A Saga Holiday
After 3 days at sea in the North Atlantic amid the all-pervading aroma of fish, I appreciate any dry land, but the tiny village of Seyðisfjordur at the head of one of Iceland’s east coast fjords, was particularly welcoming. I’m really not a sailor and a handful of houses, a church and a fuel station on the edge of a barren island are just heaven for me.
The temperature and the fog may have been particularly low, but the expectation was high as Peggy my ever-faithful Aprilia and I, rolled down the gangway to start exploring the most volcanically active country on the planet. Iceland is the only part of the Mid-Atlantic tectonic Rift that rises above sea level and it does so with incredibly rugged splendour.
I really love this country; it’s like north-west Ireland on steroids and only a consonant apart. Maybe I’m innately drawn to a place that’s almost spelt the same, but there’s also intertwined history. When Iceland was first discovered around 800AD, it was by the travelling Irish; fishermen and monks. No doubt the Irish bar opened not long after..