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| BILDUDALUR HARBOUR |
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| DYNJANDI WATERFALL |
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| NO BARRIERS ON THE MOUNTAINSIDE ROADS |
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| KORPUDALUR FARM |
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| DULL ISAFJORDUR TOWN CENTRE |
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| SAUTEED PUFFIN, ANYONE |
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| RUGGED COAST NEAR HOLMAVIK |
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| BRODDANES HOSTEL |
After an hour and a half I reached a suitable spot for my picnic lunch by the magnificent Dynjandi waterfall. The water plunges 100m in several fan-shaped cascades. There are five more waterfalls below it, but Dynjandi is certainly the most impressive.
I had booked a bed for the night at a place called Korpudalur so I continued my way along Route 60 at an easy-going pace, taking in the scenery. When I reached the top of the mountain pass at Hrafnseyrarheidi I stopped with the intention of walking around. However, the wind was so strong that I had to use two hands to restrain the car door. It was also so bitterly cold that I quickly retreated back into the car and drove on.
It turned out that my hostel at Korpudalur was actually an old farm. Apparently it was already full when my booking was made, but the kind owners had found extra space by putting me in the barn. It was obvious that turning the barn into guest accommodation was 'work in progress', and I had to walk to the main house nearby to shower and cook. It was comfortable enough, though, and they didn't charge me much.
The following morning's weather was foggy and overcast, and it had clearly rained overnight. I drove to Isafjordur, a 'cosmopolitan hub' according to Lonely Planet, and the largest town in the Westfjords with a population of, wait for it, 2,525 people (plus and minus a few births and funerals). The economy has traditionaly been based on fishing but I suspect the tourism also makes a large contribution these days.
Sadly, my own impression of Isafjordur was rather less upbeat than the publicity would have me be. I found it a rather grey tatty town without much to commend it. Even the tourist office said little about the town itself, but had lots about attractions that might be found somewhere else. The last straw was when I looked at the restaurant menu at the Hotel Isafjordur and saw that it included sauteed puffin! How could they? I drove off on disgust.
My coastal drive along Route 61 was a lot longer than it looked because of the huge distances involved in going around the fjords. I broke the journey up a bit by stopping at intervals, firstly near Hvitanes to watch seals lazing on the rocks and next at Reykanes to bathe in the hot-pot, as they call their naturally heated pools. The rain was almost continuous, but it had the decency to stop whenever I wanted to get out of the car.
Leaving the fjords and crossing the mountains to Holmavik was quite an experience. The high plateau was wet, cold, windy, foggy and spooky. With a name like Steingrimsfjardarheidi I'm not surprised. Apart from the spooky bit, it didn't get much better when I got back down to the coast. Leaving Route 61 to continue along Route 68, I could see how hard life must be for the coastal farming communities here.
Finally I reached my hostel at a place called Broddanes, a stones throw from the waterside. They didn't seem to have received my booking, but let me stay anyway. Thank goodness. It was bleak outside and I didn't fancy either the car or the tent.
This more-or-less completes my tour of the Westfjords. Tomorrow I will be in North Iceland.
