It was a long long drive out to the remote Westfjords from Blonduos so it was kind of OK that it was the coldest day we had experienced, made even worse by a biting cruel wind. We witnessed the incredible fjordur scenery from the warmth of the car. Except when we stopped in Holmavik for lunch, a visit to the museum of witchcraft and sorcery, and a swim in the outdoor pool. What else to do on a 5 deg day but swim and watch the steam rise off a geothermally heated outdoor pool with adjacent hot tubs?
The other highlight of that drive was when we skirted a narrow fjordur and saw an orca leap out of the water to breach. Tim saw it twice. Amazing. No photos of that unfortunately.
Anyway we arrived in the tiny fishing village of Flateyri for our only two night stay of our island circumnavigation. It was a very homey guesthouse (Litlabyli) run by the loveliest woman Kristin who was so welcoming of our endless questions, many of which seemed to relate to farming and sheep. Kristin’s mum still lives on the remote family farm that is completely snowed in over winter and accessible only by snowmobile.
Quick aside: The way in which Iceland developed is so fascinating. There are isolated farms occupying almost every suitable pocket of the country, often at the foot of terrifyingly unstable mountains, and it seems as if comparitively few villages formed, people were all too busy eking out a subsistence living in the harshest of conditions. (We visited a fabulous museum in Husavik that told this story so well, with artefacts and oral histories).
So it wasn’t until the fishing industry modernised in the 19th century that the country prospered in any way and then villages and towns began to form, all around the harbours and fish factories. Having a bit of a fish enthusiast on board we’ve done our share of touring those harbours.
So anyway Flateyri is a tiny little place in a stunning fjordur, feeling a little as though it’s heyday might be behind it.
We visited the bookshop there which claims to be the oldest continuing shop in Iceland and Ethor the fourth generation to run it.
We got chatting about tourism in Iceland (it’s a common conversation) and we mentioned where we were from (Denmark, which has nothing to do with the country, your coloniser for centuries) and he said ‘Really? I know Western Australia. My dad lives in Perth, I have siblings there. I lived there for a year.’ We had grown accustomed to WA being quite exotic so this was a surprise. Even better was the story of how his father came to be in Perth.
Thirty years earlier a bunch of Australian women came to town to work in the fish factory and as Ethor tells it ‘they took all the men with them back to Australia’. He pointed us to a red house in the middle of the fishing harbour that is still called Australia because that is where the Aussies all lived.
When we later checked with our font of all wisdom Kristin, she said well, maybe not ALL the men. She also said that many South Africans came at the same time, some of who stayed.
I’m so intrigued about these women in the 80s coming to a very remote part of Iceland, well before Bjork and financial crashes and eruptions of unpronounceable volcanoes put Iceland on the map. There have got to be some good stories there.