all the substances to ban, beer stayed off limits until the late 1980s. Even now, you can only buy alcohol in one of only forty-nine Vinbudins outlets in the country. I asked the driver on our tour whether all these restrictions have had any impact on reducing drinking in Iceland and he answered “no, it’s had the opposite effect”. I would tend to agree from what I saw of a young male visibly drunk, staggering along near my home when I returned from the tour. Maybe, Icelanders are so happy to be able to access beer that they overcompensate in case they head into prohibition again. Don’t say it won’t happen. And I’m not one to judge. Skál!


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