I’ve been to Iceland more than once, but the longest I spent there was in October 1994. I explored Reykjavik for several days, and since I had been there on a stopover in 1993, perhaps I could say I was almost an expert on that small, pleasant city.
I had always wanted to see more of the country, so I thought a trip up north by bus would be a good way to introduce myself to the rest of Iceland.
Very early on a Thursday morning, I went by taxi to Reykjavik’s bus terminal. It was completely empty, and I sat for an hour all by myself. The bus was set to leave a few minutes after 8:00, and the bus driver didn’t arrive until right before the departure. Suddenly from nowhere, four or five people showed up, and a few moments later, we were on board and on our way. It couldn’t be more different than the Port Authority Bus Terminal’s continuous chaos.
It was just getting daylight as we passed through the incredibly non-descript suburbs of Reykjavik, more like the outskirts of any medium sized American town than someplace European, although admittedly on it’s remoter edge. Suddenly though the city ended, and we were on a two lane road, passing a crossroads which led to the nearby farm of Icelands most famous writer, Halldor Laxness. Soon we were passing along the Hvalfjordur. It was a narrow, dark inlet, with mountains looming right up to the edge of the road. There weren’t really any trees, but that’s typical of Iceland. Only near farms, in the towns, and in specially planted forests is there any treegrowth. That might sound boring, but as I was soon to discover, Iceland’s landscape is anything but dull.
The trip would take around 6 hours, with several short stops along the way, and a half-hour lunch break about midway through the ride. The bus would travel along Icelands Ring Road, Highway 1. Nowadays it’s paved the whole way, but just barely, and some parts of it would be rather rough. It’s the main road, and it’s clear most of the year, but during some of the horrible wind and snow storms that Iceland can experience with no warning whatsoever, even this road becomes impassable. Usually though, it’s cleared rather quickly.
Once we were away from Reykjavik, the traffic became practically non-existent, which makes sense since there are only 275,000 Icelanders, half of whom live within a few miles of the capital. On our trip north, we would pass through less than half a dozen towns, none having populations of more than a few thousand. The destination, Akureyri, is the third largest town in the country, with a population of about 14,000. It’s called the “capital of the north”, since it’s the bigtime for the whole northern part of Iceland.
I first learned about Akureyri, as well as about Iceland, from the geography books I would bring home by the stack from the Newport Public Library. All the books about Iceland featured pictures of Akureyri, usually highlighting the distinctive church there. In sixth grade, we were told by Sister Mary Clarita, that Iceland was almost exactly the same size as our own state of Kentucky, and there in our geography book, was a picture of the Akureyri church. I think I always knew I’d go there one day. Iceland is one of those places that captivates people, and as I was learning, when Iceland gets hold of you, it’s almost a religious experience. It’s that special.
My thoughts were wandering as we headed north, stopping briefly in a town called Borgarnes, reached via a long a beautiful bridge across a glass-like fjord. It would be hard to miss the snowy mountains that were visible just a few miles away, whole ranges of mountains.
After leaving Borgarnes, we got into much more rugged terrain, and were heading into higher elevations. And soon, it started to snow. We passed one of Iceland’s famous salmon fishing rivers, and in the distance was a tall cone-shaped mountain. We made a short stop at a boarding school. This school was really in the middle of noplace.
Midway to Akureyri we stopped for a half hour break at Stadarskali. Heading further north we arrived in Blonduos, on a wide bay, with the most rugged mountains in Iceland visible in the far distance. This was Hornstrandir. It was all forbiddingly Tolkienesque. Soon after leaving there we were in a farming area, passing fjords on the north coast of Iceland, the main one being the incredibly beautiful Skagafjordur. The final hour would be through Oxnadalur, a canyon and mountain pass. Then we would head down to Akureyri, which is situated on the western side of Eyjafjordur.
Once we entered the mountainous area, it started snowing furiously. We rode along a wild river, crossing back and forth over it a number of times, along a road that didn’t seem to have much in the way of guardrails. To my left were mountains that seem to rise straight up, and one I noticed looked quite imposing, and through the snow and gloomy light, threatening. This was Hraunstangi. Amazingly, there were some farms in the narrow valley between the mountains, and some weekend cottages with spectacular views.
The snow was coming down heavily now, but that didn’t deter the busdriver. At any moment I thought we’d end up in the wild river that seemed a little too close for comfort. But soon we were heading through a pass and off to the right were the outskirts of Akureyri. It’s not a big town, so we were at the bus station in just a few minutes.
I could walk to my hotel, and I checked in with no delays. My room was in the back, and when I looked through the window, I could see the Akureyri church looming on the hill behind the hotel. A nice view, I thought, of Akureyri’s most well-known landmark.
It’s said that “it’s the journey that matters, not the destination.” And I suppose that’s true. Akureyri isn’t the most exciting town in the world, but it’s pretty, pleasant, and easy to navigate. After having lunch at a very old-fashioned snack bar in the basement of the KEA Hotel, I walked all around the city center. I ended up at the municipal building, and went up to the city planning department. One of the town architects welcomed me like an old friend, offered me coffee, and sat down to explain a bit about his work, life in Akureyri, and life in Iceland generally. A really nice way to get to know someplace new! I was really impressed by his hospitality. He gave me a stack of materials about Akureyri, all in Icelandic, but useful nonetheless. I was walking on air as I left the building.
As it grew dark, I went to the town library, after buying a cd by one of Iceland’s many popsingers, in the KEA Department Store (KEA is a local co-op system and runs many of the stores in the area.) The library had such nice floors that everyone has to remove their shoes before going inside. Of course I did the same, although I’ve never browsed a library in my stocking feet before. It was a very nicely designed library and was packed with people, many of them students.
After looking around the library, I walked up a side street to the upper part of Akureyri, passing the house of David Stefansson on the way. He was a very well-known poet in Iceland, and was also the head librarian at the Akureyri public library just down the street. His home was very simple, but looked very cosy, and it's on a very typical street filled with pretty houses built from about 1900-30. It's a museum nowadays, with his large book collection intact. I would like to see that someday, but will have to come back to Akureyri in the summer. The rest of the year, the small museum is closed.
I backtracked down the hill a little and went over to the distinctive Akureyri church. It was open, so I took a brief look inside. It’s more impressive from the outside, but has nice stained-glass windows. As I walked over to the town’s botanical garden, two kids ambushed me with snowballs. Not very friendly, but kids are kids... It was too dark to see anything in the garden, and the snow was coming down hard again. So I went back to the hotel with a take-out dinner and watched Icelandic tv the rest of the night.
The silhouette of the Akureyri church was just outside my window, and I was reminded of the photo of the church in my sixth grade geography book. It was nice to be looking at the real thing as I turned in for the night.