Things You Should Do in Iceland Before You Die... or Turn 31

I’ve been in Iceland three years, and have published about 250,000 words on the culture and tourism industry here. You name a personality, politician, fjord or puffin, and I figured I’d covered it. As I got ready to leave, though, I looked through my notes and found a few places that I’d never gotten out to. These last few destinations that I’d missed reminded me of everything I love about this island. In fact, I came to the sad realisation that, after 250,000 words, I hadn’t covered that much, and after three years, I was only just catching on to the charm of Iceland.

It all starts in a Toyota Camry, the back seat full of large, menacing Icelanders, and Valdi, lead singer of the Nine Elevens, driving 130 km an hour down a dirt road in the West Fjords towards his home, Ísafjörður. Through miraculous gift of gab, Valdi had recruited us to drive him home and join his Mýrarbolti – or Mud Ball –team for the annual competition in the most remote large town in Iceland. He insisted that Ísafjörður was only five hours away, and that Mýrarbolti was the safest sport in the history of man. So somehow, despite the fact that only minutes before he invited us, he had explained his prodigious achievements in fighting hygiene, among them touring for three weeks wearing the same pair of boots and never taking them off, we had agreed to come along.

Ísafjörður is not five hours from Reykjavík. For a normal driver, in ideal conditions, you’re talking about seven hours. Hence Valdi taking over the wheel in frustration after I had driven the speed limit for the first few hours. Highway 61, which takes you through the West Fjords is an attraction in and of itself. Somehow always balanced on a mountain’s edge, it lends gorgeous views of a more ancient-looking landscape than you can see in the rest of Iceland. Driving along at unsuitable speeds, I couldn’t help but point out that this would not be a good road to drive in the dark. Or in rain. Or even cloudy weather. My companions, all native to Reykjavík except Valdi, agreed quickly.

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